Submission

Thanks for a little feedback on the previous chapter, here's the next installment of the series! Please please please let me know specific things you'd improve and any feedback is super appreciated! :-)

I know this is still setting some stages for the rest of the story. There'll be more sexy times and hardcore BDSM in the following chapters, I swear!

Best,

T.

*****

Chapter Two

The perfectly waxed, jet-black car pulled off the manor grounds and onto the main road leading into the city. As the vehicle approached the city walls, the servant ghetto gradually replaced the spacious living quarters that Masters, Creators, and other Bourgeoisie Dirigeante (including myself) occupied. There were social programs in place to guarantee that the servants' homes didn't completely crumble and that small amounts of food left the class needing and malnourished. After all, they were our servants. They weren't meant to have an easy life. If they were smart, they would simply give in and become slaves, so they could better serve a Master in their private estates. Yeah... slaves would run the risk of being sold to a particularly sadistic or cruel owner, but it was equally as likely they would be made a cherished companion. But either way, they fulfilled needs for the ruling class that servants simply were unable to perform.

Once past the city gates, we continued onto a more worn road. On either side of the car, faces watched the machine travel down towards the huge dome of market district. To everyone within sight, it was plain as day where we were headed, and who we were. Mixed faces betrayed disgust and envy. Others were of hopefulness that their friends or loved ones could be picked up and dropped into the upper class by a gentle owner. Children watched the car with delight; since not much was made public to the servants, stories and legends of wealth circulated like wildfire. Little did they know how fucked up many of my peers were...

Eventually the car arrives to the market.

Hans, one of the few slaves I chose to remain in my possession after their training was complete, offers my door as I step out of the car and into the dust. I can already see the Leather on the tip of my boots begin to dance with the sandy dirt, marrying until one of my slaves could later lick the happy couple apart until their next debaucherous romp at the tip of my toes. Perhaps I would allow Hans to taste them later this evening. He does have a certain vice about my boots in his mouth that I oh so ever love to sate, especially when he's been such a good boy recently. As I look up from the ground past his thick belly, I catch Hans' face reading my expression with a slight glint in his dark brown eyes.

Hans had come into my ownership... God, almost four years ago? He had been a gift from a friend who knew of my adoration of strong willed decorations. When he was delivered, he was just another servant who was tired of manual labor, who thought he could use his charm to become a slave worthy of even a tiny dollop of praise. He had initially failed. Miserably.

Hans thought he could use his aura of confidence and good will to his advantage, to avoid most work and training regimens. At the time, I was younger and more naive to the ladder that existed between us. I tried to break him, and at times he was near the edge of being lost. I tried everything I could possibly think of to push him down off of that bottom rung, just so I could catch his hand and demonstrate that he needed me; that without me, he was an ownerless slave, who had no hope of being valued.

And Hans hated me for that, at least for a time. But the more his resolve to spite me grew, the more I appreciated his spirit- weak willed bastards were nothing to me but a paycheck and maybe a bit of carnal pleasure (at least for me, certainly not for them) here and there. But he wasn't like many of the others; several groupings came and went while he remained pinned under my boots. Now... it wasn't like I wasn't enjoying his suffering, Hell, making grown men cry out in pain, or women moan with need and frustration was one of my strongest vices... Nevertheless, I chose to utilize a different approach- a trial run, if you will. I chose to use his desires and aspirations against him. Instead of burying paddles against his ass and testing his sanity in extended bouts of isolation, I slowly eased up a bit around him and began to barter here and there.

At first, it began with having another of my slaves- whose assigned number I've long since forgotten- teach him how to read and write. Eventually that progressed into asking essays of him. I knew he hated me, that he would do anything to make a smidgen of stress for me, but I also knew that- from his informational booklet that my friend graciously included in the crate- deep down, his goal of earning respect was still there. From his essays, I learned more about my captive. Naturally his well written assignments were rewarded, but his inadequate essays were read aloud in front of him. For the few times it actually came to that, I tried my best to use as much disappointment in my tone as possible, to let him know that he had not produced anything worthwhile of my time. Months turned to years, and his hatred of me lessened. The more praise and positive reinforcement I gave my slave, the more he grew. At that point it'd be clear he would remain at my estate, and earn his keep. Yeah, he was a much more glorified slave than he had any right to be, but he was Mine, and Mine to do with as I please.

I blink several times, realizing I'd been staring into Hans' eyes far longer than I'd intended. We both smile for a moment. He's my slave, and would never escape that title, but I think we both prefer it that way sometimes. Training Hans from a defiant little asshole into what he is today taught me a great deal about how to manage my inventory. I avoided buying slaves without drives, only breaking my rule for more personal sex toys.

We make our way towards the back VIP entrance. Hans trails me two paces and to my left, not that others needed that cue to know he was my slave. He wore a black Leather collar with my initials engraved on a pendent, as well as matching Leather cuffs on his wrists and ankles. I normally allow my toys to cover their lower holes while in the servant ghettos. There's simply far too much dust, dirt, and general filth for my germaphobic liking. Today a tight sleeve covers his cock and balls, with a thin g-string laying across his plugged asshole. Nothing terribly kinky, especially compared to what other toys would be dressed in. On the back of his neck, just above his collar sat a crimson red series of numbers. The numbers indicate his Slave Number, which is a combination of my assigned Master Number and a number I chose to follow.

Once inside the air conditioned building, I fill out several pieces of registration. The company cared so much about maintaining their image of top quality pieces that they felt the need to advertise other auctions and restate several times that this was an "exotic" occasion. Clearly their leadership was fiscally oriented instead of actually giving a damn about their merchandise. Many slave trainers actually enjoy the variance found at the Reject Fair.

Once the paperwork was finished, we continue down a wide hallway and into a luxurious antechamber where twenty or so prospective buyers were waiting for the auction to start. Leather chairs and ancient rugs sprinkle the room, with several of the auction house's slaves serving the guests light refreshments. Several other owners had brought their own slaves as well- It was generally customary to bring more recent acquisitions, especially in varied forms of degrading bondage. This way, the soon to be property could see just how far they would be pushed in merely a month or two.

A steel yoke surrounded the head and wrists of a heavier-set redheaded woman. A tight rubber strap ran from her neck over her mouth, and looped her ears. Drool pooled on either side of the panel, hinting at a gag underneath.

A tall woman stood just in front of her, resting her drink on a built-in platform on the metal restraints held by her ginger slave, "I would love one of those made for Hans," I thought to myself. It was a beautiful system: portable end tables which served well as art... Not that there was art lacking in my toy rooms, just that one can always have more bondage equipment, "Maybe I'll have to ask who the Creator was."

A slave girl, probably in her mid forties, came around the room offering another round of drinks to the guests. She wore nothing, save for the large clamps surrounding her outer labia, pinching them together. Welded between the two clamps, a thick metal bar ran parallel to her lower lips. I didn't need to take a closer look; I knew the handiwork quite well and was actually a bit of a fan. The clips acted as 'jaws' with teeth that pierced the labia, permanently barring entrance to her cunt. This particular owner would actually "bottle" her slaves like fine liquor, adding the date to the Slave Number on the back of their neck.

God, that was so beautiful.

Once the last of the group trickled in, a representative of the auction house took a short moment to summarize the agenda for the evening, "The pieces in the next room are all up for sale. There is one long, circular hallway with doors on either side. Every object is heavily restrained, but we will have staff nearby for further assistance, should you need it. Inside each room is a two way mirror, so you may clearly see each specimen without having to enter the room. Please allow only one Master in a room at a time, though you may of course bring your property with you should you chose. On each door is a packet with their intake forms. Please note that most subjects gave this information willingly, and it may or may not reflect the actual beliefs and feelings of each subject. We are simply a wholesale warehouse, not a psychic agency." The spokesman paused as if expecting laughter but receiving none continued, "You may place bids electronically, and please remember our 30-day return policy of a 50% credit towards your next purchase."

Finally with the speech over we were allowed to look over our captives.

________________________________________

Between the sack over my head and the gag in my mouth, I start to panic. Every minute that ticks by my breathing gets harder and harder to steady. "How long are they going to keep me hooded? I hope not for the entire auction..." I think to myself, "Though I guess the people looking at me would want to see my face... Right?" I'm not someone who is claustrophobic or anything like that just... This bag over my head was really started to worry me. How can I tell what was coming if I couldn't even see it? The more I question what slavery could possibly entail, the more I want to see my surroundings and brace myself.

Suddenly as if to answer my thoughts, the gag is undone and the hood lifted off my face. Bright light blinds me for a minute before I'm able to see again. It had only been a few minutes but it seemed like hours, even my legs were tired of walking.

We're now in a small room that's about 7 or 8 feet on each side. My reflection stares back while I gaze at a wall-length mirror before me. There are three nearby metal chairs, and a door on the wall just next to the enormous mirror. The girl in the mirror slowly turns to look behind her at the two men preparing the room. In the center sits a large cushion. After my last encounter in an unfamiliar area, I immediately scan the walls and ceiling for any restraint systems. My naive eyes find none, but I'm determined to not seem terribly on edge... I did volunteer to be here... in a certain sense... They can restrain me all they want, just knowing it's coming is so much more comforting for some strange reason.

Since my forced bath in the interview room, the crisp air started to settle on my skin. My cock slowly withdraws into her home, and my nipples reach out with all their might towards the cool air. One of the men watches me from the corner of his eye. I'm pretty sure he's seen a girl with a cock before, but I'd be the first to admit that my naked, makeup-less body looked pretty masculine. As a servant I didn't have access to any medical treatments or prescriptions that could help me out in all the right places to look like other women. Instead, I grew my hair and adopted as many feminine mannerisms as possible.

Eventually they finish setting up a small stand next to the cushion for water and fresh fruit. I assume it's for the people looking to buy me, but I don't want to test that theory with a bite of the juicy strawberry winking back at me. Next to the door appear to be my interview questions in a neatly bound packet, along with a small needle and computer tablet.

Apparently the guards had asked me to come to the cushion and I hadn't heard them through my dazed intake of the room. I realize this as soon as a hand appears on my shoulder and throws me to the padded pillow. A second hand cuffs my hands behind me. I try to move about, but the cuffs won't budge from a chain moving down to a hole in the seat.

The man who had been eyeing me earlier walks around and kneels down in front of me so his face is level with mine. His eyes look deeply into mine for a minute or two, reading what they were saying. With a quick nod, he turns to retrieve the needle and tablet from the wall. Holding my shoulder still, he gently pierces the skin light enough to draw one or two drops of blood. Using the needle, he carefully places two drops on the corner of the computer screen. Instantly, a panel appears giving what I only imagine could be my medical information.

I mean... I'm fairly healthy, but like I said, servants can only get so much medical care and well visits. I guess this was more for the bidders so they could know what they were getting into.

Anyways now that I'm fully secured to their little presentation pillow, I guess they were ready to move on to preparing the next auction pieces. I could hear faint voices from the direction we had come, so either other guards were nearby or maybe the auction was already underway.

My two escorts take one last look around the room before walking out and leaving the door swung wide open. If I had any inkling of regret, now would be the time to test my bounds and make a break for it. Unfortunately I knew that even *if* these chains were breakable (which I highly doubted), and even *if* I could evade the highly trained guards and security, I would run straight back to living as a "boy" at home... where I would slowly die inside.

Fuck. That.

I can do this.

I steeled myself for the worst possible owner... "That would be some sort of sadistic freak who forces himself on his slaves" I think to myself, "But even then I could be a good slave and try my best to appease him and slowly win him over... Right? All Masters have non-sexual slaves they use for other household duties... I think... I mean that would only make sense, we aren't normally allowed in their private homes and it's not like they'd be doing their laundry or dusting shelves." I briefly envision one of the few Masters I'd come across in my days as a servant trying to fold clean clothes and mow their lawn. The thought grants me a little giggle and moves my anxiety from a 10 to a 9.

A shadow or two walks past my room and I blink out of my daydream. There were people walking in the hallway! Judging by the attire alone, the auction had definitely started. All shapes and sizes of people in varying states of dress and undress paraded through the hall. Most of the finer dressed people would pause for a moment while reading my introduction. Some would even spare glance in my direction between pages.

After a dozen or so people had read through my introduction paperwork (and another two dozen had ignored me entirely), I notice the owners started to repeat themselves. The first pass must've been for figuring out who was here? That would make sense, but these people do have weird ways of doing things. As if proving my exact thoughts, a woman passes my door with a girl following her, who was pretty tightly bound in a metal cage... thing... around her neck and wrists.

As soon the odd couple pass, the owner quickly stops and turns to my door on her heels. She takes a quick glance at the top page of my paperwork and continues walking towards me. Clearly this is the dominant one between the two- her fitted black suit with a Leather bow tie screams dominance to me. Her slave hobbles behind her and awkwardly tries to close the door behind them. Once the three of us were alone, my prospective owner sat down in one of the chairs and started to pick at the fruit while studying me.

"So... Why is an untrained trans girl going for $5000?" She enunciates every word as though it's was an unbelievable thought. "You don't seem to have much, if any, feminization to your body. You don't have any skill or ability warranting that high of a starting bid, at least from your packet. Which leaves one real possibility; what did you do during your interview to fuck up that bad?"

I stare blankly at the woman, trying to decide what I should tell her. If I lie, she could definitely find out by asking one of the guards from earlier. If I tell the incredibly embarrassing truth, I'd be seen as a noncompliant future slave, and there'd be less chance of her buying me... I didn't want to wait in the warehouse for the next reject fair... Even having that damn sack over my head would be better than that.

"I... uhm... wouldn't let them clean me."

It wasn't a lie, and based on the expression on her face, she clearly wanted more details. I glanced down and could see her fingers counting down, 5... 4... 3... 2...

"Okay, I didn't want to expel the enema in front of the intake people." I try to sound apologetic, and add a weak smile to supplement my blush. "But I'd never done that before and it was super embarrassing and humiliating and I'm sorry, I'll be good and listen if you buy me, please."

The Master sat there, smiling. I mean it was pretty frustrating to have to tell her that, but she seemed actually pleased with my response. Or... I follow her eyes down to my groin, where my girl had actually started to get hard. She giggled a little at my realization and waves a finger at me, "now now, I didn't see in your paperwork that you were a dirty little girl who got off on being humiliated."

My blush deepens, "No... it's not that... I don't know why she's getting like that. Please... I don't like that kind of stuff, I swear!!"

Well... maybe I *do* like it just a liiittle... But really it's more of a curiosity that I withheld from the interview than anything else. I'm not some crazy nymphomaniac or whatever, I hadn't even had sex with anyone..

The woman gracefully stands to her feet and pulls out her phone. She turns to note my serial number from my packet and punches it into the device. It makes a small chime and she smiles down at me with a cruel look in her eyes before opening the door. With an exaggerated blown kiss, the woman continues down the hallway to her next piece, followed by her slave girl.

Almost immediately following the two women, two men enter the room. The first wore flowing silk robes that looked more like a costume than actual professional attire. He had short grey hair neatly trimmed to match his beard, and seemed slightly on the heavier side but it was hard to tell under his robes. After he sat, what I assume was his slave followed and stood behind him. The second man had tight looking straps around his wrists, ankles, and neck with a matching... garment... around his parts. It looked sort of like a pair of very small underwear, except it actually wrapped around his... shaft..