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"Sold!" | remfan55 | 1



The word echoes in my ear suddenly. I wasn't expecting it, somehow thinking I'd be on the stage for longer. It's odd how quickly it happens. They lead you up on stage by a leash, totally naked, have you turn and give a show. Then there are a few numbers shouted, and then you're sold. You're an object to satisfy an owner. I barely even remember the name my parents gave me now. All I can remember is "slut" and "whore," occasionally "cunt." Training has been long and arduous. They drove out my individuality. They made me a sex toy.

I don't know who bought me. The spotlights in my eyes blocked my vision. But within a second of the word being shouted, one collar is removed from my neck and another snapped in its place. A woman in a short skirt, roughly my age, cuffs my hands behind me. She pulls me by the leash off the stage to a back room, surrounded by mirrors on all sides. I know the room is mirrored so I can see my shame. So I can't forget what I am - a slave. I see myself, nude, collared and cuffed. I can't remember a time when I was anything but this.

The woman pulls my leash. I know from being trained that I am to fall to my knees without argument. I think maybe she is my new owner, but then I realize she is wearing a collar as well. She must be a slave, but a higher ranking one than me. Still, I know my place. I hit the ground and I spread my legs, wide as they can go.

"A slave must always be spread for her owner," my trainer taught me. "Her valuable parts must always be accessible. Her owner must be able to get to them. Whenever you can, slut, keep those legs spread wide."

She still hasn't said a word to me. She is a stunning woman. Not a pale blonde like me, but dark skin, tanned. I can't say for sure, but I think she's Latina. Maybe a Latina-white mix. But she has the body of a goddess. Or maybe I now see everyone above me as a god or goddess. It's what they put in my head. But I can't help but think, this woman is fit and gorgeous.

I look at her legs, her exposed breasts, her whole body, and sexual thoughts race through my head. Months ago, it would be nothing but fear and anger. But they drove out any feelings but sexual urges. They made me a horny slut. They made me ashamed to be a horny slut. They made my shame a turn on. The more I'm demeaned, the more I love it. I used to be dominant in bed, but they trained me, like Pavlov's dog.

"You urge to be fucked by anyone who will, anywhere they will," he said. "Not for your own pleasure, but because nothing is more important to you than giving others pleasure." And he drilled it into me. He didn't let me orgasm for months at a time, until I reached a state where I didn't even think about orgasm. Oh, I wanted it. I wanted nothing else but to cum and release the tension. But I never expected it. All I expected was to please whoever I was working on that day, because I knew no pleasure would come to me. Only pain and humiliation, which I was taught to love. I can't tell the difference between pleasure and humiliation anymore.

So as I look at her, all I can think about is pleasing her. It's all I want, all I need. And she walks closer to me, and I start breathing heavily. I can smell her sex. It drives me up the wall. I want to jump at her with my tongue but a slave never acts without permission. She sees me panting, wanting so badly to taste her. She knows the state I'm in, how they've trained me and changed me, made me a toy. I'm becoming a quivering mess. She inches closer, her skirt now in my face, and now a little closer as my nose slips under the fabric. I want to shoot my tongue out, but I resist, like a good whore. I even start whimpering, and she hears it and laughs. She is laughing at my torment, laughing at what a dirty little slut I am, and her laughter turns me on even more.

I remember when I thought I could resist them. When they first captured me, and when I first insisted, they could take my body but never my mind. That woman doesn't exist anymore. I can no longer imagine being satisfied with that life. How could I have not wanted what I am now? I am where I belong now, whimpering and shaking with urge. It's where they put me, but they did me a favor. It's where I belong, where I am supposed to be. How I didn't see it before I don't even know. It seems so obvious now. A slave like me belongs on her knees with her legs spread, suffering for the enjoyment of others.

"Ok, girl. Lick."

Oh god, it's all I needed. She has barely finished seeing the word "lick" when I dive in with my tongue. Her voice is sensuous but dominant, as she puts a hard emphasis on the "k" sound of the word. The way she says it, she reminds me who is in charge. And I want her to keep telling me. I don't actually speak as I eat her hungrily, but thoughts pass between us. With every tongue joust I say, "Yes, I am a whore, treat me as one." And her moans say, "Yes, slut, you will be treated as you deserve." She grabs my hair and pulls it. The pain heightens my state of ecstasy. Nothing could get me higher than her orgasm. Please, please orgasm for me. I need you to cum. I am only pleased when you are. Cum for me, please, cum for me.

Her moans get louder, and so my tonguing gets faster and more excited. I know she is about to cum and give me that taste, and I keep at it, and soon the reward comes. I am in such a state of pleasure to have satisfied somebody in charge of me.

She slowly comes off the high, breathing heavily as I breathe heavily too. I don't move my knees. She may want something else and I want nothing more than to oblige. She takes a moment before she speaks, and says, "Seems they trained you well, slut." The word "slut" pierces through my ear. I take a deep breath at the sound of it, my large breasts rising and falling with it as I take a huge sigh of satisfaction from the sound of the word.

She walks around to my back. "What an ass, bitch," she says, and slaps it lightly. The compliment, the humiliation, the light pain, all combine to enhance my satisfaction. I have been sold. I am owned. By someone, I don't know who yet. But this is the greatest day of my life.

"Your owner will be here soon," she says, and walks out. I am alone, but I don't dare move an inch. This is probably how my owner will want me, below him or her and completely vulnerable and weak.

I don't know how long I am down there. I have no way of telling time. I was taught that time doesn't matter anyway. I shouldn't care how long I have spent sucking my master's cock like a cock-hungry whore, only whether or not he still wants me to. So however long passes, I have no idea. Maybe hours. It gives me time to imagine every possible new owner. A wealthy man who wants a love doll to pamper? Angry lesbian who wants a party favor to please her friends? Couple looking for spice in their marriage? Whoever they are, as long as they keep me in my place, I am happy.

I also have time to rethink the process that got me to this floor....


The campus police always said a woman should not walk alone at night. Maybe I should have listened, but after studying late at night at the library I had to walk home on my own. I never saw the van come up behind me, when they scooped me into the back, tore off my clothes and had their way with me. Four of them, I think. I'm not sure, I fought so hard and things moved so fast. I know some of them came around a second time, probably even a third time. After a while I stopped fighting. I closed my eyes and hoped it would end quickly. Then they would leave me somewhere and it would be over.

The van pulled into some parking garage. I had all but passed out from the endless rape. They took me inside the garage to an elevator, and the elevator opened on a floor full of cages. Most of the cages had naked women in them. That was the least shock of mine. What really shocked me was not the cages but the reaction of the women when the doors opened. They saw the naked men walk on and they all climbed anxiously to the cage doors. Were they trying to get free? They all reached out for the men, but I could tell, it wasn't in anger, it was in hunger. They whimpered and whined wanting a taste, a feel of the men's bodies. There were dozens we passed, all the same way, until we finally got to an empty cage. There wasn't even room to stand up in there. It was a box. They opened it, tossed me in and locked it. I watched them walk away. One of the men approached a redheaded caged girl, and put his dick close to the bars. She went to taste it and he pulled away. She could almost cry, and he just laughed. What was this?

The next morning, a man woke me up early. He unlocked my cage and put a collar around me. By now I knew that whatever happened to me, I couldn't fight back physically. I just had to resist becoming whatever it was they wanted me to be. I had to hold on to my dignity, my humanity, as long as I could.

But every day he drove my humanity further and further out of me. I think it was two years he spent training me. That's my guess. I had no idea the date. At first, it would just be constant rape sessions, where dozens of men would take their turns on me all day long. At first I couldn't stand it. But those men were rough, torturous, and at the end of the day, I needed affection. After they took turns on me, one after another, my trainer came in, patted me on the head, and said, "Good girl." Then he led me back to my cage.

At first, I found the "Good girl" just the icing on the cake, a final bit of patronizing on top of the torture. Then I began to tolerate it, then appreciate...then live for it. I needed approval. It was all I had.

After some months, he stopped taking me out of my cage. One day, he just stopped. I didn't know why at the time. He wouldn't even look at me. He'd pass by my cage a few times a day, but not even acknowledge me. Why won't he talk to me? Why can't I be called a good girl anymore? One day, I reached out to grab his leg longingly, and he smiled. "Do you want to be a good girl?" he asked. And that was the end of the woman I was. He was asking if I wanted to be raped for his pleasure, so he can watch and see my humiliation. He was asking if I wanted to be his slut.

"Yes sir," I said.

Then he took me to the room where the men had their way with me. I still hated the suffering as much as ever, but I knew what was waiting for me. I actually enjoyed being fucked and humiliated, having cum all over my body from strangers, being used like an object, because I knew it would please my trainer.

Every day it was more and more. I had been broken, but now I had to be trained. I had to learn all the secrets of pleasing a man, a woman, a couple and everyone else. I once told him, "I think I like pleasing women more than men. I never knew that about myself."

He turned and smacked me. "The only thing that matters is that you please whoever buys you," he said. "You have no preferences, no desires, except to be a whore for your owner's pleasure." And it stuck.


So here I wait, wanting nothing but to please whoever it was that owns me now. I want it, I need it, I live for it. Whoever it is that will open that door will become my reason for living. My mouth, my pussy, my ass - no, THEIR mouth, pussy, ass - will be theirs for the taking.

The door creaks open.


Who is my new owner?

          A middle aged rich business man

          Dominatrix, woman


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