The Charity Auction

Chapter 1  

She read glanced over the letter again, for the fifth time tonight. A rather innocuous
letter, really. From a local charity, confirming her entry in their annual fund raiser. Sure,
she'd been to these things before...was even involved in the planning for last year's
event...one of those bachelor auction things, where the women all gawk and whistle as
local celebrities and businessmen were "auctioned" for their services. You know, be her
date...cook a gourmet meal, wash the car, that kind of thing. This year, the board
thought that roles should be reversed, and she was asked if she would mind terribly if
they listed her as one of the "items" to be sold.

She giggled aloud, wondering if the directors knew how long she'd had slave fantasies,
or how vivid they were.  Many were the nights she lay in bed, making love to herself, 
imagining that her Master was ordering her to pleasure herself while he watched,
teasing her by making her stop before she came, then having her start up again, having
the orders repeated again and again, until the bed below her was saturated with her
juices.  Making her sleep with her ankles tied to the corners of the bed, gagged with her
own soiled panties.  Ordering her to wear her own cunt drool as perfume, and
forbidding her to bathe. Doing the household chores naked, often on her knees, and
sneaking outside when she had to piss.  Going to work with the word "SLAVE" boldly
written in red marker above her shaved genitals.  Shopping at the supermarket wearing
only a cotton dress and sandals, no underwear, with lewd comments written on her bell,
tits and ass.  All these things she had done, and more, but only alone...never with a real
Master controlling her.  

Cheryl really wanted to be a slave, to be commanded by her Master to do these things,
if just for the weekend.  To be forced to spread her legs for Him, or kneel while He
ravished her as-yet unused back door.  To clean him afterwards, using nothing but her
tongue and mouth, tasting her own cunt and ass.  She knew this wasn't what the
directors had in mind when they set this slave auction thing up, though.  Most of the
"slaves" would be bought by their husbands or boyfriends, and she doubted that any of
them had the dark desires she felt. To them, it was just a cutsie way of raising funds.
Well, simple fund raiser or not, she was going to push things to the limit.

She smiled as she took the outfit she'd bought especially for tonight down off the
hanger.  The tiny black bra that exposed more of her smallish, firm breasts than it hid,
her areolae obscured by the satin, the rest of her globes covered only by thin,
translucent lace.  Matching g-string panties barely covering her silky smooth, shaven
slit, little more than a piece of floss behind, leaving her ass cheeks completely bare.  
The matching lace baby doll didn't cover much more, tied just above the navel and
barely covering the top of her ass cheeks when she stood.   Black 4" strap heels to
accentuate the athletic legs that attracted so much attention.  . Ah...almost forgot...gold
chain necklace...wrap it around the ankle few times.  Matching choker...yes, she
thought, but black lace to match the outfit, or gold chain?   She posed seductively in the
mirror, comparing both before deciding on the chain.  Perfect. Time to go. Grab a full-
length leather coat on the way out...don't want to get stopped by some cop, after all.
Well, maybe being stopped would turn out to be fun, but not tonight. Other, more
important things to do.

It was a short drive to the old theater where the event was being held, but the warmth
she felt wasn't just from the summer air.  Leather was always a turn-on for Cheryl, and
the smell of her own building need combined with that of her coat to fill the car with a
distinctive mix of scents.  One finger traced its way along her inner thigh while she
drove, her mind filled with thoughts.  Driving through a seedier part of town, she slowed
as a pimp slapped one of his scantily-dressed bitches, wondering how it would feel like
to be used like that, to be forced to take any man in any hole he desired, providing he
had the money.  Her thoughts wandered, the car seemingly on autopilot.  

Arriving at her destination, the cars in the parking lot attested to the full house in
attendance. Good, she though...I hope we can make some real money for the
charity...as well has have some fun.  The letter said to enter through the stage door, so
she pulled the shiny white BMW around back, parked, and carefully stepped her way
though the accumulation of trash and refuse that had collected behind the building. She
started to reminisce; all the times she came here as a little girl, when it was still a place
where families listened to concerts and watched school plays...where she stood so
many years ago, on the stage, giving her class commencement speech when she
graduated from high school. She stifled another giggle...my, how things have changed,
she thought...but how much they have stayed the same...I wonder what my old principal
would say if he were still around?

Shaking her head as if to clear her mind, she stepped towards the open door and into
the theater. Check-in went smoothly...tell the man holding the clipboard her name...he
checks...number 14. Hands him her purse, with the keys to her car in it...and the
coat...smiles as he leers at her...watching while he puts everything in a box and seals it
up.

"Your things will be safe. Nobody will open this except you," he says. "We figured this
way you wouldn't have to worry about your belongings, and they'll be waiting for you  on
Sunday night or Monday morning, depending on when you decide to come back.
Waiting room is over there," he points.

She nods rather uninterestedly. Sure. Okay. No problem. She knew the routine...it was
the same one she helped plan last year.  She walks down the hall to what once must
have been a star's dressing room.  The years had been as harsh on it as on the rest of
the theater.  The bare wood floor virtually screamed for refinishing; the cracked wall-
length mirror over the makeup table spoke to the lack of general maintenance.  Glares
from the other women greet her...she lowers her eyes, embarrassed, and sits in one of
the metal folding chairs lining the wall, alone, furthest from the other women.  She knew
she was probably going to be the least dressed...but all these women are wearing
formals, as though going to their high school proms!  She thought she was going to die
of embarrassment...but at the same time...felt herself becoming excited.  God, she
hoped nobody could see how wet her panties were! She steals a glace at the
others...they are all staring at her...some look angry, others amused. She begins to
wonder if this was the right thing to do, but right or not, she realizes it's what she needs.

One by one, the other women are called by number, until Cheryl is next. She sits,
trembling, wondering who is out there...who will see her dressed like this?  She nearly
has to be helped out of the chair when it's her turn, she's trembling so badly. She
followed her escort, but it was more like an out-of-body experience, like her legs were
on autopilot, working without her brain telling them.

The stage curtains were closed, and on her side of them was a small stand, perhaps
two feet tall. Her escort took her hand and held while she stepped up, then nodded
towards the side of the stage. Suddenly, Cheryl heard the public address system
microphone turn on, flinching at the popping sound.

"Our next piece of merchandise is Number 14."

The curtains opened with a jerk, a spotlight from the stage pit both illuminating and
blinding her. She couldn't see how many people were present, nor who they were. From
the gasps coming from the crowd, though, she knew she'd made quite an impression
on them.

The Charity Auction
Chapter 2

Cheryl was so absorbed in her own thoughts, standing on the stage clad in an outfit that
revealed more than she hid, that she was almost unaware of what was happening
around her. The heat from the stage lights caused little rivulets of perspiration to form
on her skin. She squinted against the bright spotlight, hoping to see something of the
audience, but to no avail.

"Ladies and gentlemen, as you can see, Number 14, while not exactly 'dressed for
success,' is certainly in appropriate attire for tonight.  A sweet piece of slave meat, she
is college-educated with an advanced degree, single and 32 years old.  Her
measurements are 35-24-34, 5'10" and 138 pounds.  She is a long-time contributor to
the theater and has attended several annual slave auctions, but this is her first time in
this capacity.  Perhaps we have one of her former slave boys out there who would be
willing to purchase her?"   She felt someone prod her slightly, asking her to turn around
slowly so the audience could get a good look at her. As she turned, she started to lose
her balance on the tiny stand, the man asking her to turn caught her, his hand sliding
between her legs and pulling her back up.  As she fell, one of her breasts popped out
from her bra. She heard a chorus of cheers from the mostly male audience, started to
fix the bra...then decided what the hell. She stepped back up on the stand, proudly
pushing her chest forward for all to see.  She was proud of her breasts...lush and soft,
yet still firm...she could feel her nipples harden...closed her eyes for a moment and
began stroking her sides. It was like nobody existed except for her. She felt herself
becoming wetter and wetter.  Could the auctioneer standing next to her smell her need,
she wondered, getting even hornier at that thought.

"What am I bid for this exquisite creature?," the auctioneer asked, and the bidding
began.  Voices called out in response to the ever-increasing price, but Cheryl heard
nothing but unintelligible noise.  Her mind was overwhelmed by everything that was
going on, her juices filling her already soaked panties.  She was snapped out of her
reverie by a soft hand on her shoulder.

"Come on," he said, "let's make room for the next one."

She was led backstage again, only this time to a different room. Smaller, with no
furniture; unoccupied except for her.  Her escort locked the door behind her, chuckling
as he remembered where his hands grabbed when she fell. This one's "owner" was
going to get more than just a back rub, he thought, smelling the moisture on his hand. 
What a hot one that one was!

Cheryl slipped out of her shoes and anxiously paced the floor of the small room,
starting to panic with second thoughts of what she'd done.  She was a successful,
professional woman...what the hell had she gotten herself into here?  Christ, she didn't
even know who had "bought" her.

Oh, God...one of the guys at work? A client?  One of the judges, or even worse, a court
clerk or one of the firm's lowly law clerks? She'd purposely not told anyone about this,
though, and it was doubtful any of her colleagues would have known about it. 
They...particularly the male ones...thought she was to haughty...stuck up...little Miss
Perfect...but she knew what they really called her..."The Bitch." Not to her face, of
course...but that was because they are all cowards, she thought to herself. She was the
best attorney in the firm; she knew it and so did they. They were just jealous.

Suddenly, the door flew open. She reached down to pick up her shoes, but the person
at the door said to leave them on the floor...and to kneel. Oh, shit, Cheryl thought...this
guy really wants to play this game. Too scared to do anything but obey, she dropped to
her knees and, following his next command, closed her eyes.  A black hood was placed
over her head...she nearly swooned at the smell of leather, and the felt a leather collar
going around her heck.  She nearly peed on herself when he felt the padlock being
snapped onto the hasp, locking it in place.  

"Crawl," her new Master said. "I'll tell you where to turn."

She felt him tug on the leash he'd attached to the collar, and she responded to this
unspoken command by moving on all fours to the door. He guided her down the hall,
out the back door and past her own silently parked car. The tiny pieces of  gravel in the
parking lot cut into Cheryl's palms and knees, but she was too absorbed in her own
emotions to notice. She felt a tug on her leash, and stopped short.

"Based on the way  you dressed for tonight, and the way you acted on stage, Cheryl, I
must assume you are willing to do more than simply clean my house or cook my dinner,
aren't you?" he asked. His voice sounded vaguely familiar to her...where had she heard
it before? A hand crashing down on her exposed ass brought her out of her
thoughts...reminding her that she had been asked a question.

"Uh, yes," she replied softly. The hand crashed down again, this time hard enough to
cause her to let out a little yelp of pain.

"Properly," he said. "Try it again...properly.  Remember who I am to you."

"Yes, Master?" she answered. She was rewarded with a little pat on her already
reddening posterior.

"You want to be used, to be degraded like the slut you know you are, don't you?"  he
asked.  Cheryl hesitated only slightly before lowering her head in shame.

"Yes, Master," she whispered.  "Very good, Cheryl. You may have some potential after
all," he commented. "Do not move," the voice commanded.  "Kneel up and put your
hands behind your back."  A pair of handcuffs was quickly snapped on her wrists, and
leg restraints similiarly applied to her ankles.  "Stay," he commanded, and she heard
the sound of his footsteps moving away.

Cheryl began to panic...where was he going? He's leaving me here alone...like this?
Oh, God...can anyone see me? What if someone comes by? Oh, God...Oh, God.  Time
seemed to stand still for Cheryl as she knelt, virtually naked and completely
defenseless, in the dirty, filth-strewn parking lot. How long had it been? Ten minutes?
An hour?  All she knew was that she was scared...frightened...and how her knees
ached.  She longed to stand...but knew that her "Master" would disapproved. Funny
how she felt when she started thinking about him...her "Master."  Strange...exciting to
think of herself as being owned by someone...if only for the weekend.  Then it hit
her...how did he know her name?

Charity Auction 
Chapter 3

Unable to see though the hood, her only hopes were that she was in a darkened area
and nobody would find her. A successful attorney with her own practice, she could not
afford a scandal...her clientele consisted primarily of conservative businessmen who
would certainly go elsewhere if it were discovered that she enjoyed this sort of thing.

The gravel dug into her knees as a wet mist rolled in. The moisture in the air and a
slight breeze combined to harden her nipples...she had always been proud of her firm
breasts...and enjoyed the feeling of her often-erect nipples being clearly visible through
her clothing...when she wasn't working, of course. At work, it was always conservative
business suits...wool jackets and mid-length skirts...but at home...God, how she hated
putting on airs of superiority and having to wear those damnable conservative
costumes. She even hated the cutoffs and tee shirt she normally wore in the garden. 
What Cheryl really wanted was the freedom from society's norms that said she had to
hide her body, to be able display it to anyone who wanted to see it.  There's nothing
wrong with anyone's body, she thought to herself. Hell, everyone has one. But she
knew it was more, much more, than simply nudity that she wanted...yes...much more.

Cheryl was suddenly brought back to reality by the sound of automobile tire crunching
across the loose gravel...was it her new "Master" or someone else? She became very
scared...began trembling...who was it? A cop? Some pervert?    The vehicle stopped
and the engine shut off, then she heard the opening and closing of a car door.

She felt a hand on her head, and heard her "Master's" voice coo a soothing "Settle
down, girl. You're going to be all right."

Cheryl immediately relaxed, then as she felt his hands go between her legs, spread her
knees apart for him. She was surprised at her own wetness...knowing that it most
assuredly was not the foggy air that saturated the crotch of her panties. She felt him cut
the waistband of the g-string, allowing it to fall off and exposing her hidden treasure to
him. A thick thumb worked it's way slowly inside her...causing her to emit a low, deep
moan...a guttural sound, something primal...a sound women have been making for
eons. Her "master" chucked softly, removing his thumb and patting her softly on the
rear.

"That's a good girl," he said, as though speaking to a favorite pet.

He made quick work of her skimpy bra, unhooking it, allowing her breasts to fall free
and sway below her, like small water balloons. Completely naked now, Cheryl felt
strangely comfortable. There was nothing to hide...no way she could hide anything from
this man now.

He took the panties in his hand and used it to blot up the juices dribbling down Cheryl's
slit. She was not surprised when panties, sopping wet from her own cunt, were stuffed
in her mouth and tied in place with the bra. She was no stranger to the taste of
pussy...hers or someone else's...having often licked her own fingers while
masturbating...and having had several trysts with other women while in college. This
was different, though, she thought...and she didn't really understand why.  Not only was
she wet, she was getting wetter by the second. Even here, outdoors, she could smell
her own need...or was that the odor of the wet panties in her mouth? Was it a taste or a
smell?  Cheryl couldn't tell, and before she could think about it further, found herself
being lifted into the  car.

"Kneel on the floor like a good girl, Cheryl," he told her.

Cheryl had assumed that he would keep one hand busy between her legs, but he didn't
even touch her, not anywhere. Instead, he kept talking to her in a soothing tone, yet a
tone designed to make her feel helpless and docile.  He kept saying how long he'd
been waiting to humiliate her, to use her for his pleasure. Cheryl knew she recognized
the voice, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't place it. He told her of the
pleasure she was going to give him...but not the manner in which this pleasure was
going to be given...and the suspense caused Cheryl to become even more sexually
aroused.  Juices were quite literally dripping from between her splayed thighs.  She lost
all track of time in the car...it could have been fifteen minutes before he stopped, or it
could have been two hours. Cheryl couldn't tell. The car did stop, however.

As soon as the door opened,  she was pulled from the car onto the ground and her
handcuffs were removed, then fastened in front of her.  Cheryl felt a tug on her leash,
and immediately began crawling in the direction her Master apparently wanted her to.
When the leash went slack, she stopped.

"We're going to play a little game now, Cheryl," he informed her. "I'm going to lead you
without the leash now. Start crawling again; you'll know when I want you to change
directions."

Cheryl obeyed, painful as it was to move herself across the asphalt driveway. She was
certain she was bleeding, at least from her knees...and her hands didn't feel much
better. Suddenly, a blinding pain coursed through her...a whip or wooden switch or
something had struck her left ass cheek...HARD!  She immediately turned to the right,
then felt the same pain on the other cheek...and responded by turning left.   "Faster!"
he yelled, as he struck her with an upward blow between her lewdly splayed legs.
"Move faster, bitch!" He guided her onto the lush, manicured lawn, still wet from
watering.

Cheryl scrambled across the ground as fast as she could, responding to the blows
which seemed to land as soon as she began to move to the previous one. She could do
nothing to protect herself; the more quickly she responded, the sooner and harder the
next blow would come. She sobbed behind her panty-filled mouth, tears streaming
down her face from both the pain and humiliation. She felt herself strangely excited by
both, however.   "Stop!" he commanded, landing a blow directly downward, splitting the
crack of her ass cheeks. "Roll over!"

Cheryl responded immediately, laying motionlessly, her heaving tits fully exposed to his
view as she struggled to catch her breath. The damp turf was cold on her perspiration-
covered back, causing her to shiver. He kicked her shackled legs apart, leering at her
sopping wetness and blood-engorged clitoris peeking through her shaved labia.

"Stay here and play with that wet cunt of yours until I get back," he ordered. "You're
going to need to be stretched wide open if you're going to survive what I have planned
for you!"

Charity Auction 
Chapter 4

Cheryl's mind was working as fast as her fingers, trying desperately to remember where
she knew that voice from. All she knew was that she DID know this person, but from
where? She finally decided that it didn't matter, though. She was at his mercy; his slave
for the weekend, and there wasn't anything she could do...or wanted to do...about it
anyway.

The wet grass felt soft on her back as she used one hand to manipulate her already-
throbbing clitoris while two, then three fingers of the other hand pistoned in and out.
The moonlight glistened off the secretions coating her fingers, and she became aware
of how wet she really was. Cheryl could feel not only the wetness on her fingers, but
how it seemed to be literally oozing out and dripping down her lewdly splayed thighs.
She hoped that her new Master would soon use her for his pleasure, because she
knew that any sort of touch would cause her to explode in ecstasy.

Cheryl was so engrossed in her own thoughts that she didn't realize her Master had
returned until she felt him grasp her wrists.  The handcuffs were removed, replaced with
softer, leather restraint.  These were, in turn, clipped to the collar around her neck,
leaving her naked body totally defenseless. She continued lay quietly as the leg irons
were also removed, replaced by a spreader bar which stretched her thighs to their very
limit, causing her cramped muscles to scream in pain.

"Go ahead and struggle, Cheryl," his soft voice said. "It won't do you any good. You
belong to me, and I'm going to use you for my enjoyment. But first, I want to explore my
little piece of slave meat."  Every muscle in Cheryl's body tensed when he touched her.
First, behind her ear, then slowly drawing a circle down her neck, to the soft skin of her
full breasts. Teasing the nipples, never giving them any more than a soft brush, he
played with her breasts for a few minutes, grinning as she moaned in heated response.
His hands moved softly down her abdomen, past her navel and outward to her hips,
touching ever so lightly. Placing the fingers of each hand on her hips, he began rocking
his thumbs over her inner thighs, massaging her pubic mound. Cheryl thrust her hips
upward, fighting against the bonds that kept her from meeting him, knowing that she
would cum soon whether he wanted her to or not. She was simply not going to be able
to control herself.

"NO!" he yelled, simultaneously striking her bare belly with the riding crop he'd brought
back with him. "YOU - WILL - NOT - CUM - WITH - OUT - PER - MIS - SION !" he
screamed, accentuating each syllable with a separate blow. "DO - YOU - UN - DER -
STAND ?"

He delighted in the way Cheryl's body lurched each time he flailed her, and how rapidly
her tits became swollen and red from the blows. He was definitely going to have fun
training this one. While Cheryl lay on the ground sobbing, he rolled her over onto her
knees, pushing the side of her face into the damp grass.

"If you cum, I will beat you.  You are not allowed to cum without your Master's
permission!" he commanded, releasing his grip and moving behind her. The moisture
between her thighs was clearly visible as knelt on the ground behind her and quickly
slid his cock fully into her sopping hole.  Cheryl willingly gave her body to her Master,
hoping upon hope that he could cum before she was unable to help herself. 
Fortunately for Cheryl, his excitement had been building since before the auction, and
in moments, he shot his first load inside her.  His semen dripped from her lewdly
splayed thighs, the cunt lips stretched and open, twitching as though gasping for air. 
He wiped himself off in the crevasse of her ass cheeks.

"This is Position 1," he advised as he unshackled her ankles and wrists, "On your
knees, legs spread so everyone can see what a whore you are, face on the ground.
You will assume this position whenever greeting me, and upon entering any room in
which any of your betters are present.  That means everyone, slut, because you are the
lowest form of life on earth right now.  If there is a dog in the room, you'd better assume
this position and show him your submissiveness.. You'll be taught other positions as we
progress. For now, I simply want you to come with me. Don't bother standing. From now
on, you'll be on your knees unless I tell you otherwise. I will explain the other rules later.
Now, crawl!"

With that, he grabbed a clump of Cheryl's hair in his hand and virtually drug her across
the grass, onto the asphalt drive and to the front of the house. Cheryl could feel the skin
on her already bruised knees being abraded by the hard surface as she stumbled to
keep up, and began to wonder once again if being in this auction was really a good
thing to do.

Charity Auction 
Chapter 5

Cheryl knelt silently on the floor, almost luxuriating in the feel of the soft, plush carpet
beneath her scrapped hands and knees. The crackle of the fireplace behind her lent a
sense of calm; the heat radiating from the fire warmed her wet, shivering body. She
began to take note of her surroundings; the unique smell of leather furniture, the
muffled sounds, the rich carpet, all combined to give her a sense of calm. Still hooded,
she could rely only on her senses of touch, hearing and smell.  Had she been able to
see, she would not have been nearly so calm.

The room she was occupying was large, encompassing an area of several hundred
square feet. The carpet she felt beneath her was a raised pedestal of sorts, a structure
not unlike a stage, raised four feet above the main floor and brightly illuminated from all
sides. Along the hardwood walls were hung a variety of implements of pleasure and
cruelty; chains and whips, clamps and plugs, and other items that Cheryl would not be
able to identify even if she did have the ability to see...but items which she was to soon
become intimately familiar with. Overhead, video cameras whirred silently, recording
from several angles everything on the stage. Most frightening to her, though, would
have been knowledge of the figures seated at the tables scattered throughout the
room..  Her watchers had all been warned to remain completely silent in order to hide
their presence from the slave until the proper moment.  It was a room designed
specifically for her degradation, and the designer had been waiting patiently for the
opportunity to use it.

"Cheryl, I want you to sit with your knees spread as far as you can, and masturbate for
me," the voice spoke again. "Don't touch your clit; I want you to work your fingers in and
out of your cunt, but nothing more."

Cheryl's hesitation was rewarded with an immediate correction in the form of the riding
crop across her already welt-covered abdomen. Being inspired in this manner, she
quickly scrambled to a sitting position. Her Master, realizing that both audience and
camera would have a better view, had her move her legs rearward, until she was sitting
painfully on the spreader bar. He smiled at the view of her gaping and swollen sex,
visibly dripping with the juices of her sexual desire as she began to slowly pleasure
herself.

The audience watched silently, still unknown to Cheryl, while her Master occasionally
gave her specific commands...to pinch and twist her nipples, to change hands, to lick
her fingers, to play with her asshole...each command punctuated with a lash of the crop
against the insides of her splayed thighs.  Cheryl's need grew with each passing
moment, with each new command, until she was finally told to stop.

Holding her hands clasped behind her neck as ordered, Cheryl began to sense that
there were others in the room. She wisely held position, however, while her Master
stroked her cheek, calming her once again.

"I'm going to make you cum now, Cheryl," he told her. "You will verbally announce your
orgasm loudly, in whatever manner you choose. Once your orgasm begins, your hood
will be removed.  You will then  open your eyes and continue to cum until I take my
hand off your cunt.  If you close your eyes, I will beat you, and you will not be permitted
to cum again."

Without waiting for a response, he shot his hand between her legs and firmly pushed
the vibrator he was holding against her spread lips, smashing her swollen clit and
abusing it even more.. Cheryl's much needed orgasm began immediately.

"Oh, God!" she screamed, as her body thrashed in the throes of the most intense
orgasm of her life.   At her first spasm, the hood was removed, and Cheryl found herself
surrounded by an audience of neighbors, acquaintances, clients and business
associates. Through her orgasmic cloud, she recognized the entire staff from her office. 
Humiliation burned through her, only causing the intensity of her climax to increase.

Through the orgasm-induced haze, she realized that the person who "bought" her at the
auction was obviously someone with detailed knowledge of her life. That realization
became altogether too real as she looked up in shock at she writhed in the throes of the
most intense orgasm she'd ever experienced!

The Charity Auction 
Chapter 6

"It's been a long time, hasn't it, Cheryl?" Cheryl's mind barely registered the face of
Craig, her stepbrother, as he forced one orgasm after another from her abused body,
until she finally and thankfully slipped into unconsciousness.

When Cheryl finally awoke, she was aware of two things: pain and immobility.  Trying to
look at her surroundings, she discovered that she was inside a small cage suspended
from the ceiling. Just large enough to contain her contorted body, it was constructed
from a frame of heavy pipes, to which chain link fencing was attached on all six sides.
Openings were set in several rather strategic places,  allowing access to her body from
outside.  She lay on her back, knees doubled back so they were pressed against the
roof of her prison, directly above her face. Her ankles were attached to the corners by
steel cables, her hands bound painfully behind her back. She was being held absolutely
immobile, totally vulnerable and completely exposed.  She could feel pressure on her
nipples, and looking down as much as her situation could allow, saw that fine steel
wires running from her own ankles were tied tightly around them, pulling them outward
and causing them to swell to an angry red color.  

"Ah, good," she heard Craig say. "Our little slut slave is awake. Now we can show her
the real surprise."

"Hello, bitch," a distantly familiar female voice whispered into Cheryl's ear. "I've been
waiting a long time for this. Payback is going to be a mother fucker for you, but I'm
going to enjoy every minute of it. You see, Cheryl, I've been following you for a long
time. I found out that you were going to be at the auction, and I asked Craig to
purchase you for me. You humiliated me, Cheryl...you ruined my life, and now I'm going
to destroy you. I'm going to take away your life and your future, like you did mine, and
turn you into the cheap, two cent whore you always were.  I'm going to break you,
bitch!"

Cheryl shuddered as the sound of Donna's quiet voice brought back visions from the
past. It was  years earlier, when Cheryl was President of the sorority to which Donna, a
nineteen year old Sophomore, was pledging. Inviting Donna to rush, it was never
intended that she be admitted to the exclusive group; they just wanted to push her
through the initiation to humiliate her. The sisters felt she was one of those stuck-up-
my-family-is-rich bitches who needed to be taken down a notch. When Donna balked at
one part of the initiation, the part where she was told she would be filmed while having
have sex with her pledge mistress, Cheryl was the first one to help hold Donna down
while a dozen brothers from the fraternity next door took turns with her.

While Donna tried to press charges, the police could find no witnesses.  Everyone who
had been present swore that Donna was a willing participant. Completely humiliated,
Donna left college soon thereafter, never to return...never to have the career she'd
been dreaming of since childhood. She'd been beaten, never to have a meaningful
relationship; always wondering what things might have been like. It weighed on Donna
like a brick around her neck. Years of psychotherapy and counseling had done helped
somewhat, but nothing could quench Donna's obsession with revenge...and now the
time was at hand. Yes, there had been others involved, but Cheryl had been the
instigator...and she'd already taken care of the men who had raped her...at least the
ones she could find. That was just business, though...Donna was going to enjoy taking
Cheryl apart, a piece at a time.

"You belong to me. Everything you own belongs to me, and before this is over, you're
going to make it legal. I'm going to break you, bitch. I'm going to fuck your life!" Donna
screamed, scratching at Cheryl's helpless body.  "You fucking bitch! You are going to
wish you were dead and in Hell before I'm done with you!!!!"

Craig quickly interceded, gently moving the sobbing Donna away and escorting her
from the room before Cheryl received much more than a few bruises from the
pummeling. The audience sat hushed, unsure of what to do. A few moments later,
Craig returned and advised everyone that Donna would be fine; that this has been a
long time coming, and she was having problems handling it at first. Then he turned to
Cheryl.

"Did you hear what Donna said about taking legal possession of everything you own,
Cheryl?" he asked. "I have a General Power of Attorney here that you are going to sign,
Cheryl. It appoints Donna as your representative for all legal and financial matters. You
see, what you thought was going to be a weekend lark is going to end up lasting the
rest of your life. Now, are you ready to sign?"

Cheryl remained silent. Even when Craig cruelly twisted her nipple, she made no
sound...only a single tear from her eye as she winced in pain.

"Well, Donna was hoping you'd not give in. I feel very sorry for you, though, Cheryl.
Even after the way you treated people, I feel sorry for you, for what is going to happen
to you now. By the way, you won't be given another opportunity to sign until Monday
morning."

Without another word, Craig went to work according to a pre-arranged plan.  First, he
took a large ball gag and forced it into Cheryl's mouth, fastening it tightly behind her
head. Next came nipple clips; not your ordinary clothes pin style, these were more like
oversized electrical alligator clips with large, sharp teeth and a strong spring, designed
to inflict unbearable pain. Cheryl's scream, though stifled by the gag, could be heard
across the cavernous room. Next came the enema. While Cheryl had sometimes used
enemas to a sexual high, she knew this one wasn't designed for her pleasure. The bag
was custom made...a full six quarts...and she knew it was going to be painful. She was
quite correct.  Craig shoved the unlubricated, penis-shaped nozzle deep into her
rectum, then hoisted the bag several feet above the top of the cage before releasing the
clamp and allowing the ice water to rush into Cheryl's bowels.

Cheryl's entire body lurched when the first wave entered her like an iron fist, causing
immediate cramping. She instinctively tried to expel the intruder, but the plug would not
budge. With her legs pressing against her chest, she could do nothing to relieve the
pressure building up inside her.  It felt as though her internal organs were being
displaced to make room for her swelling intestines; it became difficult to breathe, and
she began to break out in sweat. Cheryl felt as though her belly were going to burst
wide open...and began actually hoping it would really happen.

Finally, though, the bag was empty. Cheryl was not to find any relief, however, as Craig
simply re-attached the hose clamp and walked away.   "Okay folks, that's it for tonight.
You're all invited back tomorrow morning when we'll take the plug out and let everyone
fuck her."  Cheryl barely heard the words as she passed out in pain.

The Charity Auction
Chapter 7

What followed for Cheryl was a night of total agony, as her bowels strained to no avail
against the hard latex intruder. She kept slipping in and out of consciousness,
awakening to a sharp, spasmodic pain in her abdomen or rectum, then slipping back
into darkness as her body's only defense mechanism against the unbelievable agony  -
unconsciousness - took hold.   Each time Cheryl regained consciousness, she was
greeted by the grotesquely obscene view of herself in the mirrored ceiling. The cameras
continued to silently record everything for posterity, taping every movement, every soft
whimper Cheryl was able to emit from her tightly plugged mouth.

In another room of the house, Craig and Donna made loud, passionate love, while the
bank of monitors displayed Cheryl's feeble movements. Craig and Donna had been
lovers for several years.  It started as part of Donna's desire for revenge...a way to
discover the most secret and intimate details of Cheryl's life...but now it was much more
than that.  They were finding that they had much, much more in common than simply
the desire to break Cheryl, to cause her as much physical and emotional pain as
possible.  And, of course, there was their silent partner, who had agreed to this scheme
and helped by providing the facilities necessary to completely subjugate her hated
tormenter.  

Cheryl barely noticed several hours later when the phallic-shaped nozzle was
unceremoniously yanked from her asshole, tearing the swollen membranes on its way
out. The pressure in her bowels immediately relieved itself as filth spewed over her
body  like carbonated beverage shot from a shaken bottle. Vaguely aware of the relief
in her abdomen, Cheryl moaned quietly.  She slowly became once again aware of her
surroundings, and the other pain she felt. Twelve hours now, cramped in the tiny cage,
with her arms bound behind her. Without bothering to open the jaws, Donna pulled the
alligator clips from Cheryl's nipples, leaving wickedly painful scrape marks. She then
removed the ball gag that had been in Cheryl's mouth since the event began.

"Awwww...you have a booboo on your titties," she cooed condescendingly. "Let me fix
them for you. Oh, go ahead and scream...I want to hear you."  With that, Donna took
out a small vial of liquid and quickly poured it over Cheryl's abused breasts.  Rubbing
alcohol, Cheryl's befuddled mind registered, as it burned through her, causing her to
lurch within the confines of her small jail. She screamed, while Donna laughed cruelly.

"It's good for you, dear. It will keep your nipples from getting infected.  Or would you
rather I use a scrub brush on them to get them clean?"

Cheryl jerked her head from side to side...at least as much as she could, given that he
had no more than a single inch of movement in either direction.   "You really are a pig,
you know," Donna taunted. "Just look at yourself...naked like the whore you always
knew you were...your cunt is all red and puffy..wide open and just waiting for some stud
to stick his hard cock in it...your tits all hard and pink. If only you hadn't shit on yourself,
Cheryl...you simply need to realize that men won't fuck a slut who shits on herself. And
just think how disappointed your friends will be to find out they won't get to use your
scummy fuckhole today. I think perhaps some of them will be so pissed they might
decide to take it out on your body in other ways. Well, it's time for me to go get some
breakfast. Think about food...and what is going to happen to you...while I'm gone,
bitch." With that, Donna pushed one corner of the cage. Laughing softly, she left Cheryl
swinging helplessly in the air.

The mention of food made Cheryl realize she hadn't eaten since her light lunch the
previous day. She tried to lick her dry lips with her swollen tongue, but found that her
jaws were cramped from the ball gag. She also realized how thirsty she was...she'd
been given nothing to drink since her arrival here...and now, it became worse because
she was thinking about it.

Cheryl was deep in her dreams of cold beverages when she realized that someone was
doing something between her obscenely splayed legs. Unable to turn her head enough
to look, all she could do was try to feel what was happening.  Suddenly, though, she felt
the most intense pain she'd ever felt in her whole life! She heard Donna laugh cruelly as
she screamed in agony.

"Your cunt makes a pretty good ashtray, you know, slut? Next time, I think I'll use that
scummy-licking tongue of yours. By the way, don't think a blister or two is going to get
you out of the fucking of your life. Now, swallow, bitch!" Donna commanded, dropping
the cigarette butt into her softly moaning captive's mouth.

With the proficiency of someone well-experienced in this, Donna quickly fit a large
leather penis gag into Cheryl's mouth. As Cheryl's gag reflex started to react, Donna
simply pushed harder, slipping the tip of the gag into Cheryl's throat before fastening
the straps in place. Donna struggled against it, thrashing as much as her confines
would allow, her nostrils flaring as she tried to get enough air.   "Get used to it, sweetie,"
Donna cooed. "This is small compared to some of the cocks you're going to swallow.
Think about it for a while; I have to go take care of a few things."

Cheryl didn't have long to wait after Donna's departure before Craig appeared beside
her. Though he softly and gently stroked the side of her face through the cage opening,
she knew that he was here to abuse her once more. "Calm down, little one," he
whispered quietly. "You're going to need to relax or this will hurt even more than it's
going to anyway." Cheryl whimpered helplessly, her eyes wide and filled with fear as he
showed her the dildo in his hand. Realistically lifelike in it's shape only, it must have
been molded from a giant's member. The massive head was nearly four inches across,
and a full sixteen inches in length!!

"Donna said she wanted you to see this first, Cheryl...to see how much you're going to
take...she wants you to be afraid. I'm going to fuck you with it now, and I'm going to fuck
you hard. It's going to hurt, Cheryl, but it won't hurt as much if you just relax.  It'll help
make this evening easier for you, too, if your cunt and ass are both loosened up a bit."

Without further preparation, Craig pressed the bulbous head between Cheryl's wet
vaginal lips and leaned on it with all his weight. It entered Cheryl with a popping sound,
as the dry latex rubbed against her swollen, sensitive privates. Once again, Cheryl
screamed at the unbearable pain, fighting against it, while Craig began rapidly pistoning
the monster in and out of her bleeding sex hole. Time and time again, her latex lover
was pounded into her, bruising her cervix and causing her body to involuntarily produce
the additional lubricant that was soon glistening off both the dildo and her thighs.  But
the pain soon became too much, and Cheryl lapses into a state of semi-
consciousness, aware only of the fullness between her legs.

The Charity Auction
Chapter 8

Cheryl awoke some hours later to find herself no longer trapped inside the cage. 
Instead, she was now mounted in a kneeling position on the stage, her belly thrown
over a padded frame to hold her in position, with her legs splayed widely by the
restraints attached to her knees.  Similar shackles held her wrists in place, leaving her
abused tits to sway painfully below her like a cow's udder.  A cord woven into her hair
was attached to an overhead pulley, forcing her head to remain painfully upright and in
perfect position to be mouth-fucked.  As she was taking inventory of her situation, a
sudden, sharp pain flashed over her body as Craig let loose with a blast of ice-cold
water from a garden hose.

"Nobody's going to want to fuck you when you're covered with shit, whore," he
commented.  "Stay still so I can get you cleaned off."

She shivered and groaned as Craig adjusted the spray to a hard stream, further
irritating her already raw skin as he rinsed the dried globs of feces from her body.  He
was especially cruel with her tits and between her legs, actually shoving the end of the
nozzle inside her cunt and asshole, though reducing the force of the spray when he did
so.  It wouldn't do to permanently injure the slave...yet.  A final rinse, and he was
finished, leaving her to shiver in misery while the cool air slowly dried her.

Cheryl didn't have to wait long before she heard the room filling up with yesterday's
"guests."  The first to take her was her administrative assistant.  She'd always selected
males for that job, because the thought of a man being subservient to her gave her an
extreme sense of power.  Now, though, it was her turn to be the subservient one.

"Get me hard, cunt," her former employee commanded, wagging his flaccid penis in
front of her face.  "And don't even think about biting me.  Craig has assured me he'll
knock your teeth out if I so much as feel a scrape."

She took him in her mouth, praying that she could keep her teeth from touching him as
she sucked his cock.  He quickly grew hard, and pulled out.  Taking a position behind
her, he then positioned his saliva-covered penis at the entrance to her asshole and
pushed, ripping the last vestige of virginity from Cheryl.  Ruthlessly he slammed deep
into her bowels, finally spewing his hot semen deep inside her lower intestines.  Cheryl
was then forced to use her mouth to clean the weapon she'd just been raped with,
gagging at the combined taste of semen, shit and blood, while another took her former
assistant's place behind her.

The evening was a nightmare of penetration for Cheryl.  By the time it was over, she'd
taken well over 100 loads of cum in her ass and cunt, not to mention all the women
present who had strapped on their own dildos and fucked her to oblivion.  She'd lavishly
licked cleaned every dick, every dildo, every hand and finger that had penetrated her,
and then had been strapped to a Sybian and been ruthlessly machine-fucked for over
three hours, until she finally passed out from the nearly continuous orgasms that had
been forced upon her.  Then, when she woke up, the entire ordeal began over again.

By the end of the weekend, Cheryl knew what Hell was like, because she'd visited it
over and over again. Not having been given a morsel to eat, her only nutrition was from
the liquids she'd sucked from those using her. She'd been fucked raw; her labia were
swollen and chaffed, her rectum torn and bleeding.  The guests finally departed and
Cheryl was placed back in her cage, which was then raised and hung from the ceiling. 
Finally, she was allowed to rest, and dozed off into an exhausted stupor.

Craig and Donna returned the next morning to find Cheryl begging for water.  She
quietly sobbed, offering to do anything for just a sip of cold, delicious water.  

"Are you ready to sign your life over to me, bitch?" Donna cruelly asked.

"Yes, Mistress," the slave girl croaked.  Craig and Donna shared a smiling glance. 
They'd beaten her, broken the haughty bitch.   She was theirs. Before allowing Cheryl's
cage down, Donna gave it one last spin, watching in evil glee as the motion set Cheryl's
stomach into fits of rage, causing her to retch. She would have vomited, had there been
anything in her stomach to expel, but it had been three days without food or water...the
very brink of where dehydration becomes near-fatal.

Craig slowly lowered the cage to the floor, releasing the clamps holding the sides
together, and letting them fall. Cheryl, her arms still painfully bound behind her, slowly
rolled to the side, her cramped legs unable to stretch, while Donna made quick work of
the wrist restraints. There, in the dried urine and feces, they left Cheryl to lay, giving
time for her muscles to begin to respond.

Cheryl slowly began to regain feeling in her appendages...feeling that was all pain, as
the blood began to flow freely through her. She felt as though her entire body was on
fire, and began to slowly rock back and forth, moaning softly.

"Cheryl," Donna quietly asked, "you belong to me. You are my slave now, aren't you?"

"Yes, Mistress," Cheryl replied through swollen tongue and cracked lips, barely
conscious.

"Cheryl, take my cigarette and swallow it," she ordered, smiling contentedly as she
placed the burning ember on her slut's tongue and watched while she swallowed. 
Gleefully, she told Craig to take care of what needed to be done, then walked out of the
room. Craig gently took Cheryl in his arms and carried her into an adjacent  bathroom.
Setting her carefully down on the floor, he handed her a glass of water before starting
to run water into the tub. Cheryl gratefully gulped the water down, holding the glass out
and silently begging for more. Rather than complying with her unspoken request, Craig
took the glass from her hand, then lifted her up into the oversized tub.

Cheryl, too weak to scream, only gasped as the hot water contacted her bruised,
scraped and sore-covered body. Laying in the cage for three days, covered with her
own filth for much of that time, her skin was raw in spots.  Craig, using a soft bristle
brush and disinfectant soap, didn't make her feel any better as he scrubbed at the dried
shit, the hardened cum, the open sores.  Careful to keep her head above water, Craig
continued the painful, yet necessary, work while Cheryl slipped in and out of
consciousness again. Once done, he simply allowed the tub to drain and left the
sleeping woman in place.

Cheryl awoke feeling sore, but better. Unknown to her, her physician (who had been in
the audience) had arrived while she was sleeping, and, while rehydrating her
intravenously, had injected her with antibiotics, vitamins and a pain reliever. Also
unknown to her were the two narcotics...neither of which would have an effect if used
alone...but together, had an extremely addictive, long-term mind-altering effect, causing
the user to become very submissive... sometimes to the point of having to be told to do
things as simple as breathe. The one other peculiarity about the drug was that the user
retained knowledge of their unmedicated personality...which could still fight against
what he or she was being told to do...but never, ever successfully.  Donna wanted
Cheryl to understand how obscene everything she was going to be forced to do was.

The act of moving about in the dry tub caused the overhead infrared sensor to send a
signal that she was awake. Craig arrived a moment later, and helped the drugged yet
fully awake girl to the floor. Slipping a choke chain collar over her head, he took the
leash in his hand and ordered her to follow him.   This time, he allowed her to walk, but
soon she would know better.

The Charity Auction 
Chapter 9

Craig led Cheryl down the serpentine hallways of the old estate, finally bringing her
back to the room in which she'd been so badly mistreated.  Though still frightened, she
breathed a sigh of relief to see that the cage was no longer present. Entering the room,
a tug on the leash stopped her in front of Donna. Craig firmly pulled down on the leash,
until Cheryl's head was on the floor between Donna's feet.

"I think my feet need washing, don't you, slut?" Donna asked in a condescending voice.
"Untie my shoes with your teeth, slut, then remove them from my feet. Don't get any
teeth marks on them, unless perhaps you'd like another taste of the cage." Without a
word, Cheryl's swollen and chapped lips went to work on Donna's black leather heels,
carefully tugging them off while trying to keep her teeth out of the way. She then began
lapping at Donna's feet, using her tongue on the filthy soles and sucking on each dirty
toe individually, while Donna casually smacked her exposed back and shoulders with
her crop. Cheryl could taste the dirt and manure from Donna's barefoot walk through
the newly-fertilized garden just moments ago, but managed to avoid retching.  She was
being too easy, her mistress thought.  Next time she'd have to dip her toes in fresh dog
shit first.  Donna leaned back and signed in blissful relaxation as her new slave's
tongue worked in and out between her toes.  Finally tiring of the game, she planted a
foot on the naked girl's shoulder and sent her sprawling across the room..

"Come here, slut," Craig then commanded. Cheryl complied immediately, crawling on
all fours to Craig. She began to use his teeth on his laces, assuming that she was to
wash his feet as well. Instead, Craig grabbed her by the hair and forced her mouth
down over his already throbbing cock.

"Just kneel there, bitch," he commanded as she started to suck.  "I don't need to cum, I
need to take a leak."

Even in her current state, the words registered with Cheryl and she started to pull away. 
A tug on the leash, though, tightened her choke chain and forced her head back to her
stepbrother's crotch.  She sat there motionless, his flaccid cock resting on her tongue.

"This is something I've wanted to do since we first met, stepsister," Craig commented
sweetly.  "Now, I'm going to relieve myself in your mouth.  I want you to swallow every
drop.  If you don't, you'll go back into the cage for another three days."

Cheryl gulped as quickly as she could, doing her best to avoid gagging as Craig's urine
filled her mouth with a rancid, acidic flavor.  It was a taste she would become very
intimate with, and one which would eventually cause quivers of passion deep inside her
cunt.

"Are you ready to submit, slut?" Donna asked.

"Yes, Mistress," was Cheryl's weak reply.

"Slut, I'd like you to meet my attorney, whom you will refer to as MasterPleasefuckme
and your new physician, whom you will refer to as MasterPleasebeatme. This other
gentleman is a judge, and you will call him MasterPleasemayicum. You will obey them
as you do me. Is that understood, slut?""Yes, Mistress."

"Slut, go introduce yourself to my friends."

Cheryl crawled to the first man, lowering her head and gently kissing his mirror-shined
wingtips.

"Master Pleasefuckme, I am Mistress Donna's slut. How may I serve you?"

"Kneel on the table, slut...ass towards me and legs spread," he answered coldly.

Acknowledging the order with a "Yes, Master," Cheryl hesitantly climbed onto the large
oak conference table. Carefully positioning herself, she backed towards the attorney
until her knees were at the edge.

"Farther apart, slut," he commanded, pushing her knees apart until her cunt was very
nearly touching the table. "Put your head on the table and spread your fuckholes open
with your hands, slut."

Cheryl reached back and spread her cheeks as far apart as possible, exposing her
swollen gash and abused rectum. At his command, she raised her knees, so she was
bent forward with her feet on the table, lewdly and uncomfortably displayed, like a
human tripod. Her legs trembled uncontrollably as she strained to hold position, while
the attorney explored her vaginal and anal openings with his hands.

While she braced her uncomfortably splayed legs, the man behind her began to
forcefully thrust his fingers between her obscenely spread labia, spreading her vaginal
hole wider and wider.

"You've never been fist-fucked, have you, slut?" he asked.

"N-  no...ugh...Mas..ugh...ter," Cheryl replied, her answer interrupted by the pistoning
of his hand, now nearly fully inside her.

"Beg me to do it, slut," he commanded.

"Pl...ease...Mas..ter...do...it! AGGGGGHHH!" she screamed as his other hand, holding
Donna's riding crop, came crashing down full force across her ass."Do it correctly, slut.
Tell me exactly what you want me to do!"

"Mas...ter...please...fist...fuck...my...cunt!"

"Well, if you insist, slut," he grinned, bracing his arm and pushing his full weight against
the hand assaulting Cheryl.

His hand entered her with a slurping pop, and Cheryl was suddenly impaled on his
wrist. He took full advantage, opening and closing his hand, and lifting her ass higher by
simply raising his arm. Cheryl began to tremble...her whole body this
time...uncontrollably as she felt his hand filling her in a manner she'd never experienced
before. Suddenly, though, before she could achieve her own fulfillment, he pulled out of
her and let her collapse on the table.

"Clean it," she was commanded, as the wet hand was thrust in her face.  Obediently,
she licked and sucked her own juices off him, not stopping until she was told to.

Almost immediately, Donna reminded her that there were still two men whom she
hadn't introduced herself to. She dropped to the floor and crawled to the next one.

"Master Pleasebeatme, I am Mistress Donna's slut. How may I serve you?" she
repeated.

"Hello, slut," he replied, grinning like a seventeen year old who just got laid. "Donna, if
you don't mind...I'd like to reserve my time for later?  What I have in mind is going to
take at least a full weekend."

"Anytime, dear," Donna replied.

Cheryl crawled to the final guest, repeating her prepared statement as she kissed his
shoes.

"Cheryl, stand on the table and give yourself an orgasm," he ordered. He instructed her
when and where to put her fingers...whether it was tweaking her erect nipples, softly
and gently stroking her nether lips, or forcing her own fingers up her ass. The entire
time, she was required to keep her eyes focused on his...as though no other person
existed...because for this moment, she was a sexual marionette...masturbating herself
while he pulled her strings.

"STOP!" he ordered, just as she was getting close. "You take too long.  Forget it...let's
leave you like this for a while and see if it helps your obedience a bit. Anyway, it's
getting late and there is a lot to be done yet."

"After watching Cheryl this afternoon," the doctor spoke, "I'm not sure she's competent
enough to be on her own. When you consider her actions here today, I'm sure she's
incompetent, and am willing to sign a statement to that effect."

"Yes, but then you'd need to find a guardian. Unless....Donna?" the attorney grinned.

The attorney quickly produced the necessary documents, the doctor signed a statement
attesting to Cheryl's incompetence, and the judge quickly appointed Donna her
guardian, with full authority over her.  

"I think to celebrate this," Donna said gleefully, "perhaps we could have the slut's name
changed while we're at it? Oh, I know it has to be printed in the paper to be legal...but
won't that be fun? Seeing the slut's old and new names there at the same time?"

As quickly as Donna spoke, they started discussing possible names: slut, cunt, slave,
whore, tits, fuck...before Donna finally settled it.

"Slut, your new name is Tulsa, but we'll probably just continue to call you slut, or
perhaps bitch or girl...if it's anything like that, you'll know it's you." Donna giggled as
"Tulsa" seemed a bit bewildered at her new name. The bitch hasn't figured out yet what
her new name spells backwards, Donna thought.

"Yes, Mistress," Cheryl/Tulsa replied quietly.

"Now, don't you think you should properly thank everyone for today, slut?," Donna
inquired. "Position yourself on the floor, like the bitch you are...waiting for some stud to
fuck you."

Cheryl, already on all fours, raised her ass as high into the air as she could, spreading
her legs until her inflamed cunt and asshole were fully exposed to view. The cool air
from the air conditioning blowing on her swollen labia caused her to shiver. Someone
moved behind her, and she braced for the expected penetration...but only felt the sharp
prick of a needle being thrust into the back of her thigh...and then darkness falling over
her.

Charity Auction 
Chapter 10

Tulsa slowly awoke from her drug-induced sleep, unaware that it had been a full six
weeks since her last abuse at the hands of her tormenters.  The first thing she noticed
was the dull ache throughout her body, followed by the fact that she was completely
immobile.  Leather restraints on her ankles were chained to the lower corners of the
bed, and her wrists were likewise secured to the bedframe at her hips.  A strap under
her breasts prevented her from raising her torso, and surgical tape held her forehead
down, rendering her completely unable to move.  Her mind began to clear, and the
horrors of her mistreatment came rushing back.

"Ah, you're awake, slut.  Too bad for you, I suppose, but not that I mind," the voice of
the doctor said.  "You've been weaned off the mind-altering drugs we gave you earlier;
your Mistress wanted you to be fully aware of what has happened to you."   The doctor,
Craig and Donna all appeared in her line of vision.

"Hello, fuckface.  Remember me?" Donna cruelly grinned.  "You've been out for a
while...over a month, as a matter of fact, while my doctor friend made a few
modifications to your body.  Since you're now a slut - MY slut - I decided you should
look like one.  Craig, would you be so kind as to release her head so she can see her
new body?"

"Certainly, dear," he replied, ripping the tape unmercifully from Tulsa's head while the
doctor pulled the white sheet off her, exposing her naked body.  

What was left of Cheryl screamed when she saw what had been done to her.  She'd
been transformed into an obscene caricature of the female body, a cross between a
Barbie doll and Jessica Rabbit!  Huge tits...that's the only word she could think of...and
why did the word "tits" make her so hot?  Tiny waist, like you'd expect on a 12-year-old,
and a hairless pussy.  Like a tiny electric shock, she quivered when she thought of the
word "pussy."

"Oh, dear, get over it," Donna exclaimed.  "Besides, those knockers of yours are the
least of it.  Yes, you're now a 52EEE, but don't worry...they're real.  No silicone for you
to worry about, isn't that nice?  We can stick all sorts of pins in your chest without you
worrying about breaking your bags.  Want to hear about the other changes, slut?"

Tulsa felt another small spasm as Donna used the word "slut."  What the hell was
happening to her?

"You now have a 20" waist," Craig said, taking over the dissertation.  "Doc here did a
little bone surgery...I don't understand all the details, and don't really want to know how
he did it...but you should now be able to wrap your ankles behind your head without any
problem.  Of course, you won't be able to stand flat-footed any more, at least not
without pain, so it's nothing but high-heels for you from now on.  That's another little
modification the good Doctor made for you."

Tulsa began sobbing at what had been done to her, but at the same time, was
becoming more and more excited at the changes to her body.  

"Oh, come, come, Tulsa," the doctor tisked at the girl's quiet sobbing...smirking as
Tulsa's spasms gave evidence to two small orgasms.  "Your mistress has simply
molded you into the wanton slut you've always wanted to be."

"Yes, Doctor, but tell her about the really exciting part," Donna prodded.

"No, dear, I think a demonstration would have a better effect.  Let the  slut come"...he
paused as Tulsa had another orgasm..."to the realization that she's nothing but a hot-
cunted whore, three holes and a tongue to be used by anyone who wants to use her as
a cum receptacle." At each nasty word, Tulsa felt herself getting wetter and wetter, the
hospital bed beneath her already soaked in the juices leaking from her cunt.

"I think the cunt is too stupid to understand, Doctor," Donna replied.  "Maybe you'd
better explain it to the little slave bitch."  Tulsa squirmed in her bonds as her Mistress
referred to her in such vulgar terms.  Why was she getting so excited from this verbal
abuse?

"Okay.  Perhaps she is that stupid, or maybe that hole between her legs is affecting her
thinking.  Slut, you've been here for almost two months.  In that time, not only has your
body been molded into that of a slut, but your mind, too.  Every time someone refers to
you degradingly, every time you hear, speak or think of a word like cunt, whore, slut or
ass, that nasty fuckhole of yours will begin leaking.  Whenever you hear the word
cum..."  The doctor patiently waited for another orgasm to subside..."whatever the
meaning, regardless of the location or from who you hear it...you will have an orgasm. 
When your Mistress says that word...well, I think another demonstration due, don't
you?" he asked, looking over at Donna.

"Tulsa, cum!" her owner ordered, and an orgasm washed over the bound girl; an
orgasm so strong that she appeared to those in the room to be having a seizure.  She
pulled at her bonds, screaming as wave after wave of painful pleasure washed over
her, her body covered in beads of sweat as the stain on the sheet beneath her began to
spread.  

"Donna," the Doctor commented quietly after three minutes had passed, "I think that's
enough.  Any longer and she's liable to have a stroke."

"Tulsa...Quiet, girl!"  Donna commanded, and Tulsa's spasms quickly subsided, leaving
the soaked girl panting and completely drained of strength.

"You see, slut, it's a bit different when your Mistress tells you to cum," the Doctor
explained, watching patiently while another orgasm washed over her.  "When she uses
that word, you won't be able to stop until she tells you to. With everyone else, you'll just
have a quick orgasm.  Oh...one more thing, if your Mistress tells you you're not allowed
to cum, you'll find that you won't be able to, no matter how hard you try.  Do you
understand, slut?"

"Yes, Master," the bound slave babbled.

"Good, Tulsa, because you've just had your last orgasm for a very long while," Donna
mentioned offhandedly.  "From now on, you are not permitted to cum, though you will
become extremely horny every time you hear someone use that word.  Your cunt will
immediately start dripping and your nipples will become hard, but you will not be able to
cum.  Understand, cunt?"

"Yes, Mistress," Tulsa sobbed, knowing instinctively that Donna could very well prevent
her from every having an orgasm again.  Just the knowledge of that fact increased her
humiliation, and therefore, her need.

Charity Auction
Chapter 11

The clinic at which Tulsa was receiving her "treatment" was designed for one purpose:
the transformation of willing or unwilling female "guests" into totally submissive,
obedient sex slaves.  Located on an island off the coast of South America, the owner
maintained an agreement with the country in whose costal waters the small island
stood.  In return for a rather substantial annual donation, as well as help "re-educating"
the female family members of his opponents, the country's corrupt President ensured
the institution was permitted to continue its research unfettered.

It actually was a research facility, too, conducting any number of clinical trials with
neither the restrictions nor governmental oversight which would have been faced inside
the United States.  Much of the work performed on Tulsa's body, for example, would not
have been permitted elsewhere.  

For instance, her breast augmentation - from a rather modest 34B to her now-obscene
52EEE - did not involve traditional implants of any sort.  Instead, using a procedure
developed at the clinic, tissue (mostly fat) was removed from her waist and elsewhere,
augmented with a variety of growth hormones, liquified, and injected directly into her
tits.  The end result was unnaturally large, yet firm, breasts that could withstand all sorts
of abuse without the risk of rupturing that silicone implants carried.  Tulsa's tits, while
not naturally formed, were totally natural.  Likewise, the surgery which forced her feet
into a constantly pointed position, requiring her to wear nothing but heels from now on,
wasn't exactly FDA approved, either.  Nor were any of the other, lesser operations that
had, and would in the future, further modify her appearance.

Tulsa was far from the only patient at the clinic, nor were all the others undergoing
various procedures slaves.  About half those receiving treatment were there of their
own accord, mostly for any of a variety of age-reducing or body-enhancing procedures. 
Two of those were actually quite wealthy women who, each having recently discovered
her submissive tendencies, were undergoing procedures similar in nature, yet not as
extreme as Tulsa's, then to be returned to their husbands as slaves.

The 30 or so slaves in residence, in addition to their own medical operations and
training, existed to serve the clinic's staff and non-slave patients.  In Tulsa's case, this
meant becoming the primary caretaker to an 80-something woman who was receiving
experimental treatment for advanced Alzheimer's.  Unfortunately for Tulsa, the drugs
given the woman made her both extremely horny and incontinent.  It seemed to Tulsa
that when she wasn't lapping the old woman to orgasm, she was emptying the bedpan
and washing shit off her old, wrinkled ass.

Of course, her days consisted of more than bedpans and octogenarian pussy.  She had
her own training to attend, and she was, after all, a sex slave.  Just because she
couldn't cum (her Mistress hadn't released her from that restriction yet), didn't mean she
didn't juice up nicely.  Nor did it mean that the staff and other patients couldn't take
advantage of her status.  On average, Tulsa took at least ten loads of cum in her
various holes each day.  Each time she was used, her performance was graded. 
Anything less than perfect performance, and she was punished.  This usually meant a
beating, but sometimes other methods of "correction" were used.

Once, for example, she fell asleep in the middle of a 48 hour rape session.  As
punishment, she was given a one gallon ice water enema, then with her ass was
plugged and she was forced to use her cunt and mouth to bring every staff member and
patient, whether slave or free, to orgasm before the plug was removed. This took over
twelve hours for the slave to accomplish.  Another time, her teeth accidently grazed the
cock of a man who was fucking her throat, and her punishment was to serve as the
facility's urinal.  Bound helplessly in a kneeling position, her mouth held open with a
rubber O ring, her only nourishment for three days was the acrid urine and occasional
load of semen deposited down her throat.

It was a full four months before Donna returned to the clinic.  By then, Tulsa's mind and
body were both completely transformed.  The once self-assured attorney had been
reduced to a quivering, totally submissive, obedient and sexually frustrated piece of
fuck meat.

Her abnormally huge, yet firm and extremely 52EEE breasts were now marked by
permanently erect nipples, which were themselves, further adorned with solid titanium
rings, two inches in diameter.  The tissue in her new udders were such that she was
able to be hung by her tit rings without damage to her body.   The remainder of her
body hair, with the sole exception of her eyelashes, had been permanently removed by
now.  A wig would be necessary if she were to have any semblance of a human being. 
Her waist had been further reduced to a mere fourteen inches, further exaggerating her
new chest, by removal of the lower two ribs on each side of her body and the rather
inventive relocation of a few internal organs. The slave's new measurements were a
caricature of a Barbie doll: 52EEE-14-36.

Other physical changes did not involve actual surgery.  Due to the constant presence of
a butt plug, her asshole was a constantly open hole; small enough that anyone taking
her up the ass would find it snug and enjoyable, but loose enough that without the plug,
she'd shit herself.  Then there were the mental changes.  Cheryl no longer existed.  In
her place was Tulsa...a slut, a slave.

"Well, bitch, it looks like you've taken well to your new life.  Not that it really matters,
anyway, though I would have preferred it if you hadn't adapted so quickly.  I would have
liked to see you suffer more," Donna said, looking down at the quivering form groveling
at her feet.  

"I still haven't decided what to do with you yet.  I could probably use a slave around the
house, but I doubt that you'd be worth the bother.  Maybe I'll just sell you.  I should be
able to get some of my investment back, particularly if I sell you to one of those Asian
BDSM whorehouses I've heard about.  Or I could make you a movie star.  How would
you like that, cunt?  To be the star in your own snuff movie?  To get fucked to death on
film?  Doesn't that sound delicious, slut?  You may answer, but do so respectfully and
at your own peril if you say something I don't like."

"Mistress, please keep your slave," Tulsa sobbed.  "It promises to be the most perfect
and obedient slave in every way.  Please, Mistress!"

"You claim you'll be completely submissive and absolutely obedient?"

"Oh, yes, Mistress!" the slave girl gushed.  "If only permitted to serve you, it will be the
most perfect and obedient slave in the world.  It will obey your every command, without
question or hesitation."

"Okay, prove it, bitch," spat Donna.  "I want you to burn your clitoris off with that," she
said, pointing to a soldering iron smoldering on the workbench on the far wall.  "You've
not had an orgasm in over four months, and by your own hand, you will ensure you
never have one again.  You like that idea, slut?"

"Mistress, what the slave likes is of no consequence.  Its Owner has given it a
command, and it will obey," she said quietly as she crawled quickly to the work bench. 
She squatted with her legs splayed obscenely, taking the iron in her hand.  Knowing
that the result of her next action was to permanently prevent herself from achieving the
release she'd been longing for the past four months, she nonetheless smiled brightly at
her Mistress.  The glowing rod sizzled as the juices dripping from her soon-to-be
mutilated slit dripped onto it.  She moved to hot tool slowly towards her target, not out of
fear or hesitation, but in order to prolong her own agony and give her Mistress as much
pleasure as possible.  Maintaining her smile, she winced slightly but perceptively, as the
tip of the tool touched her inner labia.

"Stop," Tulsa's Mistress commanded.  "How dare you damage MY property!  A slave
girl without a clit is only worth half as much as with one.  I have no intent of losing any
more money than I have to on you.  Get your scummy little slut body over here, bitch!"

Tulsa scampered as fast as she could on hands and knees, ignoring the searing pain
from the severe self-inflicted burn on her labium.  Kneeling obediently at her Mistresses
feet, she listened carefully as Donna gave her new instructions.

At a wave of her Mistress's hand, Tulsa crawled on her belly to a toolbox located under
the workbench.  From it she removed two needle-nosed vice grips, a leather punch, and
a padlock.  She took these items and crawled to the center of the room, where a mirror
had been propped up on a small stand.  Sitting on her ass, she raised her legs off the
ground and carefully attached the vice grips to each of her outer cunt lips.  Once
attached, she rose to her knees, allowing her new jewelry to dangle lewdly between her
legs.  

"Stand," her Mistress commanded, and the slave obeyed, leaving her legs at shoulder
width and allowing the pliers to swing slightly with each breath.  She remained as
motionless as possible for the next two hours, while the weight of the tools slowly
stretched her lips.  Finally, Donna decided they were long enough, and ordered the
slave girl to continue.

Tulsa first removed the vice grips, then laid back and poured a bottle of rubbing alcohol
over her abused cunt, screaming at the intense pain.  After a few moments, she used
one of the vice grips to stretch her left cunt lip out as far as it would go,  then used the
leather punch to force a hole cleanly through her labia.  When both sides were done,
she threaded the padlock through the two holes and locked her own pussy shut.

"From now on, anyone can use your mouth or asshole, but only those who I give the
key to may fuck your slutty cunt.  And when I say anyone, I do mean anyone.  I don't
care if I've given them permission to use you or not, if anyone makes a pass at you, at
any time, you will put out.  If they ask why your fuckhole is locked, you'll tell them that
they have to get your Mistress's permission before they can fuck you.  Understand?"

"It understands, Mistress," Tulsa replied quietly, not quite holding back a tear from the
intense pain emanating from between her legs.  "Anyone who wishes to use its asshole
or mouth is welcome to do so, but only those who Mistress allows to have the key may
fuck its cunt."

"I'm glad you understand, bitch.  By the way, everyone on the island already has a key
to your cunt.  But now, what do we do about a stupid slave cunt who tries to damage
her Mistress's property?  Shouldn't it be punished for doing something like that?"

"Yes, Mistress," Tulsa replied. "It deserves whatever punishment its Mistress deems
appropriate."

"All right, then.  I think another year without orgasms, along with a nice beating and a
few more modifications to your slutty body are in order, don't you agree, slut?

"Mistress, it accepts whatever its Owner deems appropriate as punishment for its
misbehavior," the slave girl replied, inwardly terrified at the thought of not being able to
have an orgasm for another full year.

"It doesn't really matter whether you accept it or not, bitch," Donna spat.  "I'll do
whatever I want to do with you.  If I decide to cut off your clit, burn your eyes out, or kill
you, I will.  You are nothing to me but a thing...not even a person...just a thing with a
cunt that I can do anything I want to with."

"It understands, Mistress," Tulsa replied quietly, her head bowed in submission.

"Not that it maters, but good.  Now, I have to really pee, but I'm afraid I don't feel like
getting up to find the restroom.  Do you have any ideas, cunt?"  Smiling, the slave girl
leaned forward and cupped her mouth firmly over her Mistress's cunt.

Charity Auction
Chapter 12

That night, Tulsa received the worst beating of her life.  She was strung up by her
nipple rings, her toes barely touching the ground, and whipped with a bullwhip, a riding
crop, and a bamboo switch.  Each time she passed out from the pain, icy water was
dumped on her naked, bleeding body.  From the soles of her feet to the top of her bald
head, her body was a mass of whip marks, welts and bleeding stripes.  Not a square
inch of her body was spared - even her face was covered in welts.  She was forced to
spread herself with her fingers so her abusers could focus their blows directly on her
asshole and cunt.  They finished up by working her over with fists and boots.  By the
time Tulsa's punishment beating was over, she had several broken ribs, a fractured
nose, both earlobes sliced nearly in half, and a piece of her labia missing.  Thanks to
the drugs she'd been injected with prior to the beating, she felt every little bit of pain
associated with it.  She would be given no relief, no anaesthetic during her
reconstructive surgery, no pain killers to relieve the agony she was in.  

Tulsa spent the next month in recovery, having minor operations to repair the damage
done to her body.  While the doctors were working on her nose, they modified her facial
structure slightly, giving her a younger, sexier appearance.  Her labium, both inner and
outer, were slightly lengthened, as was her clitoris.  And, finally, a small grommet was
inserted in her nasal septum, allowing the attachment of a ring by which she could be
led.

Once Tulsa's recovery ended, her training resumed.  Now, though, her indoctrination
focused more on the skills that would be found useful in a slave, rather than being
designed to simply humiliate and degrade her.  Tulsa and several other slaves at the
clinic were taught such valuable topics as cooking, bartending, the intricacies of a
formal social function, and erotic dancing.  Six months later, Tulsa could plan a party for
50, cook a gourmet meal for them, mix drinks and give a lap dance.

Of course, Tulsa's other duties still waited for her.  The 80-year-old still required nearly
hourly care, though it appeared the treatments were beginning to work somewhat.  The
old hag wasn't nearly as incontinent, but seemed to need her attendant's tongue
considerably more often.  And, of course, she was still made available to other patients
and staff.  She just wasn't used as much as she had earlier, which was probably a good
thing for her.  It was difficult enough to concentrate and learn what was being taught;
being constantly fucked while still unable to cum would have made it nearly impossible.

Being forbidden to have the orgasm which she so desperately needed only served to
motivate Tulsa to perform to an extreme.  Hopefully, someday soon, her Mistress would
return and release her from this horrid restriction.  Constantly horny, a sheen of
moisture was always visible on her bald cunt.  Juices dripped down her thighs as she
performed her daily activities, and the clinic had taken to having her sleep on a
rubberized sheet, rather than having to replace saturated mattresses every day or two.  

She was forced to perform at the weekly tours by prospective clients, telling her life
story while she tried unsuccessfully to achieve orgasm, diddling herself with any
manner of objects, displaying her modified body, and submitting to the most degrading
commands of the visitors.  Her body was poked, prodded, and abused by hundreds of
people over the months, in the process taking gallons of semen and urine in each of her
holes.  

Finally, the day came when her Mistress returned to the clinic.

"Hello, slut.  I hope you've had an enjoyable time here," she said sarcastically.  "I've
come to a conclusion about your future.  Would you like to hear it?"

"Mistress, what it wants or likes is of no concern to anyone, Mistress.  It is only a piece
of meat, to obey and serve," recited the naked, hairless figure kneeling in front of her.

"This is true, but I still want you to know.  I've thought a lot about keeping you as my
personal slave.  It would be nice to have someone to serve my every need, to use as a
toilet when I'm too tired to walk to the bathroom, to keep my home clean and spotless,
but I've decided you would be more bother than I need right now.  I've decided to sell
you outright.  

"Tonight, you will perform for a very select group of men and women.  You will obey
their every wish, and you will be perfect.  Tomorrow, you will go home with one of them. 
I should warn you, though, that one of your prospective buyers is a producer of snuff
films.  If he buys you, you'll undoubtedly end up being fucked to death on film, which will
then be sold around the world.  At least one of the others runs a breeding stable.  If you
get sent there, you'll spend your days being inseminated with a basting bulb and
pumping out babies to be sold on the black market.  Since these particular people don't
generally bid very high, it's important for you to show how perfect a slave you can be. 
Then, perhaps, you'll end up as a personal slave to some wealthy man or woman, or as
a bondage whore in a BDSM establishment...but either of those has got to be better
than becoming a baby factory or ending up dead, don't you think?"

"Mistress," the slave responded, "What it thinks or wants is of no consequence.  It will
perform to its upmost, because its Mistress has so commanded.  It wishes only to
please, and to earn its Mistress as much money as possible."

"Good.  Now, let's see what you've learned," Donna said smiling, motioning towards her
own crotch.

Tulsa was put through her paces all morning long, using her talented tongue to give her
Mistress several orgasms.  Her mouth was once again used as a urinal, and her tongue
as toilet paper after Donna visited the bathroom.  Tulsa had been taught to eat shit, but
that particular aspect of abuse did nothing but cause Donna's stomach to turn.  The
slave prepared her Mistress's lunch to show her cooking skills, and afterwards, gave
Donna a massage and body wash with her tongue.  Shortly after noon, Donna sent her
to her room, telling her to clean up and get some rest, because she'd need it.

Charity Auction
Chapter 13

"Time to go get sold, slut," a voice called out, awakening Tulsa from her restless,
dream-filled slumber.  She rolled off the bed and assumed a kneeling position at the
man's feet, raising her head so he could snap a leash onto her collar.

"Up and turn," he said, handing her a pair of impossibly high seven inch platform shoes
with seven inch spiked heels.  Tulsa took the shoes in her hand and then turned to face
away from him.  "Put the shoes on," she was told, bending at the waist and spreading
her feet slightly as she obeyed.  Returning to her upright, standing position, she awaited
his next command.  

"Bend and spread," she heard, automatically bending forward at the waist until her bare
back was parallel to the ground, simultaneously using her hands to pull her ass cheeks
painfully apart, revealing the interior of both her lower holes.  She winced as her butt
plug was unceremoniously yanked from its home, and then moaned in pain as a new,
wider and longer one was forced into place.

"Your new plug has some interesting features, slut," the man said.  "We're going to be
going outside in a few minutes, and I want to show you what will happen if you try to run
away or do anything else stupid."  With that, he pressed a button on the tiny remote he
carried.  Tulsa immediately responded, as the high voltage, low amperage current bit
into the tender tissues of her bowels, attacking the sensitive nerve endings.  Howling in
pain unlike any she'd ever experienced to this point, she collapsed as the electric
pulses overwhelmed her nervous system, leaving her in a quivering heap on the floor.

"A rather nice modification of Taser technology, wouldn't you say?"  It took Tulsa a few
seconds to realize her abuser was expecting an answer.

"Yes, Master," she sobbed, getting to her knees.

"We used to use cattle prods, but discovered too late that they aren't all that safe.  It
cost us a lot of money to replace the two slaves we lost that way.  This technology,
though, is perfectly safe...the same stuff the police use.  Now, to your feet, slut."

Leading his charge out of the building, they exited at a trot onto a sand-covered beach
bordered on one side by ocean, and the other side by palm trees. Tottering on the
unfamiliar shoes, attempting to run in the soft sand, was a difficult task for Tulsa,
causing a sheen of sweat to quickly form.  Birds of various types called out to each
other, while the warm tropical breeze brushed seductively over the naked slave's skin. 
Not having been outdoors since her arrival on the island, Tulsa slowed slightly as she
took in the sights, sounds and smells.

"Quit lollygagging, cunt!" her escort scolded, jerking the leash so hard that the slave lost
her balance and landed on the warm sand.  "It's not a good idea to be late for your own
auction.  Matter of fact, it's a very bad idea.  It puts everyone in a foul mood, and you
really wouldn't want that, believe me.  But, since you seem to want to take a break, just
stay there on the ground while I tell you about the last little cunt who was late for her
auction."  The escort squatted down next to the panting slave and casually lit a
cigarette.

"She was a cute little vixen, quite a bit younger than you, in her early 20's.  Young,
dumb and full of cum, as the saying goes.  Her owner wanted her to be extremely horny
at her auction, figuring she'd be more responsive to her prospective buyers and garner
a higher price that way.  So, she'd been 'warmed up' by a couple of other slave girls
who were told to get her as close to orgasm as possible, but not allow her to cum.  They
did their jobs very well, and she was willing to do anything for a fuck.

"Unfortunately for her, a new trainer was assigned as her escort.  She was able to
seduce him...right about where we are this moment, as a matter of fact.  Her escort
raped her several times, and when they finally got to the auction house, she was over
an hour late.  It was clear to everyone that she'd not only gotten fucked, but that she'd
disobeyed her Master and had several orgasms.

"The trainer was immediately fired.  He wasn't even permitted to return to his quarters
for his personal belongings; he was taken directly to the airstrip and flown off the island. 
His property was shipped to him later.  The slave girl, however, didn't fair nearly as well. 
After her initial beating, which lasted something like five hours, she was put in the hole
until her final punishment could be scheduled.  I know you've heard of the hole, but no
matter what horror stories you've heard, nothing can match the reality of it.

"Imaging a completely dark cell, too narrow to sit or lay down in, but too short to stand
upright in.  The walls are lined with electrodes, which when charged, deliver a shock
very much like the one you got during my little demonstration a bit ago, so you can't
lean against the walls for support...or even touch them, for that matter...without being
shocked.  The slave's hands are chained behind her back, and another chain attaches
the wrist restraints to her collar.  Usually, whoever is preparing the slave for punishment
doesn't stop tightening this chain until the slave's hands are at her shoulder blades...or
until her shoulders dislocate, whichever comes first.  A spreader bar goes between her
knees, and another at her ankles, to keep her completely immobile while she's being
lowered into the hole.

"Now, the main sewage line for the entire island travels through the hole.  In fact, the
hole is actually part of the sewage system.  A pipe on one side allows raw
sewage...piss, shit, blood, puke, kitchen waste, whatever...to enter the hole, and
another allows it to exit.  However, the exit hole has a valve with permits the cell to be
flooded with waste as deeply and as often as anyone desires.  In this particular case,
they allowed it to fill up to her neck, because she was in there for two weeks, and her
only nourishment during that time came from what she could catch in her mouth.  Oh,
she wasn't neck deep all the time...only about once very two days.  The rest of the time,
the shit and what not flowed over her feet and went straight out.  That's when the
roaches, rats and other sewer-dwellers could crawl over her body...and into it, in some
cases.  She did have a colony of maggots inside her womb when she died, so we know
at least one fly found its way into her hole.

"When the two weeks were up, she was hosed off and taken back to the auction house. 
No longer worthy of human dick, she spent the rest of her life - both days of it - being
raped by horses, donkeys and assorted dogs.  She finally died after 44 continuous
hours of being a farm animal's bitch.  She died having her final orgasm, a Great Dane's
dick in her ass while a Pit Bull ripped her throat out.  Even though she was never sold,
the profits her Master made by selling the video of her punishment and death more than
made up for the loss.  Most owners are aware of this, so it's really no skin off their
asses if a slave is late, you know?" he concluded, stubbing his cigarette out in the sand.

The slave quickly rose to her feet and was led off down the beach, this time with a
renewed vigor and purpose so that, even while struggling with running in sand on
spiked-heel platforms, they arrived at the auction building in record time.

Charity Auction
Chapter 14

Tulsa was surprised to find that her "uniform" for the beginning of the evening's
festivities was the same outfit she'd so carefully selected for that first auction exactly
one year ago.  Now she was going to be wearing it for another auction, but this time
there was no pretense of fantasy play.  This time, it was for real.  She was truly a slave,
about to be sold to the highest bidder, who would have complete control over her,
indeed, the ability to determine whether she should live or die.  

It felt strange to be wearing so much clothing, even as skimpy and revealing as it was. 
The closest thing to any clothing Tulsa had been permitted at any time during the past
year was a cotton apron while cooking, and a sanitary pad during her periods.  She'd
also been put in a diaper twice, just before being punished for disobedience.  Nobody
had wanted to deal with her shitting herself during either of those beatings.  But except
for those few occasions, Tulsa's attire had consisted solely of her ever-present spiked
heel sandals and collar.  By comparison, what she was wearing tonight seemed
like...well, she couldn't even remember what it was like, there not being much of a
frame of reference in recent history for her.

One thing Tulsa hadn't had any recent experience in was wearing makeup like she did
in her pre-slave days.  Sure, she still used makeup regularly, but it was always applied
in a slutty manner, to make her look like a street whore.  Tonight, she was going to
appear as close as possible to the way she looked that night at the old theater.  Another
slave, a former Hollywood makeup artist who had come to the island after running afoul
of some unsavory organized crime characters, worked from a photograph and
reconstructed Tulsa's original appearance as well as she could.  It was still slutty, but
not nearly a slutty as she was used to these days.

Her bald head was easily covered with a wig - manufactured with her own hair, no less -
and eyebrows were painted on.  Of course, it was neither possible nor desirable to hide
all of the physical changes that had taken place.  The tiny black lace bra, for example,
no longer fit at all, so her upper body was covered only by the translucent lace top,
which now barely covered the nipples on her enormous udders and left her midriff bare. 
Likewise, many of the other modifications had changed her appearance somewhat, but
it was certain that everyone present would have no problem recognizing her from her
pre-slave photographs.

The preparatory work done, Tulsa was told to stand quietly in the corner of her room,
nose against the wall, and finger herself until she was called for.  It wasn't long before
she was once again whimpering in need, her fingers coated with the juices that flowed
like a small river down her thighs.

Finally, much to her relief, one of the clinic staff came in and ordered her to stop playing
with her pussy.  Snapping a short leash to her collar, he led the shaking slave from the
room

The slave was given a quick tour of her temporary home, and a brief explanation of the
sequence that would be followed for the auction.  The clinic's owners had long ago
learned that a slave would tend to bring in a considerably higher price...and, therefore,
a higher commission for the clinic...if she wasn't terrified.  In order to alleviate the fears
that all slave girls have to one extent or another, it was decided that the subjects would
be given a thorough briefing on the process.  Once briefed, Tulsa began her evening's
duties.

As her prospective buyers arrived, Tulsa met them at the door.  Kneeling submissively,
she kissed each person's shoe and told him (or her...there were several women among
the group) that she hoped she was found worthy of purchase.

Once all the guests had arrived, a cocktail tray was hung by sturdy chains from her
nipple rings, and filled with a variety of drinks.  The back of the tray rested against
Tulsa's taut belly, as the weight of the tray and its contents pulled her udders painfully
downward.  With her wrists chained behind her back, Tulsa circulated throughout the
room, offering drinks from her tray to the assembled slave owners.  As she wandered,
she was subjected to the most intimate prodding, poking and pinching of her body, her
ears burning and her face turning red at the crude comments made about her.

Once the cocktail tray was empty of its wares, the slave was ushered back into the
changing room for her next transformation.  This time, her face was made up as though
she were a teenager trying to look "sophisticated."  In other words, virginally slutty, with
too much lip gloss, excessive blush, and an overabundance of eye shadow.  After the
gloss black wig, cut in a pageboy style, was placed on her head, she was given her next
costume.  This time, she would be a French maid, decked out with a starched white
maid's hat topping a skimpy costume that exposed more than it covered.  A frilly white
apron over a tiny black miniskirt, black fishnet stockings, and absurdly high patent
leather spiked heel shoes - a full size too small for her - made it impossible for her to
walk at all without exposing her not-so-private parts.  In fact, her labia were seductively
visible from under the tiny skirt, the rings in full view.

Once properly attired, Tulsa was led back out into the main room, where she found the
guests sitting around a large banquet table, waiting to be served their dinner.  Serving,
of course, would be Tulsa's job.

It was a seven course meal, and each dish was individually delivered by the slave,
displaying the appropriate etiquette for the task.  A variety of several wines was also
offered, and the slave had to return to the kitchen whenever a glass needed to be filled,
lest the wine get warm.  While the bidders casually relaxed and ate their meal, the slave
scampered about the table, filling glasses, clearing dishes, retrieving items for her
guests.  It seemed that every time someone at one end of the table wanted something,
that particular dish was at the other end.  By the time dessert had been served and the
dinner dishes cleared from the table, Tulsa was covered with perspiration again, and
she strained to keep the pain in her feet from the too-tight shoes from being visible on
her face.  While dessert was being eaten, Tulsa was taken back into the dressing room
for another transformation.

When she finally reappeared, it was "au natural."  Wearing nothing but her collar,
Tulsa's skin had been scrubbed clean to remove all traces of makeup.  Even her
rings...those in her nipples as well as her cunt lips...had been cut off.  This time, the
bidders would have the opportunity to see her body without any adornments or
accessories.  And, they would now also have their first opportunity to sample her for
themselves.

The banquet table had been removed during her absence, replaced by a four poster
king sized bed more luxurious than anything Tulsa had ever felt...not to mention nicer
than either the tile floor and hospital bed she'd been sleeping on for the past year. 
Chairs surrounded the bed, affording a ringside seat to anyone who wanted to watch. 
For those who preferred a bit of privacy, a small room off to the side provided a smaller,
yet equally plush, bed.  The slave became intimately familiar with both areas over the
next five hours, to the point that both mattresses had to be flipped over so the Masters
and Mistresses using her weren't subjected to the pools of cum she was leaving behind. 
Tulsa was well and thoroughly fucked, in her cunt, ass and mouth.  She proved herself
to be a responsive bitch, but there was a bit of rumbling about the fact that she hadn't
apparently cum during the entire ordeal.  What, they were all asking each other, was
wrong with this bitch?  All the parts seemed to be intact; modified, perhaps, but intact. 
Was she frigid, or what?  Donna anticipated the questions and quickly approached the
auctioneer's lectern.

"Most of you have already made use of my slave.  I'm sure you found it to be moist,
compliant and accommodating.  However, I've heard some discussion about the fact
that it did not have a single orgasm while being raped.  No, it's not as some have
suggested; the slave is not frigid.  The reason is that I have not permitted it to orgasm.. 
As a matter of fact, I have not permitted this slave to cum in over eight months. 
Although it has been fucked several times a day, it has not had a single orgasm in that
time."

A low murmur rolled through the room as the assembled bidders whispered among
themselves.  Never had any of them heard of such unbelievable obedience!  What sort
of training could accomplish this?  They had to know!

"Please, allow me to explain," Donna continued.  "The reason it hasn't had an orgasm
isn't due to any particularly high level of obedience.  As a matter of fact, the slave still
has a long way to go in that regard.  No, it is totally due to a new, experimental form of
control involving drug therapy, positive and negative reinforcement, and psychological
conditioning developed here at the clinic.  This technology has allowed me to, for lack
of a better term, 'turn off" the slave's orgasms.  It was almost nine months ago that I
told the slave it was forbidden to cum, and since that time, no matter how hard it has
tried, the slave hasn't been able to achieve even a single, momentary orgasm.  I can't
explain all the details of this new control method, but perhaps the clinic's director could
if you're interested.

"At any rate, since this slave will belong to someone else by evening's end, I thought it
might be nice if I released it from restriction and allowed you to observe how nicely it
creams.  Oh, by the way, this particular conditioning will transfer to whomever holds
ownership.

"Tulsa," Donna directed the cum-covered girl, "get up on your hands and knees like a
good doggie bitch.  Spread those knees wide, so everyone can watch your cunt gaping
open when I tell you to cum."

Donna made the girl wait in anticipation on the hard tile floor, allowing globs of semen
and cunt juice to drip from her open cunt and asshole, adding to the perverse scene as
white glop dripped down her thighs.

"CUM, BITCH," Donna finally commanded, and wave after wave of orgasmic bliss
washed over the girl.  Everyone watched in amazement as Tulsa's cunt lips visibly
spasmed, opening and closing like a guppy's mouth, her own secretions rapidly flowing
down her legs and pooling up on the floor below her.

"Oh, one thing I forgot to mention, folks," Donna casually mentioned.  "Tulsa has been
conditioned to have an orgasm every time she hears the word 'cum,' no matter the
context.  But when her owner gives her the command, she will begin a continuous
series of orgasms until she's told to stop.  

"Say," Donna stopped for a moment, thinking.  "Does anyone know what the world
record is for the longest continuous orgasm?  You know, she'll continue cumming until I
tell her to stop.  Even if she passes out, she'll keep having orgasms."

Donna and the crowd watched as Tulsa moaned feverishly, her body covered in a
sheen of perspiration, her breath coming in gasps, as orgasm after orgasm washed
over her naked body.  A full fifteen minutes passed before Donna ordered the slave to
stop.  Tulsa collapsed in a limp, quivering heap on the floor, gasping for air, as the
crowd applauded.

"Well, I don't suppose the folks at Guinness Book have a category for what we just saw,
anyway," Donna joked.  "We'll give the slut a few minutes to recover, and then some
time to get cleaned up before we end this show.  After all, I doubt anyone would like to
have her in their vehicle the way she smells now!"  Donna was right, as the odor of wet
cunt, cum and sweaty slave meat was overpoweringly strong. "In the meantime, please
feel free to avail yourselves of the food, beverages and house slaves, as you choose."
The music started up again, and several slaves began circulating through the room,
offering drinks as well as their bodies to the customers.

Donna allowed Tulsa a few moments to recover from her marathon fucking before
rousing her with a swift kick to the ribs.

"Get up, Bitch!" she whispered loudly into the slave's ear.  "All you've done so far is
serve a few drinks, wait tables and get yourself laid.  I can't believe I allowed you to
cum already...you haven't done shit!"  Grabbing Tulsa by her abused udders, Donna
pulled the slave to her knees.

"Excuse me one more time, folks," Donna loudly announced.  "My slave has just
informed me that it doesn't believe it truly earned the orgasms you have just witnessed,
so it has begged me to permit it to serve as your toilet for the rest of the evening.  Isn't
that right, slut."

"Yes, Mistress," Tulsa softly replied, her face burning with humiliation and dread at what
was to come..

"Oh, lookie, the slave is blushing...how cute!" Donna commented, garnering laughter
from the audience.  "Tell your prospective buyers how you want to be used, girl."

"The slave begs to be of service to anyone who requires its use as a toilet," Tulsa
responded more loudly this time.  "Its holes are available for any substance needing
disposal."

"Good!" yelled one woman at the back of the room.  "Come here, toilet!" called the
woman, exquisitely dressed in a black strapless evening gown.  "I'm afraid I've had
more to drink than my poor bladder can hold," she announced to the room.  "Crawl
under there and see what you can do about it.  And don't you dare touch me or my
clothes with your scummy body, slave.  The only thing I want to feel is your cum-stained
lips locked over my pee hole.  Touch me anywhere else, or lose a single drop of my
pee, and I'll make sure I'm the highest bidder just so I can flay the skin off your body
with a bullwhip!"

With the warning acknowledged, the woman spread her feet slightly, allowing Tulsa to
crawl underneath her.  Terrified that her abuser would follow through on her threat, the
slave carefully placed her mouth over the woman's crotch, using her lips to create a
water-tight (or, rather, a urine-tight) seal.  Thus began the next part of Tulsa's evening
of abuse, to serve as a human toilet.  

Unfortunately for the slave, nearly every one of the invited guests needed to empty their
bladders into her at least once.  Over the ensuing two hours, Tulsa's belly became
slowly swollen to the point that she finally looked like she was nine months pregnant.

Fortunately for her, however, only one gentleman needed to relieve himself of anything
more than urine.  Donna was particularly pleased as the man released a fairly large turd
into the slave girl's awaiting mouth, because she had already resigned herself to
performing this act herself if none of the guests did.  To Donna, this was extremely
distasteful, but she did want everyone to see Tulsa being used that way.

This did not mean that Tulsa's mouth was used for only these more common toilet
functions.  Indeed, those present used her for virtually every purpose that they used a
real porcelain fixture.  After urinating, virtually all the men took the opportunity to spit in
the human urinal.  The smokers in the crowd dropped their still-lit cigarette butts into
their toilet, waiting while it was "flushed" when the girl swallowed.  One, who had a bout
of sneezing, disposed of his wet, snot-covered tissues that way.  

The worst for Tulsa, however, was when one woman, after depositing several mouthfuls
of urine in her, reached up and removed a blood-soaked tampon from her vaginal
opening and dropped it in the toilet's mouth.  This nearly caused the slave to vomit, but
after a few seconds of stifled retching, she was able to regain control over her gag
reflex.  Looking up at the woman and smiling submissively, Tulsa slowly chewed on the
blood-soaked, compressed cotton tube, until she was finally able to swallow the foul
object.  Donna watched throughout it all, sure that the slave would have preferred
several more mouthfuls of feces to this.

"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen," the auctioneer announced, after it appeared
everyone had relieved themselves in and on Tulsa's body.   "We will begin accepting
your bids in a few moments.  As you know, this slave's owner has insisted on a sealed
bid auction.  She prefers that the slave remain unaware of it's final purchase price. 
Also, a reserve bid has been established, but will not be made known unless the price
is not met.  Should the minimum not be bid, the slave will remain here until its organs
can be sold. We will now have the slave cleaned up so its final appearance is suitable
for presentation to its new owner, whoever that may be.  Once again, please help
yourselves to the house slaves for any needs you may have.  Does anyone have any
questions?"  When there were no responses, the auctioneer motioned with his hands,
and the room immediately filled with young, nubile, naked slaves of both genders.  
Tulsa, her distended, piss-filled belly swaying obscenely, was slowly, painfully led
crawling back to the dressing room.

Given a scant three minutes to recover, she spent all of it kneeling on the floor, her
head deep inside the toilet bowl, as her stomach violently purged itself of its contents. 
Tulsa knew that being permitted to relieve herself in this manner was a privilege, and
that it was very likely that, should she vomit under similar circumstances in the future,
she'd be eating her own puke from the floor.

Once Tulsa's stomach contents had been emptied, two of the house slaves began to
prepare her for her final appearance as Donna's property.  Repeated douches and
enemas cleaned her interior parts, while her first hot - scalding hot - shower in a year
cleaned her outside.  One of the house slaves - a dental technician before she
unwittingly angered a patient who happened to be a slave trader - opened a small
toolbox filled with dental tools and gave Tulsa's teeth a rudimentary cleaning - the first
time since her arrival that a real toothbrush had touched her mouth.  Previously, Tulsa's
only method of oral care had been to rub salt or soap suds on her teeth and gums with
her index finger.

These tasks completed, the former makeup artist returned and started her final task for
the evening.  This time, only a very moderate amount of makeup was used, enough to
accentuate Tulsa's enhanced appearance. Her costume this time consisted of a pink
baby doll nightie, matching silk stockings and lace garter belt, and similarly-toned spike
heeled, open toed shoes.  Long, blonde tresses hung down well below her shoulders to
complete the ensemble.  Her nearly virginal, innocent and clean appearance was
violated only by the insertion of new, gleaming silver rings through the holes in her
labia, nipples and nose.  Told to kneel, she was once again locked in the room, this
time to await her final fate while the bids were opened.

After a seemingly eternity, Tulsa heard the door's latch being thrown.  She jerked at the
sound, starting to look up to see who was coming to claim her, but lowering her head as
her training took over.

"Cheryl,' a soft male voice said, "look at me, please."

Bewildered at the kindness of the voice, she hesitated momentarily, then slowly lifted
her eyes towards her new Master.

"Hello, Cheryl," said Robert, one of the partners in her former law firm.  "I'd like you to
meet my mother."  He stepped aside, and in strode the old woman whom Tulsa had
been caring for this past nine months.  In full control of her faculties and looking much
younger, the woman mouthed a thank you to the kneeling slave.

"Yes, Cheryl, I bought you," he said, something nearing love in his eyes. "I felt it was
necessary, after how well you treated my mother.  The staff said she'd never had made
such progress without you, and I felt I had a debt to pay.  Please stand up, Cheryl," he
asked politely, waiting while she rose to her feet before continuing.

"My first reward to you is that I want you to have your name back.  You are no longer
Tulsa, or slut, or bitch, or cunt.  Your name is Cheryl.  Forever.  Secondly, while I admit
to harboring every male's fantasy of owning a submissive, obedient slave girl, I really
don't have a need to bring that reality to life.  Therefore, I'd like to offer you your
freedom, if you want it.  I'll even do what I can about restoring your original appearance,
if you want, so you can have your old job back.  It's your choice, Cheryl.  If you decide
to remain my slave, it will be for life, though.  I won't be cruel, but I can be demanding.  I
don't expect an answer right now, though.  We're going back to the states tonight, and
you can have a few days to relax at my vacation home - you'll be alone, we won't bother
you - before making your decision."

Charity Auction
Epilogue - One Year Later

The large oak desk was bare except for the computer monitor and keyboard.  The
attractive secretary's attention was focused on the web site she was accessing.  A
privacy screen would prevent anyone else in the room - had she not been alone, that is
- from observing what she was browsing.  Currently, it was a bondage clothing and
accessories site.  She needed to find just the right outfit for an upcoming social event.

"Cheryl, would you please come in here for a moment?" her boss asked over the
intercom, causing her to break concentration.

"Yes, Sir," she replied, activating the screen saver and stepping out from behind her
work station.  Her ass peeked out invitingly under the scandalously short, sheer mini
dress as she carefully walked on the high-heeled, knee-high boots.  She entered the
inner office, closing the door behind her.  Moving to her boss's side, she stood with her
legs slightly parted as his hand snaked up and felt the wetness of her bare, uncovered
pussy.

"Go home and get prettied up, dear.  We're having a party at the house tonight.  We're
going to close on sale of the Broad Street building, and I'm inviting the investors over
for dinner and drinks.  I think the "slut in white," or perhaps the cheerleader look this
evening.  You decide.  You seem to know better than me what Japanese businessmen
like."

"Of course, Sir," Cheryl replied smiling.  She'd wear the cheerleader outfit, with pigtails,
white knee socks and tennis shoes. She particularly liked Japanese guests...they
seemed to have a penchant for doing the most degrading things to white girls...and the
thought of that brought her to another orgasm.