Slave Of The Aristocracy: On The Auction Block Part 17

When the slave in front of her stopped, she stopped, and the slave behind her stopped.

The hood m.u.f.fled her hearing but didn't deafen her. The room was filled with low-pitched chatter from the guests.

"Gentlemen," Thorn said loudly, "may I introduce your entertainment for this evening. Your host has arranged a very special and unique treat for you. A game that has never been played before and will likely never be played again.

"You see before you, thirteen blind, mute slaves. In a few minutes, you will be invited to acquaint yourselves with them. Touch them, give them orders, use them how you wish, within the usual parameters of an entertainment. But do not expect them to speak to you. They have been ordered to remain mute. They will not say a single word, under penalty of severe punishment.

"One of these slaves is special. You may have heard of the highborn lady, the wife of a lord, who voluntarily sold herself into slavery three months ago. I believe that many of you knew this lady personally invited her to dinners, danced with her at b.a.l.l.s, engaged in stimulating conversation. Maybe you even played card games with her and her husband.

"Your challenge is to examine these slaves and try to identify the only one in the room who was a t.i.tled lady before she sold herself into slavery.

"These slaves are masked and have been ordered to remain mute for the evening so that you may not see their faces nor hear their voices. If you ask them questions, they will not answer. But they are not deaf. You may give them orders and they will obey.

"If you believe that you have identified the highborn slave, we ask that you write your name on the slave's stomach with the permanent markers that have been distributed. By the end of the evening, every one of you should have marked your name on one and only one of the slaves.

"In three hours, we will reveal the ident.i.ty of the highborn slave. Every man whose name is inscribed on her stomach will be given a prize.

"These slaves have a strong incentive to act like perfect slaves and not like privileged ladies. The slave who has the most gentlemen's names written on her stomach will considered to have behaved inadequately and will be punished publicly in this room. We have devised an ingenious and amusing punishment for the unsatisfactory slave.

"If the slave who gathers the most names happens to be the one who was the highborn lady, then her owner has approved a second, additional punishment that has been designed especially for her. She doesn't know what it is, but I have advised her to work as hard as she can to blend in with all the other slaves so that she will not have to endure that additional cruel treatment.

"Does anyone have any questions?"

Someone asked, "Can we order the slaves to nod if they were highborn?"

"Of course. And the highborn one will shake her head that she was not, just like all the others. In this game, there is no penalty for a slave lying to you. And she certainly isn't going to volunteer for the punishment that awaits the loser by telling the truth."

Someone else asked, "Do the slaves know how they will be punished if they lose the game?"

"No. They will be as surprised as you. Though I think the loser will be far less amused than you will be." There was a round of approving guffaws.

Another man had a question. "Sometimes t.i.tled ladies are adjudicated into slavery. There might be more than one highborn slave here."

"No, there aren't. To be fair to you, I personally checked the records of every slave in the room. All the others were born to slavery or were adjudicated into slavery more than five years ago. The highborn lady enslaved herself only three months ago. Not only did she come from different stock, but she is also the least experienced slave in the room by far."

"Any more questions?" Another pause. "No? Then let the game begin. Gentlemen, enjoy your slaves."

Flame stood for a minute with her hands at her sides, listening to the gentlemen shuffling around and chatting quietly to each other. She didn't know if men were already standing around her, looking at her, or if they had started with the slaves that entered first. All she could know is that she hadn't been touched yet.

That changed when a hand suddenly thrust itself into her crotch.

She spread her legs apart and squatted slightly to give the gentleman unrestricted access to her c.u.n.t.

A voice laughed. "See! That's the automatic reflex of a slave born to the life. A highborn lady would have closed her thighs like a vice to keep me out. My fingers might well have been crushed flat." The fingers continued to manipulate her lips, working their way inside her.

She had no idea what the gentleman hoped to find in there, but as nearly as she knew, a highborn v.a.g.i.n.a wasn't anatomically different from a commoner's.

One of the other nearby slaves squealed loudly. Flame had no idea what had been done to her, but it must have been something more surprising than having a hand thrust into her crotch. She was a little confused, though. She thought that there was only one slave following her into the room but the squeal that came from that direction was a little further away, not right next to her.

"I want to give this one a test run." The voice was near her ear on the other side, but the gentleman wasn't referring to her because she heard the slave who had been standing beside her shuffle away.

Another nearby voice said, "I bet the lady's a.s.shole isn't as loose as the other slaves'."

"I don't know about that," someone countered. "She sold herself three months ago. She's probably been b.u.g.g.e.red plenty in the last twelve weeks." He laughed. "If she were mine, I'd have b.u.g.g.e.red her at least twice a day, every day, just to see the funny look on her face."

"Pity that we can't see the funny look tonight. These d.a.m.n masks hide more than just the slave's ident.i.ty. One of these slaves might be crying her eyes out for all we know."

"You'll know when the snot starts flowing out of her nose."

Flame felt a heavy hand on her neck. "Bend over, slave. And stick that a.s.s out."

She bent at the waist and then bent her knees to thrust her a.s.s out.

Fingers invaded her a.s.shole, stretching her to the point of pain.

"Three fingers," the voice said. "This a.s.shole is plenty loose."

"Let's try the next one on for size."

The fingers withdrew and the voices moved away.

Flame stayed where she was, bent with her a.s.s sticking out, because she hadn't been given an order to stop holding the position. The perfect slave obeyed orders perfectly; and she was determined to be the perfect slave.

She had no idea what "special punishment" would be administered to her if she were identified, but it had to be something severe if it required her owner's permission.

It might be something that caused permanent damage.

After a couple of minutes, she put her hands on her knees to take some of the strain off her back. That fell within the general order to "bend over and stick your a.s.s out."

"Why are you standing like that?" The voice was intimately close to her ear.

She almost said, because I was ordered to, before she remembered that she would be punished if she failed to remain mute. Not that the punishment would matter. She recognized the voice as belonging to Lord Snow. If she said one word, he would recognize her voice immediately and the game would be over. She would have earned two punishments.

Instead, she turned her head to face him so that he could see her lips pressed tightly shut.

"You look ridiculous," he said. "Stand up and stick your t.i.ts out. ... There you go. That looks a lot better. ... Are you Irene?"

She shook her head.

"If you were, that's exactly what you'd say. G.o.d, I wish I'd seen Lady Irene naked. I'd win a prize for sure. I should have seduced her when I had a chance."

Flame wanted to tell him that he never had a chance. Lady Irene would never have slept with her husband's best friend. But she couldn't tell him that. And she would certainly sleep with him now, if ordered. Maybe that was his strategy. To talk to every slave about things that Irene would take personally and see if he could get a reaction from one of them.

She couldn't tell if he'd walked away or not, but he'd given her a new worry. If Snow had been invited then maybe her husband ex-husband James was here, too. As close friends, James was often invited to the same events as Snow.

If James were here, then the jig was up. James would surely recognize her body.

Or not. He hadn't seen her naked since the first year that they were married. And she'd changed since she'd been enslaved. She was thinner now, and fitter. It had only been twelve weeks but she didn't have a lady's body any more.

These men would have a ch.o.r.e identifying her as highborn.

"Wow. This a.s.s has been beat pretty good." The new voice was thin and nasal. It sounded like Earl Jones.

"It certainly has." The deep gruff voice of an old man could belong to Earl Blankov.

Jones and Blankov often attended events together. Jones was at least seventy-five and Blankov had to be ten years older than that. She wondered how slaves entertained men that old.

"You think that anyone would dare take a cane to the wife of a lord?" Jones asked. "Even if she is playing at being a slave?"

"I don't think she's playing at it," Blankov replied. "As far as the law is concerned, she's a slave for life, just like any other slave. Her owner doesn't owe her any consideration. I bet she'd be more likely to earn a beating for herself than a regular slave. Her owner would probably have to work d.a.m.n hard to make sure that she knew her place."

"d.a.m.n shame," Jones said. "d.a.m.n shame."

Flame felt a light hand on her shoulder. "Get on your knees, woman, and suck a little c.o.c.k for me." It was Blankov's voice.

His wrinkled p.e.n.i.s felt small in her mouth, and tasted like dribbled urine, but she licked and sucked it like it was the rock-hard ramrod of a twenty-year-old stud. This was her answer. This was how a slave could entertain an eighty-five-year-old man.

Blankov moaned in pleasure. "This one's got the mouth of a slave. I tell you."

"I'll give the next one a try," Jones replied.

In a moment, he was moaning a duet with Blankov.

After a few minutes, Blankov stroked Flame's face and said, "That's enough, dear. You're not going to get old faithful to spout tonight."

She rose back to her feet and waited for further orders.

None came. Blankov had moved on.

So far, no one had signed her stomach. She wondered if any of the other slaves had been marked yet.

She didn't have to wait long for attention. Within a few seconds, another voice said, "Come along." A hand took hers and pulled her forward. "Stop." She stopped. "Push forward and bend over." She moved forward slightly and found her upper thighs pressed against something that felt like a leather bolster. She bent forward until her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were pressed against soft leather and her a.s.s was sticking high in the air. "Spread 'em." She spread her feet and rested her head on her arms.

A c.o.c.k penetrated her c.u.n.t and began working in her. She had been using the v.a.g.i.n.al weights every day and could hold two ounces for a slow count to two thousand somewhere near a half hour. She had no problem working her magic on this gentleman. It didn't matter that she was blindfolded. In a couple of minutes, she was filled with the s.e.m.e.n of a man that she had never seen. Or more likely, a man that she had seen many times, but who had never seen her naked. His voice sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn't identify him.

"Feels great to me," the man said. "Way better than any lady I ever had. You want to try her out?"

The other man didn't answer. He took her under the chin and gently raised her off the bolster.

Still silent, he led her away to another part of the room.

There, he turned her to face him and held her gently. He began kissing her naked lips.

He kissed well and she returned his kiss in equal measure.

After a couple of minutes, he laid her on her back on a mattress.

He lay down beside her and began stroking her body from shoulder to crotch. She remembered James doing the same on her wedding night.

When he put his hands to her crotch. She parted her thighs to admit him.

His lovemaking was slow and a little perfunctory. Much like James' had been.

After he came, he rolled off her. "See? That's what everyone else is doing wrong. They are treating them like slaves and trying to see which one fails to respond. They should be trying to treat them like ladies to see out which one acts most like a lady. This one has my vote. When I treat her like a lady, she's just as much the cold fish as any lady I've ever laid."

Flame recognized the voice of Lord McCullough a man that she and James had invited over to dinner many times and cursed herself for falling into his trap. She hadn't thought to ma.s.sage his c.o.c.k with her newly-trained c.u.n.t. She should have milked him dry, all the time writhing and moaning, and faked a mighty o.r.g.a.s.m of her own when he came. But he was right when he treated her like a lady, she automatically fell into her old habits.

Another voice, a knight named Septimus, laughed. "Look at the set of her mouth. Angry as only a lady can be. You've got her, all right."

Flame felt the chill point of a felt pen write a name across her belly. She could almost feel the letters spelling McCullough. Then the second man did the same. She was certain that he was writing Septimus.

She had her first two votes. She silently d.a.m.ned McCullough for driving her toward punishment. Two punishments. The amusing and ingenious one that had been promised the slave with the most votes; and the special one that had been designed for her if she were that slave.

Other men saw the writing on her belly as she lay on the mattress, waiting for instruction and commented on it.

"Lord McCullough thinks that this is the Lady Irene," someone said. "I wonder if he wants to risk a wager on his choice."

"While you're asking him, I'm going to give her a shot."

Another man inserted himself between her thighs.

This time, she put on a performance that was worthy of a slave.

"I don't think so," the man said when he climbed off a few minutes later.

"Good," the first voice replied, "because now I've got a hundred plaqs riding on her not being Lady Irene."

Flame was grateful to McCullough for telling her his strategy so that she could correct her behavior. But maybe he had done it deliberately so that he could win more wagers. Gentlemen risked their money on various wagers constantly and hated to lose. It wasn't the money, they had plenty; it was the victory that they prized.

When she listened, she heard other gentlemen placing all sorts of bets on the game.

What she overheard told her that she wasn't the only slave who had been marked. She could still hope to escape punishment.

"Come with me, slave," a new voice said.

She was getting confused by all the voices. This one, too, sounded familiar, but she couldn't put a face to it.

A hand pulled her off the mattress and guided her across the room.

"Taste this for me."

She expected to be put on her knees and have a c.o.c.k thrust in her mouth. Instead, she was surprised when the man raised her hand and put something small and moist in it.

"Tell me if it's worth eating."

She raised it to her nose. It smelled delicious. Savory with a hint of something exotic.

She nibbled it and guessed that it was prosciutto wrapped around a sliced water chestnut with a dash of sweetened cinnamon. And a bit of fennel straw.