Three Sisters

Part eight of a ten-part story about three sisters and their experiences being graded for sale as slaves. Note that this story contains references to BDSM and not-completely-consensual sexual submission. While the overall story does include themes and depictions of incest or incestual desire, this particular chapter does not, but be aware of that before getting invested in the story. This story also includes one character's growing interest in lesbian sex. All characters are at least 18 years of age.

*****

Lot 467

Shortly after Magda departed, Joanna and Brandon entered the small cell carrying leashes but, Angie noticed, no forms to sign. She looked at Joanna and raised her eyebrows while shrugging her shoulders; Joanna asked "Do you really want a volunteer form?" Alina shook her head, and Angie rolled her eyes. "I didn't think so" she said. "Word has come down from corporate to go ahead with the sale. Apparently they're counting on possession being nine-tenths of the law, since once you're purchased it becomes very difficult to reverse your status." Angie could see Brandon in the background, shaking his head.

The two sisters were ordered to their feet, their collars released from the neck chains and leashes attached in their place. Angie started to double over from fear again, but straightened up to set a better example for Alina, who had gone as white as a sheet and seemed on the verge of crying again; her legs were visibly shaking. No, thought Angie, I refuse to show Magda that I'm afraid; I want her to see nothing but contempt.

"This is it, slaves, the big moment has finally arrived" said Joanna. "You were not slaves when you started this morning, just clients to be graded. Now you're nothing more than goods in inventory, and when the hammer falls on the auctioneer's podium in just a few minutes, you will both be legally enslaved for the rest of your lives, the property of someone else who can do with you whatever they wish." Her eyes flicked from one sister to the other and back as she studied their faces. "If you want some advice," she continued, "I'd stand as tall and proud as I could, and put on a good show; the bidders with the most money are often the best owners." The ghost of a smile crossed her lips, and she added "Well, more often than not."

Joanna opened the door, and the naked, helpless women were led out to their fates.

As they approached the auction block, Angie could hear the auctioneer introducing them: "Next up are lots 466 and 467. 466 is a Hispanic female, 18 years old, high school education, speaks English and Spanish fluently, recently enslaved, no previous owners, rated Prime- with excellent bids and reviews. Note that she has not been trained — HCI can arrange training through an excellent obedience school at a discount — and that she is being sold simultaneously with her sister, who is up next. Slave, step into the circle so our overseas bidders can get a look at you," as he gestured to a white painted circle on the floor at center stage, directly underneath some spotlights and, Angie assumed, cameras. Brandon released her leash, uncuffed her hands, and gently started her moving. As soon as she arrived the auctioneer put her through her paces, the same ones Angie was about to do. She looked away and examined the crowd for anyone she recognized. There was Gottschalk and his disgusting sprog, of course. Looks like Junior visited the gift shop and bought an HCI-branded ball gag for Alina; Angie felt like she might retch.

No sign of Roberto, her ex-boyfriend from high school, but she wasn't surprised — Beto will probably wander in next Tuesday and wonder where everyone is. She didn't recognize anyone else — Angie wondered if Magda had really called her workplace, there were some ex-frat guys there who would certainly come just to ogle if nothing else, but she saw no sign of any co-workers. Angie wondered if Magda actually

knew

where she worked.

She saw a few little clusters of men and women in suits or "business casual" wear, bent over data pads, talking quietly to each other or into headsets, they were obviously corporate buyers, some of whom were probably from the brothel franchises Magda mentioned. A few gawkers remained from earlier, but not many - possibly HCI had cleared them out so this would be an auction for "serious" buyers without all the catcalls and annoying catchphrases.

Then she spotted a small group near the back: a short, square-shaped man in a suit flanked by two larger men wearing denim shirts with logos stitched above the pockets. She couldn't read the text from here, but she recognized the logo: The Lash Society, the most infamous brothel in the state, located just outside of Dallas. Catering to the very wealthy, and notorious for political connections and police protection that kept regulators away, it was the kind of place known as a "torture brothel" or a "whip club" but worse, much worse. Once she had watched a news show — on cable TV at

Tia

Marta's house, ironically enough — about the Society and the things that were reported to go on there...Angie shuddered.

Magda had notified them, no doubt about it, because there she stood next to the square man, and they were commenting to each other as Alina did her stuff on the auction block.

Joanna followed her gaze, saw the trio and remarked, "That's strange, those guys normally only go to the judicial auctions so they can pick up slaves nobody cares about. I wonder what brings them here?" She looked at Angie for a long moment. "If they were to buy you, it would be up to your sister to set any limits on your use before the sale closed." Joanna frowned, not unsympathetically. "Too late to worry about that now. You're up."

Joanna unlocked Angie, and she walked into the circle as the auctioneer announced her: "Lot 467, another Hispanic female, elder biological sibling of lot 466, 24 years old, university education, speaks English and Spanish fluently, also recently enslaved with no previous owners and untrained, rated Prime to no one's surprise..."

So this is it. I am going to be a slave. Sold like an animal, a piece of meat, to be completely owned by another person and to serve their whims. All of my talents and accomplishments cast aside, my worth reduced to the skill of my mouth and the tightness of my ass. Now I have to go out there and show off my body to the crowd and any number of buyers on the Internet, and my only chance to avoid being a torture doll for the rest of my drastically shortened life is to convince someone "better" to buy me. Fantastic.

At the same time... she couldn't deny that it was arousing. Naked and defenseless in front of so many men (and women!), forced to follow orders, no way to cover herself or hide her humiliation. If she was too slow or did something wrong, the auctioneer would use his whip on her smooth, unmarked behind — Angie briefly considered deliberately missing an order just so she could feel the whip, in front of the audience, hear their laughter and applause. And then there was the possibility of branding... her skin started to perspire a bit.

Great, she thought, I'm turned on AGAIN. Maybe being enslaved wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. Living in some rich woman's, er,

man's

harem and getting fucked silly seven days a week... but then there's the other possibilities, like the Society. That

would

be the worst thing in the world, for however long it lasted.

"Turn around, sweetheart" the auctioneer commanded, and Angie did a slow 360-degree turn so the audience could see all of her. "Hands up," and she laced her fingers on the back of her head, thrusting her young, firm breasts forward, her erect nipples prominently on display. "Squat" sent her down with her butt cheeks resting on her heels, and her legs spread wide. She had a hard time seeing the audience for the bright lights in her eyes, but she could hear an appreciative murmur. "Stand and turn" after a few minutes, then with her back to the audience "Bend over and present" which meant she spread her legs and grasped her butt cheeks with both hands and spread them, displaying her asshole and her pussy to the world. More murmurs, which she guessed was good too. "Stand and move left" sent her to stand next to her sister, who had lowered her gaze submissively; she took Alina's hand in her own and together, possibly for the last time, they awaited their fate.

Angie had a hard time following the bidding, but it was certainly lively; between the online bidding and the audience, they each ran up very high prices. It was hard to say just who bid on them, much less if the same person bid on them both, since the bidders used an app on their phones or data pads — very different from the auctions at Garcia's where the attendees just shouted out their bids — and she couldn't see the online bids at all. But there was clearly some sort of dramatic struggle going on, because the audience's eyes were glued to the monitors or their devices, and at times they would make noises, some like groans, others like cheers, and some that could be good or bad, Angie couldn't tell.

Standing outside of the spotlight Angie could see the crowd a bit better, and she focused in on Magda, who looked like she was having the time of her life. She cheered and clapped whenever a counter-bid was made. But Magda wasn't paying attention to the Lash Society guy next to her; he was speaking into a mobile phone, and did not look happy at all, like he was arguing with someone — no, more like he was yelling at someone. He kept glancing at a data pad held by one of his denim-shirted goons and poking it angrily with a finger.

"Hmm, that's not what I expected," Angie thought, and she scanned the crowd for Gottschalk. There he was in all his golf-tanned glory, looking supremely irritated - angry, even. Junior, on the other hand, looked like he always did: as stunned and clueless as a goldfish on mood stabilizers.

Then it dawned on her - they were all being outbid!

The gavel crashed down, causing Angie to jump. Just like that, the auction was over, and she and her sister were slaves.