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Sold!... To The Highest Bidder

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Sold!...To The Highest Bidder by Reese Gabriel

Doctor Emerald Tallow is a lithe young psychologist whose job is to restore the self-esteem of runaway girls, keeping them from the clutches of pimps and drug dealers. When one of her patients, a pretty nineteen-year old named Krissy, tells her she's found bliss in the arms - and chains - of a mysterious billionaire, Rainier, Emerald smells a rat. The courts are unwilling to help her, so Emerald decides to take him on herself.

Rainier, whose empire includes strip clubs, x rated movie studios and a shadowy 'girl relocation service', makes Emerald a most unusual offer. If she can withstand one month of his sexually dominant ways, he will release Krissy and a host of other girls, too. If Emerald succumbs, however, she will join them, surrendering herself body and soul.

The man's methods prove to be both subtle and brutal. Emerald is thrown into a complete whirlwind as she finds herself craving the hand of discipline as much as she does Rainier's chiseled body. Can she retain her pride and independence, or will Emerald find herself sold...to the highest bidder?

Contains female subjugation, degradation, sexual exploitation, bondage, corporal punishment, branding, golden showers and whipping as well as accounts of underground submissive training.

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“You will become chattel, Emerald, do you understand what that means?” His hands were on the flesh of my upper arms as he compelled me to look up into his eyes. I was weak with need and desire; I would have told him anything.
“Yes,” I’d lied, allowing his ice blue eyes to peer deep into my soul. “I understand.” My soul that belonged to him would have forced me to give him any answer he desired, whether or not I agreed or understood.
The truly amazing thing is that I have never felt more alive in my life as I do at this moment. Every inch of my captive skin tingles. Manacles cinch my wrists and ankles; chains of steel caress my sweat-sheened curves. My senses are sharp and crisp; I hear the myriad hums and clicks of the airplane as it prepares for takeoff, as well as the soft breathing of the girl beside me, a slender blonde in a matching cage. And next to her, a brunette, softly whimpering, her chains scraping over the metal floor as she tries to find a comfortable position in her own cage.
The blonde has curled herself into a ball; as near as I can tell that is the only feasible alternative to squatting or sitting head tucked to chin. I prefer to keep the pressure off my buttocks, owing to the tenderness of the bandaged area where I’ve been branded. This was done to me before dawn, after I’d been sold and placed in the small holding cell in the auction house’s dungeon.
I’ve not seen the mark, though my handlers seemed pleased with the results. Several of them became quite aroused at the sight of my seared flesh and I was heavily used prior to being taken to the airport. It is, of course, a permanent inscription on my flesh and it will mark me for life as to what I am.
A female slave.
I overheard Gustav say once that marks on a woman’s skin are the greatest aphrodisiac. Welts from a cane. Stripes from a whip. The kiss of a branding iron. I only wish he could see mine. I hope he would be pleased.
“She’s easier than a lot of ‘em that come through here,” one of the handlers had commented as he drove his tumescent cock in my mouth, my hands and knees pressed to the cold, damp floor of the holding cell just before they took me to the airport.
One of the others, who was busy thrusting himself in and out of my tight buttocks, had laughed. “That’s Rainier, for you. It ain’t for nothing he’s known as the best in the business.”
“Damned straight,” added a third, who had exploded in my pussy a few minutes earlier and was now occupying himself with his zipper. “Rainier can take the toughest, most resistant bitch in the world and have her collared and licking milk from a saucer in under twenty four hours.”
“Not just milk,” crooned the man whose cock was in my mouth.
All three had laughed heartily.
This was the same three who took me to the airport. I was loaded in the back of a paneled van and made to lie on the floor. The leader, a bearded fellow with a hooked nose and horrific breath, had a baton with him that he used on me in a number of creative ways. He informed me this would be excellent practice for serving in the slave harem of Tolliver Khan. The Khan is a warlord in a certain lawless area of North Africa and he has many mercenaries. He also entertains powerful guests, government officials and top executives of arms manufacturing companies. Men such as these require playthings, of which I am to be one.
It was on the auction block that I heard my assets announced, my suitability to be the toy of a master like Khan. Dazzling white lights blinded my eyes, floodlights. The smoke of a dozen cigars, the raucous tones of wealthy, comfortable clothed men clouded my vision and assaulted my ears. I smelled alcohol and sweat, and the fear that emanated from other females like myself.
“Item number 56-D,” drolled the auctioneer. “Five foot four inches, one hundred twenty pounds. Measurements 34, 27, 36. Firm breasts and ass. Only one owner. Sucks like a dream, juices easily. Excellent training potential. Do I hear a thousand to start the bidding?”
“A thousand!” had bellowed a voice from the rear of the room.
The handler had slapped my arse then. “Stand up straight. No slouching. Put some gusto in it; if we don’t clear five grand, I’ll whip you till you bleed.”
Was it all a dream? I’ve asked myself this question a million times, though, truly, how can I deny my current state? The metal holding collar, attached by chain to the manacles, the ankle rings. The invoice clipped to the corner of my cage. The pan of water in the opposite corner, from which I may drink with my lips, and beside it a second pan, empty, meant for whatever fluid I may need to release along the way. It isn’t my urine I’m concerned with at the moment, but something else. Closing my eyes, I move my trembling hand between my legs. I am sopping, and not only from the handler’s numerous injections of sperm. I have needs, desires of my own. I crave to be had—thrown down in chains and taken; violated, used.
I ask again, is it a dream? If it is, then count it as the most vivid one ever recorded. Are you skeptical still? Perhaps if I tell my story to you, in its fullness, you can judge for yourself. You may find it amusing, even arousing, perhaps, if your inclinations go this way.

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