textfiles/sex/EROTICA/S/steph-1.txt

                     Stephanie in Slave Market
                           By Sir Kevin


I saw her standing there.

My eyes were fixed on her as soon as I entered the slave  market.
There were about twenty slavegirls on display in the market  that
day, and each one of them, I had to admit, was of the best quali-
ty. All of them were pretty; some were indeed beautiful. But  she
seemed to have a unique atmosphere around her that I found  espe-
cially attractive.

Like  all  the other girls, she was completely naked.  Her  hands
were  cuffed behind her back, and her ankles locked in a  set  of
heavy iron shackles --- too heavy, I said to myself, for her slim
little ankles. On her neck was a black iron collar, attached to a
chain hanging from a wooden beam above her head.  She was  forced
by the chain to stand rigidly straight, waiting to be examined by
potential buyers in the most humiliating way --- much in the same
manner as the other girls in the market.

Yet  she  appeared  somewhat  different  from  the  rest  of  the
slavegirls.  While all the other girls were tall and  well-built,
she  was petite, no more than 5 feet 4 inches tall, with a  waist
small enough, it seemed, to be held in a man's hands. The  others
were  all  gorgeously  blond; her hair was of  a  silky  chestnut
color.  Surrounded  by well-tanned breasts and thighs,  her  skin
looked vulnerably pale, through which her veins could be seen  as
winding  thin  blue lines. Against the smooth  whiteness  of  her
limbs, the rough, dark surface of the irons that imprisoned  them
made  a  sharp contrast. While the other girls  were  making  all
efforts to present themselves to their future masters in the most
beautiful  and  sexy  way, she simply stood  quietly  and  almost
motionlessly  in her corner, with her eyes rooted on  the  cement
floor.  A  few bunches of long wavy hair climbed  over  her  slim
shoulders to her front, as if in a desperate attempt to cover her
bare breasts.

Unlike  the other girls, who must have been bought and sold in  a
slave  market  as a way of life, she had the freshness  to  one's
eyes that belonged only to a girl who was having such a traumatic
experience for the first time in her life.

I stopped in front of her. She raised her head slightly to glance
at  me, but quickly hung it again. I saw her bare feet trying  to
move  back  away from me, but the chain on her  collar  held  her
firmly in place.

"What's your name?" I asked, lifting her chin with a finger.

"Stephanie...sir."  Her voice was trembling a little, but  never-
theless  extremely sweet and melodious. Meanwhile she tried  hard
to keep her eyes on the ground to avoid confronting my  inquiring
eyes. This made her look very lovely.

"Your last name?"

"It  doesn't  matter, sir," she said with a  sigh.  "A  slavegirl
doesn't need a last name any more."

She might be new in her bondage, but she certainly understood her
situation quite well already.

I  brushed  aside her hair with my fingers to  fully  expose  her
breasts, and the pair of tenderly pink nipples. Her breasts  were
small  and  firm,  and jiggled at the touch of  my  fingers.  She
couldn't be more than twenty, I thought.

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen, sir."

I  took her breasts in the palms my hands, and started  caressing
them  gently.  This immediately send a little quake  through  her
body,  causing the chain on her collar to jingle. A  faint  groan
came  from her throat, and I could feel the two small patches  of
soft  pink skin on the tips of her breasts hardening into thrust-
ing nipples. She closed her eyes, apparently scared but  nonethe-
less enjoying my touch. I was pleased with her response.

Perhaps  I  should have her nipples pierced if I  bought  her,  I
thought.

"Turn around," I released her breasts and ordered her.

With the jingling of chains, she slowly turned around,  revealing
about a dozen whip marks on the small of her back. The fingers of
her cuffed hands rubbed against one another nervously.

"Were you whipped recently?"

"Yes, sir. This morning."

"Why?"

"I  don't  know, sir. Honestly." She gave a sigh and added  in  a
soft  voice: "but I guess whenever a slavegirl is  whipped,  it's
always her fault, one way or another."

I smiled. She is cute.

I  examined her hands carefully, and lifted her feet to  look  at
their  soles.  Everything  I saw bore the marks of  an  easy  and
comfortable  life  before the first chain was locked  around  her
neck.  Even after being forced to walk barefoot for days or  per-
haps  weeks,  as  all slavegirls were, her  feet  were  amazingly
tender and clean.

"How long have you been a slave, Stephanie?" I asked, turning her
around to face me again.

"About two weeks, sir."

"What were you doing before that?"

"I was a student at St. Julia College...sir."

"What was your major?"

"I was an English major..." She raised her head and stared blank-
ly into the blue sky above the chains and the beams. I could  see
tears in her eyes.

"How did you become a slavegirl?" I was genuinely curious.

"It  was  a long story...," she answered after hesitating  for  a
short while.

I  walked  around her nakedness and gave her a  full  examination
again.  The  youthful and natural beauty of  her  petite  figure,
enhanced by the chains and shackles she wore, pleased me immense-
ly.  There was no permanent brand anywhere on her body;  she  had
only  a fading blue stamp on her left hip that read:  "E&L  Slave
Traders." But the inscriptions on her collar indicated a  differ-
ent owner: "Property of Tony Francera."

"Stephanie," I informed her, "I think I'm going to buy you."

"Are you going to be kind to me, sir?" She raised her head  again
and  for the first time let her eyes meet mine. Brown and  clear,
her eyes were very charming.

"It  depends. On how you behave. But anyway, I'll keep you  naked
and  chained like this all the time. And I'll whip you  at  least
once  a  week. Also, how would you like a pair  of  little  rings
pierced through your nipples?"

"...Do I have a choice?"

"Of course not, you silly little slave!" I laughed and patted her
on  the back. Except for the fresh whip marks, her skin was  soft
and smooth, and felt good.

"Where is your master?"

Before the slavegirl could say anything, a man's voice came  from
behind  me:  "nice choice, fellow! She's real good  stuff,  isn't
she?"

I turned around and found myself facing a short, dark-skinned man
with  a black mustache. With a friendly smile, he  stretched  out
his right hand and said: "I'm Tony. This wench is mine. Isn't she
a real sweetheart?"

"Oh  yes,  indeed," I agreed as we shook hands. "I  haven't  seen
anything like her in the market for quite a while. Where did  you
get her from?"

"From the hands of the E&L guys. Those bustards! They would  have
wasted  her. The day I went there, they had her hanging from  the
ceiling,  her  hands tied behind the back and drawn  up  and  all
that.  And  they  tied a cement block to her big  toes.  Man,  it
looked  like they were going to break her arms and ruin  her  for
good.  When  I got there they had a pair of  damn  big  alligator
clamps  on her nipples. They wired them up, and a guy was  giving
her  electric shocks through the tits. The poor babe was  jerking
like  a fish out of water. Man, you never heard a girl  screaming
like that!"

"Good  God!  Did  they really do that to you?" I  turned  to  the
slavegirl.

"Yes, sir," she answered briefly. Her voice was noticeably  shak-
ing with terror at the memory.

"Why did they do that?" I asked Tony, truly unable to imagine the
necessity  to  torture  this sweet and helpless girl  in  such  a
horrifying way.

"It turned out some big brothel wanted to buy her, and they  were
only softening her up for the johns. Damn fools! I told them they
were ruining genuine crystal to make a piece of glass. And I told
them  the best thing they could do by beating her up was to  turn
her  into  a  bitch just like those," Tony pointed  at  the  sexy
blondes chained next to Stephanie.

"That's true," I agreed sincerely.

"Yeah!  I  could see at the first sight this babe  was  something
special.  High-class  stuff; you know what I mean?  She  deserves
better  than  that. So I made them a better offer  and  took  her
home.  I trained her myself. It didn't take too much  hard  work.
She's  a real good girl. Aren't you, sweetie?" He turned  to  the
slavegirl and started rubbing the back of his hand against one of
her nipples.

"May I ask why you whipped her this morning?"

"Oh  that! That was nothing at all. You have to use your whip  on
these  girls  once in a while, you know. Just to make  sure  they
know  who they are." Tony winked at me and changed  the  subject:
"so you want her?"

"Well, how much?"

"She's going on auction in a moment. I'm asking only eight  grand
for a start."

"Eight thousand? That's pretty high a start, don't you think?"

Tony  winked  at  me again and said, "well, she's  not  just  any
slavegirl, right?"

"True. Do you have her papers with you?"

"Sure thing!"

I  had just started looking through her identification  documents
when  suddenly a loud and rough voice burst out right next to  my
ears:  "Well  well well, little bitch! I thought  we  would  meet
again!"

Turning  around I saw a very big man with a heavy beard  standing
in  front of Stephanie. Twisting about fearfully in  his  shadow,
the naked slavegirl looked all the smaller.

"Stephanie Dartville, right?" the man continued. "Still  remember
me, you little bitch?"

She  obviously recognized him too. Her face turned pale, and  her
body shivered visibly. She turned her face left and right, as  if
searching for help, and struggled vainly against the shackles and
chains to escape from him.

"Mr. Johnson!" Tony was suddenly all smiles. "How are you  doing,
Mr. Johnson? You know this wench?"

"Boy, do I know this little bitch!" the man burst out again.  His
words  came  together  with a heavy smell of  beer  and  tobacco.
"She's one of those chicks working for the New Underground  Rail-
road, and last year she helped several of my slavegirls run away.
I've  been  looking for her all over the place. And what  do  you
know!  Here  she  is, the freedom fighter herself  in  the  slave
market! God, I love it!"

"For  your information, bitch," the man turned to  Stephanie,  "I
have caught all my chicks one by one, and I gave everyone of them
a  lesson that she'll forever thank you for. And that  friend  of
yours,  Jennifer  Stanistow,  she ended up in my  stable  too.  I
showed  her a living hell and then sold her to bunch  of  bikers.
Tell  you  the truth she didn't enjoy it at all. Next  it's  your
turn!"

Johnson  suddenly  grabbed the naked girl's nipples  between  his
fingers and pinched them very hard. Poor Stephanie threw back her
head and screamed in formidable pain.

"Tony," he roared, "I want this bitch. What's your price on her?"

"Mr.  Johnson," Tony asked hesitantly, "you are not going to  buy
her just to kill her, are you?"

"Of course not!" Johnson answered. "Not this one. Death will be a
luxury for her. I'm going to teach her things could be worse than
death.  I'll  make a good example of her for  all  those  chicks.
She's going to spend a long time in the pillory on Broadway,  but
first  I'll need to whip her hide into tiny pieces. Take  a  good
look at this whip, little bitch! It's going to be your  life-long
companion."

The poor girl glanced at the whip in Johnson's hand, and her eyes
were filled with horror. It was not one of the conventional whips
designed for the tender skin of a girl. Made of raw cow hide,  it
was  quite similar to the bull-whips that cowboys used  on  their
cattle,  only much shorter. It was an extremely brutal  thing  to
use on the naked body of a girl.

And the pillory on Broadway was also an extremely brutal  torture
device.  Besides the utmost humiliation of being displayed  naked
in  front of thousands of people every day, a girl locked in  the
pillory  by her neck, wrists and ankles could support the  weight
of  her body only by either standing on her toes, sitting on  the
sharp  edge of the foot-stock, or hurting her neck in  the  upper
pillory. It had not been used for over three years, but the moans
and  tears  that  it had extracted from every girl  it  had  ever
imprisoned still remained vivid in everyone's memory.

A  bell  rang at the center of the slave market,  indicating  the
auction  was about to start, and the men began moving toward  the
auction  block. I took another look at the girl I had decided  to
purchase, and turned to join the other men.

"Sir..." It was Stephanie's soft voice.

Turning around, I asked her: "are you talking to me?"

"Yes,  sir,"  she looked at me earnestly. "Are you going  to  buy
me?"

"So you can run away?"

"No,  sir,  please..." her voice became eager.  "I  promise  I'll
never  run away from you. I promise! I'll be your faithful  slave
throughout my life. I'll do anything you want... I can cook.  I'm
a  good dancer --- I have learnt the belly dance. And I can  play
violin  or mandolin for you. I can be very useful. And...you  can
do  anything  you  please to me. Whip me all you  want.  Keep  me
chained. And you can pierce my nipples --- please do. Torture  me
anyway you want to. But please...please buy me, sir. You can sell
me  again later if you don't like me. But just...just  don't  let
that beast lay his fingers on me; please?"

Tears ran down on her rosy cheeks. It was a plea that I could not
say no to.

I  stepped back to her, and wiped the tears off her face with  my
thumbs.  Holding her face in both hands, I kissed her  gently  on
her lips.

"Don't  worry," I told her. "I'll do my best to outbid  that  old
Johnson guy. I like you, sweetheart."

"Thank you, sir."

The  auction started. Within an hour about ten of the  slavegirls
were  sold,  some  for five or six thousand, others  for  ten  of
eleven.  A girl with beautiful long legs and full  bosom  brought
her master fifteen thousand and eight hundred dollars.

Then came Stephanie's turn.

She  was led onto the auction block by an assistant of  the  auc-
tioneer.  The chain on her collar had been replaced by a  leather
leash  held in the man's hand. The auctioneer kicked  lightly  on
the back of one of her knees, and Stephanie dropped on her knees.
She was told to sit on her heels, and the auctioneer's  assistant
kicked her knees apart to expose her pussy.

There  she knelt, naked and shackled, with her head hanging  low,
her  legs apart and her hands still cuffed behind her back, in  a
beautiful picture of female submission. Few people could  imagine
that  only two weeks before this miserable slavegirl was  sitting
in  a comfortable dorm room in one of the most  prestigious  col-
leges in the region, and perhaps writing anti-slavery poems.

The  response  from  the bidders was moderate. Most  of  the  men
around the auction block were middle-aged businessmen, who  would
much sooner prefer a mindless blonde sex pot to a girl of  intel-
ligence like Stephanie, whose reserved look was to them an  indi-
cation  of trouble in the future. When the bidding went over  ten
thousand,  Johnson and I were the only competitors left. Yet  the
bidding  soon  reached  and  passed  twenty  thousand,  much   to
everybody's surprise.

Johnson  was clearly determined to put his chains on  Stephanie's
neck,  and  for this he would pay any price. When he  called  out
twenty-eight thousand after my offer of twenty-five, there was  a
brief  commotion  around the auction block, and  then  there  was
complete  silence. I could hear jingling chains on both sides  of
the  block;  the girls still waiting to be  auctioned  were  also
stretching  their  necks to see what would happen  next.  Twenty-
eight thousand was almost an insane price to pay for a slavegirl,
even for one as pretty as Stephanie.

"Do I hear twenty-eight and five hundred?" the auctioneer asked.

"Yes." I said. It was far more than I could easily afford, but  I
was determined too.

"Twenty-nine thousand!" Johnson called out.

I  looked at the naked girl kneeling on the auction block. All  I
saw was a pair of expecting eyes.

"Twenty-nine thousand and five hundred," I told the crowd.

"Thirty thousand!"

"Thirty thousand and five hundred."

"Thirty-one!"

"Thirty-one and five hundred."

It was all quite for a while. Johnson did not respond immediately
to  my new offer. On the auction block Stephanie closed her  eyes
and bit her lower lip in great anxiety.

"Do I hear thirty-two?" the auctioneer asked.

"No," Johnson replied, "you hear forty thousand."

This  caused an enormous commotion in the crowd. A  man  standing
next  to  me exclaimed: "give him that girl, young man!  I  could
sell you my mother for that money."

Everybody laughed.

I looked at Stephanie at a loss. Again I saw the pair of  expect-
ing eyes, which were now getting rather desperate. But I  quickly
calculated my financial situation and recognized that I had  lost
her.

"Sold  to  the  gentleman  for  FOR-TY  THOU-SAND  DOLLARS!"  The
auctioneer's voice expressed uncontrollable excitement.

More excited was Tony. I was sure he still could not believe what
had  happened: he had just made forty thousand dollars out  of  a
girl he probably paid as little as four thousand for.

I saw him talking warmly with Johnson on the block, patting  each
other on the shoulders. Then he helped Johnson drag the poor girl
down  from  the block. He removed the shackles  from  Stephanie's
neck  and limbs, and Johnson immediately tied her  hands  tightly
behind  her  back with a long rope. Stephanie tried to put  up  a
fight,  but  was easily overcome by the two men. After  they  had
tied  her  up, Johnson kicked Stephanie down on the  ground,  and
lashed  her  several times with his whip, making her cry  out  in
pain and beg him for mercy on her knees. Then they took her  away
into the blacksmith's workshop behind the auction block.  Shortly
after,  I  heard her screams penetrating the wooden door  of  the
small workshop.

I had let her down.

Stephanie's  screams lasted a few minutes. When she  was  dragged
out  from the workshop, she was apparently in such pain that  she
could hardly walk. She was told to kneel in front of the notary's
office, and Johnson and Tony went in.

I walked up to her.

Her whole body was shaking and covered with sweat. Her  shoulders
jerked  with her sobs. She knelt next to the wall, and leaned  on
it,  with her head sunk on her chest. The rope, tied  around  her
wrists  and  looped several times around her arms, was  so  tight
that  it  cut  into  her tender flesh.  The  horrible  cuts  that
Johnson's  whip left on her back and shoulders were still  bleed-
ing.  I  noticed  her nipples were bleeding too.  They  had  been
pierced,  and  a small chain was attached to  the  silver-colored
nipple rings.

On  her right hip, I found a newly imprinted oval brand:  "S.  S.
Johnson." A few other words were cruelly branded on her back near
the  right  shoulder:  "Stephanie Dartville, member  of  the  New
Underground Railroad." I could imagine the formidable humiliation
these words would bring her when she was displayed in the nude in
public.

"Stephanie," I did not know how to comfort her, "I'm sorry."

"No, sir," she said sobbingly, without raising her head, "you did
all you could. I know. But there was no hope from the  beginning;
I  should have known that. He wanted me, and he had enough  money
to  buy me at any price. Thank you for trying to help,  sir.  You
have  done me a great favor, and I'll remember it  forever.  I'll
pray for you every day till I die."

"Stephanie," I tried to offer my advice, "the important thing now
is to take good care of yourself. Try to make the best of it. Try
to  please him, and obey him. Maybe he won't be too harsh on  you
after a while..."

"There's no use, sir," she interrupted, raising her  tear-covered
face  and  shaking  her head in despair. "There's  no  use.  He's
determined  to  put me through hell, and he's going to do  it  no
matter what. I know that beast..."

Her head sank again, and she fell silent.

"Well, buddy, still interested in her?" Johnson came out from the
office.  "That's all right. Just wait a few years. You  can  have
this  little bitch when I'm done with her. That is, you can  have
her bones after I've done away with her skin and flesh."

He  laughed savagely, and grabbed the small chain on  Stephanie's
nipple-rings to pull her up on her feet, cursing and kicking  her
mercilessly in the meantime. Then he turned to me again and said,
rather  friendly: "seriously, buddy, take my advice: don't  waste
your emotion on a slavegirl. There are plenty of them around. Why
don't  you go get yourself another one? You can get five of  them
for the money you just offered. And you'll forget all about  this
chick in a blink."

Maybe he was right.

I  watched  while Johnson led Stephanie away through  the  crowd,
holding  the chain on her nipples, which forced her to walk  with
her  breats thrown out in a peculiar way. Then I wandered in  the
slave market for another ten or fifteen minutes, browsing through
the  girls still on display, but without seeing or  hearing  any-
thing.

I decided to leave.

As  soon  as I walked out of the slave market, my  eyes  fell  on
Stephanie again. She was now suspended in a spread-eagle position
on  the back of a van, with fresh whip marks on her  breasts  and
thighs.  She  bit her lip and suffered the agony  in  silence.  A
small crowd had gathered around her.

The van started moving when I walked up, but Stephanie had enough
time to smile at me sadly and say: "Bye-bye, sir. God bless you."

"Bye-bye,  Stephanie," I answered her in my mind. "I'll pray  for
you."

The  small crowd dispersed, leaving me standing conspicuously  on
the curb. A security guard looked at me curiously.

Behind  me the auctioneer in the slave market declared  over  the
speaker:  "Good news, gentlemen! In a few minutes we are  getting
two more girls to be auctioned today. Both are incredibly beauti-
ful. Authentic college chicks..."

I ran across the street, and kept running.