Auctioned Into Submission

By Chloe Jones

"Understand, you are my slave and will not speak unless I tell you to," he said to me as he opened the passenger door of a sporty car, then pushed the seat up, "You get in the back, slave."

Once in the back, he got in and turned to me, a black cloth in his hand. Blindfolding me, he ordered me to lie down and be quiet before starting the car to drive, presumably, to his home. The drive seemed to take forever; I was uncomfortable, tied up, blindfolded, and I did not even know this man or his name. Suddenly, away from the group and alone, I felt terrified, wanting reassurance that it was still just a game.

That was how it began. He had just purchased me at the auction, and I was his now, to use as he wanted. He had bought me for 48 hours, and he could do whatever he wanted to me. I couldn't do anything to stop him. He was now my master, and I was his slave.

• Language: English
• Publisher: SABooks
• Release date: Jan 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005827618

Chloe Jones

Juliana Jones is a writer of fantasy and speculative fiction. She lives in a house with too many plants and likes to collect and create art of all kinds. Themes in her work include the relationship between humans and nature, loving across differences, and vengeance.

Book preview

The Auction

Istood, cold and nervous , on the makeshift stage set up in the rather large field, owned by the president of our club. My eyes rapidly scanned the crowd that was gathered in front of me. I was a slave; at least, that was the game. Although given how committed everyone was to the game, I'm not sure if that is an accurate description, really. They took five of us, dressed us in strips of fabric they called loincloths, wrapped around our chests and hips, and told us to wear absolutely no makeup or hair spray. We were also barefoot, and the auctioneer smiled wickedly at us as our group were put on stage as we went up for sale.

All of the men in the audience were dressed in regular clothing. Most of them I knew, in varying degrees, but there were a few faces I didn’t recognize. Occasionally, we would play this sort of game; some were sexual, some were not; this one was a little bit of both. I knew it had to be evident that the whole thing aroused me; my hard nipples were very clearly visible through the thin cloth, and I noticed a few men staring at my legs and breasts. I couldn’t help it; I found it thrilling to be on display, watched, and scrutinized like a piece of property. One of the rules of this game was to play that part for at least 48 hours or more if we wanted to, but we had to obey whoever bought us as real slaves with a real master.

And although I had never met the man who had started this club," I knew that everyone was carefully screened for things like diseases and such, as I had gone through the same ordeal. After being around this group for only six months, I knew that the women were generally treated better than the men.

The five in my group were the youngest looking girls in the whole auction, two looked barely 18, and I probably didn’t look much older. However, all five of us we actually over 20, even if you wouldn’t believe it, to look at a couple of them. Even though the game was supposed to be played as in history, the man who took us home would get to put us to work to do his laundry, cook his food, and clean his modern house. It was also slightly unfair because everyone in the group was single had no children or live-in lovers, so most of the men probably needed someone to give their house a good scrubbing.

Immediately before the auction, the auctioneer made it very clear to everyone that both the slaves and the masters must respect the code word. The word was in case of an emergency, or if something was going too far, etc. Almost immediately after, he went straight into character, as did the crowd of about twenty men, armed with nothing but cash, ready to pay a high price for a personal two-day slave. The group was free for women to join. Women never paid any fees or paid for anything within the group, but things like this would always cost the men something; they had to make money somehow.

The auctioneer started with Carly, who was one year older than me, shackled by her hands, as we all were. Carly had a much larger chest than I could ever dream of. In fact, it’s fair to say Carly had a seriously good pair of tits on her. Quickly, everyone started bidding, falling over themselves,