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They reached a small black door built into the side of one of these hallways, and stopped. The Hound pushed it open and showed May inside. She found herself in a small room tiled with a glass pottery-like substance that she did not recognize. There was a mirror on the wall, and an elegant iron seat with a hole in it that May had never seen before, but knew from books was called a 'toilet'. There was also a cubicle on the far end of the room, with a small tap at the top. It was something called a shower. It used far less water than a traditional Leyland bath, and was used far more often on islands that lacked rich natural reserves of water.
"Undress." The Hound commanded, and pointed to the cubicle, "Clean."
"I'll only undress if you leave the room." May said, shakily, but with surety. There were certain lines she was never going to cross. The Hound raised his baton at her threateningly, but she when she didn't flinch, he reluctantly lowered it to his side- he would probably be punished if he damaged the goods too badly, and besides, he was getting a good commission on her sale. He stepped forward, and undid the ropes on May's hands.
"You have ten minutes." He said, as he left the room to stand by the door. "Finish quickly."
The shower was hot and wet, and as the accumulated dirt of several days rolled off her body, May shivered in pleasure. It made her feel a little guilty to see so much clean water turn muddy and go to waste, but it would probably be recycled and reused. That was the only reason they could afford to waste it on slaves.
When she was done, she grabbed a white towel from a rack in the corner, and wrapped it around her dripping body. She stepped out, only too late to realize that her clothes had been taken from her. "Damn." She spat. So it had all been a ruse.
The Hound was standing in front of her, his now-trademark grin plastered across his smarmy little face. Evidently, he loved his job. He took his hands out from behind his back. In his right fish, he held a pair of thin red panties. In his left one, an equally revealing red bra. His eyes were laughing at her. He held them for second, then released his grip and let them flutter to the ground.
"Dress." He said, eyeing her lustily.
"Go fuck yourself." May said. If he thought she was going to wear that humiliating get-up, he had another thing coming.
The Hound gave a shrug, "Dress, or go naked. Your choice."
For a moment, she thought about it. Going naked would have been the rebellious thing to do, but she also knew it would probably please the Hound -and the customers- all the more. That was something she wanted to avoid doing. Even if it meant enduring the shame of dressing up like a whore.
In humiliating silence, she wrapped her towel as tightly as she could around her body, and clumsily lowered herself the floor, grabbing the bra and panties with her free hand. Then, taking great care not to let the towel slip away, she disappeared into the shower cubicle again. Then using the towel as a curtain, she began to get dressed.
It took her a few minutes of heavy breathing to come to grips with the outfit she wearing, but finally, she emerged clad only in the embarrassing garment. It barely covered her nipples and lips of her pussy, and most her ample breasts were clearly visible. She tried to hold her head high, and take it in stride. It wasn't like she had worn anything more modest when she had swam in Leyland's great lake, she reasoned. This was just the same, only without the water.
"Relieve yourself." The Hound said, pointing to the toilet.
"I don't need to." May hissed, and tried to walk past him into the light. But the Hound caught her wrist in a firm, unyielding grip.
"Yes you do." He growled, yanking her back inside, and pointing to the toilet.
Without thinking, May punched him in the face.
***
Conrad and Stoker arrived at the Auditorium in the late afternoon. The doorman greeted them with a bow, and after accepting Stoker's tickets, handed them each a claim card, which reserved them a pair of excellent seats near the back of the auction room- the perfect place to sit if you wanted to watch your opponents without getting caught.
"Enjoy the auction, my lords." The doorman said with respectful nod, "I am certain you that you will each find what you are looking for."
As they walked past him, Conrad smirked, "Unlikely."
The interior of the Auditorium had been decorated and cleaned from the auction. The floors were waxed, and every speck of wall, ceiling, or window was sparkling. It seemed the day's theme was red, as every piece of furniture they passed was painted crimson, and every servant wore a bright red suit. Conrad even caught sight of a few of the girls, and they too, wore tiny red underwear.
They found their seats (which were unsurprisingly also red) and sat down. There was a tall clock in the corner, and Conrad checked the time- quarter to three. The auction would begin at three o'clock, which gave him ample time to study the other attendees. From his superior vantage point, Conrad was able to watch the attending members of the Arcadian elite trickle in.
He caught sight of two who he knew quite well- Lord Benjamin Redlaw, and his wife Margaret. They owed him a huge sum of money. How it was that they thought they had the funds to waste on a new slave was beyond him, but Conrad made a mental note to confront them about it later. When Margaret saw him, he was gratified to see her blanch, and whisper something furtive to her husband, who looked at him with an expression of horror. But by now it was too late for them to make their escape. The auction was already beginning, and Conrad had already seen them. Their best bet would be to claim that they had simply come to watch, and not to purchase- however hollow it might ring.
"My lords, my ladies!" The announcer, a tall Hound with a scar on his left cheek, began, "Welcome to our humble Auction! Today for your pleasure, we have assembled some of the most beautiful, exotic, and fiery girls of noble blood from all across the provinces. They are guaranteed to fill your nights with endless fun, as you torment or tease them as you see fit. Let's enjoy ourselves, shall we?" He turned aside, and Conrad watched with mild interest as the first few girls were led out one by one. It took him only a moment to decided that he wanted none of them. They were plain, and lacked any sort of emotion on their faces. In fact, their eyes were downcast, and they seemed resigned to their fate. He guessed that they were the last sweepings from Emestris. Hopefully the girls fresh from Leyland would be a little more appealing.
Still, they were snapped up quickly by a group of minor nobles who seemed to have come together, and likely did not have the funds to compete for the bigger fish. Maybe they didn't want a rebel on their hands. "That's all we have from Emestris today my friends," The announcer said, bowing as he unknowingly confirmed Conrad's guess, "The remainder of the slaves were all flowers plucked straight out of Leyland."
The next girl they brought in was much more to his taste. Not only was she a golden-haired beauty, she was also sobbing loudly, as if just being on the stage was causing her pain. It was delightful. Tears were so much better than apathy. Beside him, Stoker murmured a low grunt of approval, and Conrad felt him cock harden inside his pants. He had to think unpleasant thoughts until it went back down. Oh yes, Stoker was right. He could definitely use a new slave.
The announcer began to drawl, listing girl's behaviour, age, sexual experience (she was eighteen and a virgin) and a variety of other small and insignificant pieces of information. Conrad felt himself grow rather irritated. Usually they started with a slave's name first, and followed with details after. What was the reason for this special presentation?
His question was answer by the Hound's next words. "Her name, my lords and ladies, is Sophia Bishop."
It was as if the room had been hit by a tornado. Instantly, it was filled with loud shouts, rapid conversations, and panicked whispers. Several people stood up in their seats, shouting out bids which were drowned out by the noise. Others were still, but trembled slightly, gritting their teeth in anticipation. "Quiet please!" The auctioneer shouted, obviously slightly annoyed, "Calm down. Ladies and gentlemen, if you would please return to your seats, the bidding will begin momentarily." He ad to bang his gavel against his wooden podium several times to regain control.
Conrad had no sympathy for him. If you were going to sell a Bishop in a slave auction, you had to be prepared to deal with an enthusiastic crowd. The Bishops had been Leyland's family of spymasters. In the waning months of the war, they had desperately orchestrated the deaths of over two dozen nobles across Arcadia- at one point, they had even attempted to assassinate the Emperor himself. For every man they had killed, the Bishops had made fives times as many enemies. No wonder this Sophia looked so terrified. In the crowds eyes, her appeal had just shifted from sex to revenge.
Reading her name last must have been a clever plot to bait the audience. Conrad guessed Arthur Fenix, a pouncy but clever Hound with a flair for the theatrical, was responsible. Before he had become a Hound, he had been a street urchin who worked his way up to modest wealth on the back of tobbaco sales. He was a clever salesman, and a master of manipulating large groups of people.
The bidding started out small and fast, but quickly rose to extravagant heights. Conrad offered a bid of his own three times during the proceedings, but at each attempt, he was rebuffed by Marisa Marlgrove, a wealthy young noblewoman with nerves of steel. Conrad knew her history very well. Both of her parents and two of their friends had been killed in a steam explosion set off by an agent of the Bishop family. It was only natural she would spend whatever she had to take their revenge.
It would have been discourteous to continue bidding against such resolve (although he was certain he possessed the funds to clean her out ten times over) and so, Conrad politely desisted.
This left Marisa with a single real competitor: a young man Conrad didn't recognize. His had bright gold curls, grey blue eyes, and a charming smile plastered stupidly across his face. He was sitting on the balcony, which meant that his family was either very old, or heavily connected with the slave trade. Conrad guessed the latter.
For every bid that Marisa called out, the young man would calmly double it, his smile never leaving his lips, no matter how ferocious Marisa's glare became. They crowd was following their exchange like a pack of hyenas thirsty for blood.
"50, 000" Marisa cried out.
"100, 000." The young man countered.
"150, 000!"
"300, 000." It was obvious which one of the two had more money to blow. Funds were getting tight for Marisa, and she had to know by now she was not going to win. If she pulled out before things became too drastic, she could at least save herself some face- but Conrad knew she wasn't going to. The Marlgroves always had more pride than sense, and nothing to back it up with...
"Marlgrove Manor.' The girl said, desperately.
Beside Conrad, Stoker's mouth opened and shut silently. The crowd went quiet. For the first time that night, the cocky young man frowned. It was a rather unpleasant sight. His upper lip curled, and the features of his handsome face contorted in a mixture of annoyance and disgust. The tension was thick and palatable. Marlgrove Manor was the ancestral home of the Marlgroves. It had been in their family for as long as any historian could remember. It rested on a private island all of its own, high in the sky above the Arcadian mainland. During a rare rainstorm, the Manor's many ponds would flood with fresh water, which provided a major source of income for its owners- nearly all of their income, in fact. To give it away was unthinkable. But then, Marisa was the last of her line. When she married away or died, the Marlgrove name would marry or die with with. Perhaps she thought it fitting that the Manor would be sold to acquire the daughter of her parents' killers.
For a few moments', the young man said nothing. Then, just before the auctioneer's gavel could descend on the podium and declare Sophia sold, he abruptly rose to his feet. "One Imperial-class Frigate." He spat, his voice practically dripping with venomous hatred.
The crowd gasped. Instantly, before any other bids could be offered by either party, the overly eager auctioneer shouted, "Sold!" and slammed his gavel down, sealing the girl's fate.
Smart choice. Even if he had wanted to, Conrad himself could never have matched that bid. It would have been absurd. But that wouldn't have stopped Marisa from trying, and the Hounds would have been forced to offend a powerful young woman by refusing whatever it was she offered.
In all of Arcadia, there were only six ships of the Frigate class. Each one of them was a mighty behemoth, armed to the teeth with cannons, engines, and top-class steel plating. It was thought one of them was the equal of a fleet. Four of them belonged to the Emperor himself. Two of them belonged to the Taglight family, which gave Conrad a very big hint about who the mysterious young man probably was: Lauchlan Taglight, the heir to Taglight Industries. His father was dead, and his ailing mother had passed control of the family business to him. It certainly explain his seemingly endless supply of money.
But why had Taglight done this? As far as he knew, the boy's ailing father had died from a natural disease- not by the hand of the Bishops. The girl was ravishingly pretty, but girls just as attractive could be bought for a much lower sum at other establishments, and she was certainly not worth the cost of even a small Warship- much less a Frigate. There had to be another reason. Conrad resolved to find out what it was.
The Bishop girl was led away into another room, where she would be bound, shackled, and prepared for her new master's pleasure. In the past, slaves had been locked in a room, but otherwise left loose until after they had been purchased, unless their buyer made a special request. But that policy had resulted in many escape attempts, and two gruesome deaths, and had been done away with. Conrad noted with slight amusement how delicately the Hounds seemed to treat her. They almost seemed scared to touch their skin. They must have been worried about losing their once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to acquire an Airship worthy of a King.
The crowd was given several minutes to settle down. Then, after some minor shuffling, the auction began anew. "That was something, eh?" The auctioneer asked, eyes twinkling as he looked at the crowd, "This next one up is her friend, so if any of you are up for a little vicarious revenge, go for it!" He winked at Marisa, and then laughed loud. "Ha, who am I kidding? That was once in a lifetime. Please welcome May Sinclair, everybody!"
A girl was dragging in from off stage, kicking and screaming like a wild animal. Her hands were tied together by a rope, and she was being pulled by a particularly disgusting looking Hound. Like the other girls, she wore an outfit consisting solely of a pair of red panties and a tight bra. Unlike the other girls, her eyes sparkled with fire!
"Isn't that fight wonderful?" The auctioneer teased, "I suspect this nineteen year-old beauty will be a bit of a tough nut to crack, my lords and ladies, so the timid need not apply!" When the girl was close enough, he grabbed a rough handful of her hair, and forced her to face the crowd. "On the other hand, look at this lovely face of hers. Definitely worth a good bit of cash, if can break her." He winked. "Anyone up for the challenge?"
Conrad was. This was just the slave he had been looking for. A girl to resist him, entertain him, and finally, give her sweet submission to him. After which he would throw her away to some brothel, and find another. That was the best part.
The instant the bidding started, his hand was up, and he was tossing out his money with the rest of them. The others player for the first few minutes, but as it slowly dawned on them that they were bidding against Conrad Faulkner, they dropped out one by one. It was always nice to see the reaction he inspired.
***
The moment she was sold, May was too busy fighting her Hound to see how had bought her, which was a mistake. If she had been given the choice, she would liked to know which sick twisted fuck was going to be raping her (or attempting to) over the next few days, until she found a way to escape. But unfortunately, her little disagreement with her Hound in the bathroom hadn't ended well. In retrospect, she supposed it wouldn't have killed her to use the toilet.
They led her off the stage, down the halls, and into a small dark room that smelled like vinegar. They forced to her knees on the ground, tied her legs to the floor, and shackled her hands on a chain above her head, in such a way that her whole body was put lewdly on display. It made her exposed and vulnerable, and May hated it. Then, they wrapped a thick red leather collar around her neck, and left her there alone, allowing May time to study her surroundings in peace.
To May's horror, the room was filled with shelves, all lined with a collection of evil looking things. Whips, leashes, gags, clamps- everything that could have been used to hurt or degrade a person, it was all there. Some of the things looked completely alien to her, but it was the things that looked like stuff used on farm animals back home that scared her the most. She wondered if patrons had to pay to use the gear, or if it came free with the purchase of a slave.
For a few long minutes, she sat in silence, exactly the way they had left her. But then she heard a click, the door to her room swung open, and a tall, dark, neatly dressed man came into the room. His smile reminded her of the sensation of ice being rubbed across bare skin. Very, very cold.
This was supposed to be her new owner?
The dark man smoothly lowered himself to the floor until his face was only a few inches from her own, and gripped her delicate chin, forcing May to look up at him. "Name?" He asked.
May gritted her teeth, and wrenched her head out of his hand as hard as she could. "You already know it." She hissed, holding his gaze.
The ghost of a smile flicked across the man's face. May couldn't help but suspect he was enjoying her resistance. "I'd rather hear it from your own lips, sweetheart." The man told her.
There was a long moment of silence. "May." She finally said. "May Sinclair." There was no reason to play his stupid game with him. "What's yours?"
Ignoring her question, the man patted her on the head like a child. "Very good." He teased, and raised his eyebrows, "I don't suppose you're related to Viscountess Adella Sinclair, are you?"
This made May's eyes narrow suspiciously. "What do you know about my grandmother, you bastard?" She demanded. If this Arcadian had done something to her, May would-
"I've heard a few stories about her." The man said, interrupting her thoughts. "She was called the 'Lioness' in her day, wasn't she? Leyland's first female Airship pilot. Can you fly a ship too?"
Pause. "No," May lied, "I never learned." In fact, she was quite competent. Her natural wits made her a good hand with a small and manoeuvrable ship.
"That's too bad." The man said, "If only you did, I might have been able to find you a place on one of my ships... oh well, I'm sure there are plenty of other things you have to offer me." He slipped his arms around May's back, and quickly found the clasp to her bra. "Why don't we take a look?" Fuck.
