Abducted for Profit

A few hours had passed since Caitlin was pushed into a cold cell with a few other unfortunate souls. The first part of the evening was ready to begin. She now found herself standing on a 10x10 feet platform, a single step higher of floor level. Her leather-bound wrists had been pulled upwards by a thick chain that ended high up on the tall ceiling. Her arms were completely taut and vertical, her wrists pulled so high that Caitlin had to tippy-toe to keep some of the pressure off her joints. All the other 34 captives were in an identical situation as she was, presented in their own small stages for everyone to examine, in 4 rows of about 7-8 women each. Unlike the grim atmosphere of the cell-area, the lights here were strong and illuminating.

About 50 yards from where she stood, the restrained woman could see a crowd, mingling and enjoying cocktails, between the bars and the buffet. It was a small crowd, about 50 people, but their wallets more than made up for their numbers. Men in sleek suits and women in expensive dresses, be it couples, bachelors or bachelorettes. Despite their stylish appearance, the spotlights would not fall on them this evening.

Meanwhile, Mara, Raleen and Helena were hanging out at the buffet table, along with other slavers and some potential clients. Helena was stuffing her face with crab-legs, while Raleen and Mara were chatting up with Mark, a local "coworker" from Ireland. "Yeah, if you go through the countryside villages, you can find some nice farm-girls. Easier to "pick up, too" he informed Mara, who was taking in the useful insight. "Pick up" was a common term in their circles, for abducting a slave-to-be.

"I wish i had a girl in my team. Women are too careful around guys, nowadays" the man said to Mara. "Yeah, it's the perk of being a *sister*" Raleen nodded, making quote marks with her fingers.

The music slowly fainted, and the voice of a young man was heard through the speakers. "Ladies and gentleman, welcome to another auction! All our top quality products are ready for you. You have around 90 minutes to inspect them at your own leisure. Our staff will be there to help you with anything you might need. Thank you" the announcement concluded.

Caitlin then noticed what the announcer was referring to. There were about 6-7 men and 3-4 women, both genders in good suits, standing scattered around the various "pieces". They were all wearing latex gloves, which Caitlin found weird. One of the staff members, a long-haired young man, approached her to turn the valve of the pump, deflating the gag and removing it through the spider one. "Haaaa?" Caitlin uttered worried, with furrowed brows, in question of what laid ahead. The man did not bother responding, not even raising his eyes to her.

One by one, the small crowd started approaching the other, more appetizing, buffet of the night. Caitlin let out a fearful moan, as increasingly more eyes were falling on her, gazing at her naked form with a detached interest. The kind one might have while passing by a shop's window and spotting a nice pair of shoes. She could not feel more exposed at this moment. There was a small chart, propped up in front of her, in the corner of her little platform, which window-shoppers scanned their eyes by. Caitlin could not read it, as it faced the opposite direction:

AGE: 23

LANGUAGES: ENGLISH, SPANISH, ITALIAN

NATIONALITY: IRISH

ORIENTATION: STRAIGHT

No name, occupation, or anything revealing of her personality. The information, picked up via web research on social media and work-profiles, was relevant to the buyers, though, as these things weren't obvious with a naked eye. These attributes were there to help customers pick what best suited their tastes.

The room now was full of critiquing chatter, interspersed with both painful and desperate moans, all echoing on the tall ceiling of the room. It sounded like a symphony from hell, at least to Caitlin's ears. Each bound woman could barely struggle, rendered basically immobile through her strict bondage, as men and women probed, groped and examined them thoroughly, looking for the best option. A hard nipple pinch was the quickest way to tell whether the sound of a toy was appealing to the ears of the potential buyer. It also served as a quick way to gauge their pain sensitivity, a characteristic that was very often sought after.

Another important quality was the slave's reaction to sexual stimuli. All staff members were equipped with cordless vibrators, which they'd press against a slave's sex-hole, upon request. A lot of clients preferred to stimulate the merchandise themselves, rubbing their clits or labia with their fingers.

People grabbing your naked body without a single warning felt so dehumanizing, so invasive, that it actually stressed Caitlin out, to the point where her heart was racing, in anticipation of the next hand on her. Her pleading eyes and unintelligible pleas appealed to no-one, as there wasn't a minute where she wasn't being violated.

"Can i see her teeth" a woman pointed to Caitlin, while addressing a tall, well-groomed Brazilian guy. She looked around 45, with white-blonde short hair, and a fur scarf caressing her neck. "Of course, mam'" he said, putting his hand right on the girl's face, pinching and moving her lips out of the way to reveal her teeth. That was the reason for the latex gloves. However, buyers could get their dirty paws all over the merchandise.

"What are you doing? I'm not a fucking horse!" was all Caitlin could think, as the older woman took a good, up-close look at her dental state. "Hmmm, and her tongue?" she asked, again. The man took out a pair of forceps with plastic ends. "Eeeeeeaaahhh, NOoooooo" Caitlin protested, trying to turn her head away, but the man just calmly grabbed her jaw to bring it towards him, pinching her tongue with the forceps. "AAaaaaaaaaaa..." she yelped as he pulled it out, until he could feel a strong enough resistance. "Hmmm" the woman looked troubled. "Wished it was a bit longer. Anyway, thank you very much" she bid the man farewell and continued browsing.

Not a minute later, a young couple, dressed in latex and leather attire, passed by her, eyeing her first, then the chart in front of her. They spoke to each other, Caitlin could pick up it was Italian. If her memory and ears did not deceive her, the man was asking his girlfriend whether she needed another "toilet slave." Caitlin knew both these words in Italian, but she had never heard them side by side. What did that even mean? She dreaded what the answer could be.

As time went on, the bound, naked women were being assaulted in all kinds of humiliating manner. Some of them were surrounded by 3 or 4 people at a time, while others were given less attention, something they were completely fine with. Caitlin belonged in the first category. She had lost count of the amount of times she was spanked, groped, pinched and probed. She had all sorts of fingers in her mouth, her labia-lips and asscheeks spread and presented for any curious window-shopper to see. She had her pussy "buzzed" for demonstrative purposes at least 20 times. It was effective. Even though Caitlin was not in ANY sort of erotic mood, this device elicited a reaction out of her each time. "Haaaaa...haaaaaa...ooooooh" she'd breathe deeply through the spider gag and struggle to move away from the vibrations, without any success.

Penetration was off-limits during the "inspection" but that was little consolation. The worst in all this was how powerless she was to stop any of it. These people could do literally whatever they wanted to her, and her only option was to stand there, on her toes, and take it. She felt so ashamed to be treated like cattle, or more accurately, like an object, broken down to its working parts. She was blushing the whole way through this ordeal, deeply ashamed, despite having done nothing wrong.

Caitlin actually drew a crowd around her, every time she was getting "buzzed" or simply rubbed, the crowd either marveled at the show in silence, or praised the product's potential. "She sings like a bird, doesn't she?" Caitlin heard from some direction, in her hazy, chaotic state. Saliva was long since running from her locked jaw, down her chin, her neck, between the beautiful valley between her breasts, past her belly. Some of it was even soaking her little bush.

A few rows ahead of her, a young black girl with long dreads and a single nipple piercing, appeared to have pissed herself from overwhelming fear, and was getting cleaned up by the auction staff.

Caitlin could see no empathy in these people's eyes. They all seemed completely oblivious to her human nature, the insulting way they touched her and talked about her, as though she was not even present. All her moans and pleading looks went completed unrecognized, or at best, unanswered. It was completely surreal.

Eventually time was up, and the rich fold took their seats in front of the main stage. The lights got dim, only lights facing the stage. It was like a theater, and the play was about to start. Mara, Raleen and Helena turned their attention towards the stage, along with everyone else. If they managed to make 150k, they would be very pleased. The "venue" that hosted the auction, always took somewhere between 40% and 50% out of each sale, which couldn't be helped.

"Ladies and gentleman, i hope you're ready to begin bidding!" a young, clean-shaven man, with short hair so blonde and eyes so blue, a Nazi's wet dream, appeared on stage, equally well dressed as his audience. He spoke through a discrete head-microphone. "Without keeping you waiting, let's get on with the first item" he said with a Colgate smile, his words followed by polite applause.

All the while, Caitlin, along with every other "piece" had been led beside the curtains "backstage," and was getting prepared. She was again ballgagged with a standard red ball. A woman was currently brushing her hair, while a second one was putting very red lipstick, around the girl's ballgagged lips. They didn't pay any attention to the girl's pleading eyes, nor her matching moans. They were there to do their jobs, which was prettying up the products. They applied some dark mascara on her eyes. Caitlin thought she must look like a slutty Barbie or something along those lines. She could see women being led towards the stage, pointlessly pulling away from their handlers.

But Caitlin wasn't nude. She'd put in a corseted bodysuit, made of black leather and tightly laced to an hourglass shape. It was sleeveless, with a huge cleavage, barely covering the girl's nipples. The thong shaped backside also left her whole rump exposed. It was obvious that the purpose of the clothing item was not to cover, but to tantalize and enhance. The auctioneers knew well that a half-naked body usually intrigued the eye more than a completely naked one. And besides, clients had already seen Caitlin's goods earlier. Other than that, the girl had been fitted with some 5-inch, black, Mary Jane heels.

With her turn fast approaching, Caitlin was led by a male guard behind a curtain. There was a chain, dangling from a pulley. The chain could slide across a line on the ceiling. Caitlin was too afraid to do much, as the male handler raised her cuffed wrists and snapped the chain of her cuffs onto the dangling one. She was in a similar position as before, with her arms raised overhead. Even if she lost her balance, the wrist-cuffs weren't letting her drop more than an inch.

"Let's meet our next lovely specimen!" the host was heard behind the curtain. Then, Caitlin felt her arms being pulled forward, past the curtain, and towards the stage! She tried pulling against it, but the device was moving electronically through a motor. She would follow wherever this thing was taking her.

Passing the curtains, she was blinded by strong lights coming from many directions. With the machine pulling her at a steady pace, she was forced to walk a small distance to the center of the stage, where mister Hitler-youth was waiting. All eyes were on her. Even if the crowd's faces were hidden in darkness, she could feel their gaze. To say that it felt humiliating, being paraded like that would be an understatement.

"Here we have a true Irish beauty, only 23 years of age. And as you can all see, a phenomenal bust", he spoke, presenting Caitlin's breasts. "Her rear is equally as exquisite" he turned the helpless woman around the axis of her body, to display her exposed butt-cheeks, the same way a car salesman would show the spoiler of a sports car to a possible buyer. The girl could not be feeling any more objectified.

"We begin the bidding at 20.000 euros" the man said. Right after the words left his mouth, Caitlin saw 3, then 4 hand-signs being raised, each with a number displayed, that glowed with a neon-like light in the darkness. "Ok, lots of demand, do i hear 30.000?" the man begun haggling, the coveted prize hanging right next to him, like a pork chop.

It all felt like a weird nightmare. Like those embarrassing ones where you're giving a speech and all of a sudden you realize you're naked and everyone is laughing and pointing at you. Only this one was real, and Caitlin wished they were just laughing. She felt so vulnerable, too vulnerable to even fight her bonds or scream, at this point. If someone in this crowd was planning to save her, you would have already done something. "Do i hear 70? 1...2...sold to number 21 for 65000!" Caitlin was snapped back to reality by the host's raised voice. On the side of the stage, Mara finally let out a big smile. She was always hard to please, but the tanned bitch brought a good stack of cash their way. She had no reason to whine. Helena and Raleen high-fived. This night looked promising. The blondie sisters were up next.

Caitlin was still in a weird daze, that feeling when a shocking realization just hits you. She'd probably fall down, if it weren't for her wrist-cuffs. Everything around her became numb, the voice of the presenter, the hum of the crowd, the wooden floor beneath her feet. Memories of her friends, her family, her everyday life, flooded past her eyes, all in a split second. She had just been sold! Why was this happening to her? She tried to wrap her head around the facts. This very morning, she was getting ready for a date with a cute guy. She closed her eyes hard. This is what they do to wake up from a bad dream. Nothing was different when she opened them again.

She tried to see who was this "number 21." She couldn't spot anything but a vague silhouette of her buyer, the light falling in her eyes making everything else extra dark. The pulley did not wait for her to get a better look, as she was quickly "escorted" off stage, the same way she entered. She could process her future all she liked on the way to her new home.

A wooden crate is being lifted by two men and placed inside a private jet. It is stacked on top of another identical crate, already sitting in the lounge area of the plane. Mister Jomabul, a Mongolian warlord, is chatting to the manager of last night's auction. He appears satisfied, having acquired a couple of fresh slaves to add to his vast collection. His wife, a 40 year old, pampered diva of the Mongolian star-system, is waiting stoically by his side. She loves it when her husband buys her new things, but this ranks among her favorite kinds of shopping.

It is not evident, neither by the cheerful mood and relaxed pace of things, nor by the sunny day, that inside these two crates, two unwilling captives are being readied for intercontinental transport. Caitlin's naked body is buried in foamy, packing peanuts. The oxygen mask is well-affixed over her face, to avoid asphyxiating. Her stuffed and taped mouth, guarantee the couple a peaceful journey back home. Plenty of more tape around her arms, forearms, wrists and then her thighs, knees and ankles, keep her securely stoic. A small air-conditioning unit makes sure things don't get too hot inside the nail-sealed crate. The last thing Mister Jomabul would like is to get to Mongolia and find a packaged body instead of a toy. He likes getting a lot more use out of his slaves.

Caitlin struggles, suspended, floating in this foamy sea. She doesn't know that she's laying right above the crate of another one of Mara, Helena and Raleen's captures. A sweet, 21 year old, freckled-faced, redhead angel. She had been followed on the way back from the public library, where she was studying for her finals. She was "picked up" by the trio's van, when they offered her a ride home. The girl never expected Helena and Raleen to jump her from behind the passenger sit and chloroform her.

The future appears grim for both Caitlin and the unnamed girl. While her husband is more practical with his slaves and usually treats them like recyclable cum-dumpsters, Miss Jomabul loves training them and breaking them into submission. Her plans for these two straight girls is to turn them into lesbian lovers, who worship her like a goddess. She speaks none of the languages they do, but that has never stopped her, before.

Music blasts from a small apartment, a few miles away from Dublin. Its occupants cannot be happier. Raleen is practically dancing with every step she takes, as she's folding clothes into her luggage bag. Mara and Helena have already packed and are finishing the final touches on their make-up. Tonight, they celebrate, most probably at some nightclub. Tomorrow, they'll be heading back home, each with 1/3 of a really good payout. A short, month-long vacation and then back for more glory! Or just more cash.

There's not a single mention of any of the women they so violently plucked out from their peaceful lives. Even their names, the girls would be hard-pressed to remember, never mind other details. After a certain time in this occupation, a beautiful woman is seen as merely potential profit. After all, why bother in the first place? Did a hunter remember every single dear he shot down?

"Soooo? what do you think?" Helena showed of her new, black pair of Guccis to her friends. "They look SO good on you, like... ohmygaad!" Raleen teased her. "Riiiight?" she played along, acting like a dumb bimbo. "Real-talk, though, i fucking love them" the small Russian girl added, this time sincerely. She'd strut her stuff like a boss in these, tonight. She was certain the girl she took them from would not miss them.