Cheryl gets sold on the black market. Master James turns her into his own, personal lapdog.
Cheryl stood in her place within the row of girls, fidgeting anxiously. Like the other five who joined her in the row, she was completely naked, her hands tied behind her back with a thick, heavily knotted rope. Another rope was tied around her neck, forming a sort of choke collar, the tail end left to dangle as a short leash, reaching just past her belly button. Her kidnappers and sellers had used this to lead her to her spot in line, making it clear that she wasn’t to move in fear of harsh punishment. So she stood like this, her breath ragged with fear, knowing today was the day she’d be sold off to the highest bidder, just like the other poor girls who stood by her side.
Three months ago, Cheryl had been just any other ordinary girl, walking home from her part-time job, when she had been kidnapped and shoved into a van. Since then, her life had never been the same. She’d had her dignity stolen from her, her once virgin holes robbed of their innocence, her protests silenced through beatings. She’d been pissed on, humiliated, and dragged through the gutter, and even so, she found herself more scared now than she had ever been. A once proud tease, she was now a nervous mess, knowing that at the end of this elicit auction, she’d be moved to a new home, to serve a new Master.
There were many wares for sale that night – drugs, black market weapons, anything you could think of – but the highlight of the evening were these young women. Buyers had approached them all night, examining their shivering bodies, poking at their entrances, teasing their nipples, pulling at their hair. Cheryl had been poked and prodded all night long, and her face was flushed from the humiliating experience.
And then, the bidding started. They started with the girl on the far right, and moved their way down the line. The first girl, a short, chubby brunette who looked like she’d never seen a hard day of work in her life, went for a little over 1500. The next girl, a much sexier, tall blondie with a cheerleader’s body, her hair pulled into child-like pigtails, nearly hit 50k. Cheryl stopped listening when they got to the third, her palms suddenly sweaty. She was next.
Who would she go to? What would they want from her? How could she defend herself? What were the chances of her being able to make an escape? Because she had to escape – this couldn’t be her life forever.
Her thoughts were still roaming when the auctioneer moved on to her. Reaching about 5’4” in height, Cheryl wasn’t a bad purchase. While not particularly built or thin, she was in good shape, with just enough extra weight to allow for her thick thighs and excellent ass. Coupled with her size DD breasts, this gave her a very desirable hourglass figure. Her soft pink nipples were hard from being played with, silver flashing from the nipple rings she’d gotten a year ago, when she was just a senior in high school, as an act of rebellion against her parents. Red hair tumbled down her shoulders in thick curls, and freckles accented her cute button nose and soft cheeks just below her pale blue eyes, giving her a sweet, innocent expression that was accented by her palpable fear.
Cheryl closed her eyes in terror as she was sold for roughly 20k to an old geezer in a brown tweed suit. Disgust and horror coursed through her as she imagined having to bed such an old fart.
“Please, feel free to enjoy the rest of the show,” the auctioneer was now announcing to the group of buyers. “For those of you who have made purchases on these fine young women, come forward and I’ll present you with your voucher. When you’re ready to leave, the girls will be held in the back room. Present your voucher to redeem your purchase.”
Another two sellers approached the girls, a nasty look on their faces, and grabbed them by their leads, yanking them forwards. Before they could make it too far, however, Cheryl could hear the old man who had bought her talking. “Actually,” he said to the auctioneer, “I’ll be taking my purchase home immediately.”
“Excellent,” the auctioneer said, then called out to one of the sellers dragging the girls away. Cheryl was taken by her leash to follow the seller and the old man to a nearby booth, where they handled his transaction. Money swapped hands, as did Cheryl’s leash, and she found herself face to face with the old man, trying to hide her look of disgust, knowing things would probably be better for her if she pretended to go along with his desires.
The old man looked her up and down, then, to her shock, turned her around and untied her wrists. “Master’s bitches are absolutely not allowed to stand on two feet,” he said, his voice surprisingly strong.
Cheryl blinked at him, confused. “S-sorry?” She was distracted yet again, now thinking she should run. But not too far by she could see a booth where military-grade weapons were being sold, causing her to second guess her decision.
Her buyer rolled his eyes. “Are you dumb? Get down!” He yanked sharply on the leash, sending Cheryl tumbling to the ground with a yelp. Before she could get to her feet again, he took off towards the exit, forcing her to scramble on her hands and knees to keep up and prevent herself from being dragged on the hard wooden floor.
The moment they exited the door, Cheryl tensed, realizing she finally had her chance. The old man must have realized this too, because he tightened his grip on the rope around her neck and walked even faster, not giving her the chance to hesitate or pull away from him. He led her to a large, steel-grey van with a sliding door on the back and dark, tinted windows.
The old man tapped on the sliding door twice with his bony knuckles, and almost immediately it slid open, revealing a very pretty young woman.
This woman mustn’t have been too much older than Cheryl herself, and she was tall and thin, with a small chest but wide buttocks. She wore a knee-length black Lolita skirt with a white frilled waist apron, and a black, lacy bra decorated with white lace and a small white bow between her dainty breasts. Sleek brown hair fell nearly to her waist, and nestled upon her head was a French maid’s cap. To complete the look, she wore white tights and a pair of black kitten heels, a look both somehow demure and slutty all at once.
“Ah, Lydia.” The old man passed the leash on to the young woman. “Would you be a dear and prepare Master’s new pet for the ride home?”
“Yes, sir.” The woman led Cheryl into the van with little resistance, sliding the door shut behind her. She turned the lock, then turned to Cheryl.
Cheryl peered fearfully out at her new surroundings as Lydia got to work, leading the scared young girl to the middle of the van. Once any old van, this had clearly been remodeled. The back seats had been removed, and in the center, where Cheryl was now being set, were two metal ankle cuffs bolted into the floor. These were locked into place, forcing Cheryl to sit on her knees, wincing at how tight they were. Just behind her now, there was a bench bolted to the side of the van. This doubled both as a place to sit and a tool box, as the seat of the bench was a lid that could be opened. Lydia now delved into this, pulling out two lengths of rope, amongst some other toys. She used the ropes to tie Cheryl’s arms tightly above her head, securing them to D-rings that had been screwed into the van’s roof, leaving Cheryl’s chest exposed and defenseless. Next, a hood was placed over Cheryl’s head, obscuring her vison. Behind the hood, Cheryl’s lips began to tremble, a sense of hopelessness overwhelming her. She’d have no idea of telling where they’d be going, no way of running, no way of even standing up. She hung her head, tears sliding down her cheeks silently.
Lydia continued to work professionally and wordlessly, not yet done preparing the poor girl. As the old man started to drive off, now she got the worst of the tools from the bench box. First, nipple clamps were latched onto Cheryl’s pierced nipples, eliciting a whimper and a bit of fidgeting. The clamps were connected by a delicate chain, and a second chain led to yet a third clamp, which Lydia now pulled down to clamp the poor girl’s clit. Each clamp was tightened until their imprisoned nipples and clit were bright red and searing with pain.
Cheryl groaned, her eyes fluttering behind the hood, quickly realizing she now faced a whole new problem – the chain, whether by chance or design, was simply too short. If she sat upright, the chain would be stretched taut, and therefore stretch the clamps out, making the pain much more intense. However, if she bent at the waist and relieved this pain, the ropes restraining her arms were too short to allow that as well, and her arms would be forced at an odd and unbearable angle.
While Cheryl struggled with her painful situation, Lydia was lubing up the final tool: a stainless-steel dildo, this was turned on, then inserted into Cheryl’s tight little pussy.
Cheryl moaned, her face turning beet red as she dealt with the mixed feelings of pain, pleasure, and the added humiliation from the fact that she could even find pleasure in such a situation.
Her pleasure-filled moans soon became a shriek of shock and pain, however, when she realized the worst part of her trap: every five minutes, the dildo would release an electric shock, the circuit running both through her pussy and by means of the clamps up to her nipples, sending pain coursing through her entire body.
Now finished, Lydia took a seat on the bench, and reached a hand under her skirt, her pussy wet from the erotic show taking place before her.
“Ohhhhhh God.” Cheryl groaned behind her hood as the second shot hit her. All the while the vibrator just kept on humming. Her thighs were already shaking, the metal chain between the three clamps swinging from side to side. “Fuck, God, p-pleaase….” Her hips bucked, though she wasn’t even sure if she wanted the dildo removed or to be able to ride it. Her arms ached in their bonds, her hands curling in and out of fists with each shock.
The ride seemed to last for days for poor Cheryl, though in truth it was only a few short hours. Aroused by Cheryl’s torment, Lydia fingered herself to one gasping orgasm after another, but Cheryl was having no such luck. At this point, all ideas of escape were gone. She paid no mind to what turns they took or how long they drove – she was just desperate to cum. Her pussy juices soaked the dildo, creating a puddle on the floor, her inner walls clamping around the buzzing metal, but every time she would near orgasm, another shock would hit her, and the pain would distract her just enough that she couldn’t reach that now longed-for cum.
By the time they reached their destination, Cheryl was a quivering, moaning, shaking mess. Sweat dripped between her breasts and down her back, her clit was beyond sensitive, and she couldn’t even think of anything beyond the overwhelming sensations she’d been subjected to. She felt on the edge of blacking out, too far gone to even realize they’d stopped.
Lydia, however, had noticed, and with a sigh, reluctant to end the tantalizing show, got back to work. The dildo was turned off and removed, leaving Cheryl gasping for air, and the hood and clamps removed as well. As soon as Cheryl’s arm restraints were untied, she slumped forwards on the van floor, making it easy for Lydia to unlock the ankle restraints.
Looking Cheryl up and down, taking in her gorgeous curves one more time, remembering how sexy her moans and screams had sounded, Lydia smiled. Mr. Matthews had made a great choice with this one. Master was going to love his new pet. She daydreamed already, hoping he would allow her to help further with breaking the bitch in.
The old man opened the van door, revealing to Cheryl that they were in a closed garage.
“Crawl.” He commanded, then smacked Cheryl’s plump ass when she didn’t move fast enough, making her squeal and scramble to her hands and knees.
Lydia watched with mild interest as the curvier girl shakily crawled her way out of the van, too weak to walk even if she’d been allowed to, stopping at the old man’s feet and looking up at him with wide eyes, a natural submissive streak already clear in them.
Cheryl looked so innocent for someone so desperate to cum. Her pussy was throbbing, her thighs soaked, her clit needy and her muscles clenching on empty air. She hoped he’d at least allow her some relief, and for God’s sake, hopefully soon.
The man rolled his eyes and grabbed her rope leash. “Stupid bitch,” he muttered, leading her to a door at the end of the garage. Shaken and mind-numbed from the ride, Cheryl followed with no resistance, desperate to avoid another torture session.
The garage door led to a massive, gorgeous kitchen with an island counter, granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, and powder-blue walls. It was astonishingly beautiful, as was the woman at the counter, an older MILF-type, who was dressed in frilly pink lingerie and a full-body apron, and seemed busy chopping up vegetables.
“Hey, Susan,” the old man said to the woman. “Where’s Master James?”
Susan nodded towards the door. “Living room,” she said dismissively.
With a nod in return, the old man approached the door.
Master James? Cheryl wondered. She’d thought the old man would be her master. So who the hell was Master James?
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