Slave of the Aristocracy: Book One – On the Auction Block

by Ashley Zacharias

  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 cunt.

  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 vagina 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 asshole 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 buggered plenty in the last twelve weeks.” He laughed. “If she were mine, I’d have buggered 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 damn masks hide more than just the slave’s identity. 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 ass out.”

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

  Fingers invaded her asshole, stretching her to the point of pain.

  “Three fingers,” the voice said. “This asshole 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 ass 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 ass 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 tits 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. God, 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 chore identifying her as highborn.

  “Wow. This ass 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 damn hard to make sure that she knew her place.”

  “Damn shame,” Jones said. “Damn shame.”

  Flame felt a light hand on her shoulder. “Get on your knees, woman, and suck a little cock for me.” It was Blankov’s voice.

  His wrinkled penis 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 breasts were pressed against soft leather and her ass was sticking high in the air. “Spread ‘em.” She spread her feet and rested her head on her arms.

  A cock penetrated her cunt and began working in her. She had been using the vaginal 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 semen 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 massage his cock with her newly-trained cunt. She should have milked him dry, all the time writhing and moaning, and faked a mighty orgasm 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 damned 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 cock 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.

  She took another bite, and then finished it off. She hadn’t eaten anything as delicious as this since entering the Dodge household.

  The man put something else in her hand – a napkin. She discretely wiped her greasy fingers. She was about to tell the man to try one because they were exquisite, but realized the trap. She was not to speak.

  Instead, she nodded her approval, congratulating herself on outwitting the man.

  “Raise your hands,” the man said.

  When her hands were in the air, he scrawled his name across her belly. “See,” he said to someone. “No real slave has such delicate manners. Every other woman in this room gulped it in a single bite and wiped her fingers on her thighs.”

  A fourth man added his name to the three that were already scrawled across her abdomen. “You’re a clever man, Jake.”

  Jake Rostrum. Lord of Flatstoke. A man that James admired for his skill at card games. Flame wanted to cry at the man’s cleverness.

  “It was a mistake to try to identify a lady with sex,” Jake said. “All cats are black after midnight. It’s the table manners that make the lady.”

  Now she wanted to tell him that he was wrong. McCullough had identified her with sex. He had tricked her into giving him cold-fish, lady-style sex.

  But she still dared not speak.

  It seemed that having four names inscribed on her belly made her stand out from the other slaves. Suddenly, she was the most popular girl at the orgy. A rather dubious honor as she was ordered to her hands and knees and used repeatedly without a break between men. That stopped after the fifth man in a row impaled her with his cock; the second of the five to prefer asshole to cunt.

  These men were fast, rough, and impersonal. She couldn’t tell if they were trying to treat her as much like a slave as possible in the hope that she would reveal herself by revolting; or if they thought that she probably was Lady Irene and wanted to make sure that they could say that they’d fucked Lord James’ wife the next time they played poker with their friends.

  If it was the latter, then they were just covering their bets but not risking anything by signing her belly.

  Maybe they had already used up their votes by signing their names on other slaves. Maybe all five had signed the same slave and she, not Flame, was in the lead for getting punished.

  A girl could dream.

  But not for long. Someone ordered her to her feet and then scrawled on her belly. She didn’t know why he had chosen her but now she had five votes. That had to be a lot because there were fewer than three men per slave. Even three votes would have been more than her share.

  Maybe the most recent vote had been registered by one of the five men who had used her when she was on her hands and knees or maybe it was someone that she had encountered earlier – someone who had been spending time with the others and had been convinced that none of them could ever have been a lady.

  A new voice began speaking in her muffled ear. “I don’t care if you’re Lady Irene or not. I’ve been watching you and I think that you’re an exceptional woman. My wife died last year and I’m not interested in the kind of ladies that keep trying to trap me into another marriage. They’re a bunch of tight-assed prudes. I’d like to buy you and spend a year teaching you to be a lady. If you can show me that you can fit into society, I’ll free you and marry you. Every man secretly fantasizes about marrying a slave so that he’ll have a wife who will give him as much pleasure in the bedroom as he can get in the kennel. The difference between me and those other men is that I want to make my fantasy come true. What do you think? Could you act like my slave in the bedroom but be a lady in the dining room? If you had the right training, I mean?”

  Flame thought about his proposition. It was a way that she could get what she wanted most, a passionate sex life, without having to service any man who gave her an order. She would be a part-time slave of one master.

  She nodded.

  “Really? You’re not just humoring me, are you? That would be cruel. You’d really marry me if I could make it work?”

  She nodded again.

  He leaned close. She could feel his lips against her ear through the leather. “Got you, Irene. I got you. You know why?”

  She shook her head.

  “Because you listened to my proposal. You hoped it I would
do what I said. No real slave has hope. Ever. When I offered the same proposal to other slaves in the room, every one of them either laughed in my face or pushed me away. They knew that they had no hope of ever being free, no matter what a gentleman says. You’re the only one who took my jest seriously. Now, slave, put your hands behind your back.”

  When her hands were out of the way, he signed her belly.

  She now had six votes. That had to be enough to make her the winner of two special punishments.

  Three more men used her, each one taking advantage of a different orifice.

  She was exhausted. She didn’t know how these men could keep getting it up. Surely they were as tired as her. As nearly as she could remember, she had been used more than a dozen times. Some of the men, like Earl Jones, were too old to perform at all. So, if all the other slaves had been used as much as her, then most of the men in the room must have fucked more than a half dozen slaves.

  Flame doubted that. She didn’t think that it was physically possible for so many men to have so many erections in an evening.

  There was only logical conclusion. She must have serviced far more than her share of the gentlemen in the room.

  “Gentlemen, your attention, please.” Thorn’s voice penetrated to all corners.

  Men stopped what they were doing.

  “I do believe that every man in the room has voted. Am I correct? Is there any man here who has not written his name on the belly of one of the slaves?”

  There was silence.

  “Then it is time to tally the vote. Give me a moment to arrange the ladies.”

  There was shuffling and milling around.

  After a couple of minutes, Flame was grabbed by the arm and escorted across the room. She was turned around and placed with her back against a wall. She could feel naked arms brushing against hers on both sides.

  “Gentlemen, as you can see, I have arranged the slaves in order according to the tally of votes on their bellies. We have two slaves who were so good, so subservient that their bellies are unmarked. Lets give a hand to the two slaves who were perfect.”