My Third Day at the Slave Market

One by one, they come. They use me, penetrate me, slap me, then leave after having emptied themselves on me. Outside the tent, I hear the crowd swarming in the hall. They have come in great numbers for the big event. Today, the stage is reserved for only one prisoner. My Master, still annoyed by my presence and the other unsold ones, has negotiated with the men of the hall for us to serve as entertainment for the spectators.

Meanwhile, on the stage, a warlord was thrilling the crowd with his trophy. Back from a distant land, he exhibits to the eyes of all a naked female prisoner, hanging from the beam. And in front of the spectators, he tortures her for the pleasure of hearing her screams. She was once a respected, adored queen, but now she would be demeaned, branded and remain at the feet of her new Master for the rest of her life.

Meanwhile, I wait for the next client, shackled to a comfortable bed, hidden under a tent. Not far from me, I hear Isabella's belching as she sucks a Master in her tent. Inside me, anger rumbles, urging me to revolt. I was not sold, I regret it, but I was always obedient. I offered my body to the customers, to the men of the market, to the men of my Master. For weeks now, my life has been nothing but a long serie of rapes and punishments. No compassion, no pity for me.

A client comes in. Without even speaking to me, he grabs me by the hair and throws me on the bed. Docile, I remain on all fours, rump up. I spread my legs and let myself be taken like a sexual object. I push small moans of pleasure when his hands slap my buttocks. They seem to burn after the passage of so many men and women on me. But I'm annoyed by all this. I am a thirty-five year old woman, and they treat me like an animal. I see the men leering at the younger slaves' shapes. What difference does a few years make? Why doesn't anyone want me? Why am I only useful when I am rented out?

"One hour with an unbranded white whore," says a sign outside my tent. I am nothing else to them, just a loose woman.

After soiling my back, the customer spank my rump and leaves. No kind words to me. From what I hear, prostitutes are better treated in brothels, but I am chained in a tent in the middle of the market. In the distance, the fallen queen screams under the lashes. And the crowd applauds. At least she has an audience.

Between two sessions of slap and tickle, I clean my mouth in a bowl. The chains on my wrists force me to squirm to wash my back soiled by the Masters. I hurry, I hear footsteps. Another customer enters my tent.

- On your knees, slut, he orders me.

Another one who wants my mouth. Debased, I try to satisfy this new Master. Despite my disgust, I try to lick as best I can. Please, someone buy me. Anyone, as long as I can finally get out of this tent. I think back to the Master's threat. It's a miracle I've been able to escape the mines for so long. Sooner or later I will be branded and disappear into the desert, taken to my death. With every client, with every thrust, I pray to be bought. But nobody wants me. I am only good for being rented at low prices. If I had been younger, maybe. A few years less would have been enough. The customer empties himself onto my face,which he holds in an hard hand. I see his satisfied smile. All the Masters have the same look, they like to dirty us again and again. I don't know how the other girls are doing, but I feel like I won't be able to hold on much longer. Sooner or later I might do something stupid that will cost me a lot...

- Five hundred, five hundred and fifty, six hundred, six hundred and thirty. Not bad for five bitches in one day.

The Master was gloating over the pile of gold coins overflowing his desk. The slavers' quarters were in the hall's prison. Even after taking out the rental costs, there was plenty of money... But not enough compared to the sale of our carcasses. Lined up in a corner of the room, Isabella and I are waiting for orders, heads down. When we serve the Masters in the evening, we are used to obey as a duo. Later, we'll probably have to kiss in front of her pigs.

- That queen whore screamed like a fury when the hot iron branded her little ass, sneered a man. Too bad we don't have a filly like this too, instead of these incompetents.

It's hard not to clench my hands into fists when I hear that admonition. It's not my fault that I'm still here, I've made every effort to please the customers. I want to scream, to spit in their faces.

- Slattern, my glass is empty.

This order is addressed to me. Machinally, I bring some wine to the guard who leers at me while I serve it. He has already used me several times, he likes to know I am at his feet. To thank me, he slaps my naked buttocks and pushes me back to the corner.

- Thank you, Master, I say through my gritted teeth.

The meal is even harder to bear. I see these fat men stuffing themselves, emptying their glasses to fill them again. And meanwhile, me and Isabella serve drinks, hungry after this hard day's work.

- Ugly, get your ass over here! shouts a drunken guard, his beard full of beer.

Obediently, I approach him and kneel down beside him. He reeks of alcohol. The guard, amused by my embarrassment, starts to grope my breasts. He wipes his hands on them. I let myself be used, my chest is covered with remains of food. Next to me, Isabella serves the Master. With a black look, he throws her pieces of meat on the ground that she hastens to swallow on all fours. Isabella has long since accepted her condition as a slave. Sometimes, when I see her rolling around on the floor to eat, I get the impression that she likes being reduced to a pet. Will I end up like that too?

For the rest of the meal, the guard continues to wipe himself on me. My chest, my face, my hair stink of food and alcohol. My stomach gurgles. It's hard to resist the urge to lick my own skin for food. Just once, can't they treat us like real women? And not like dogs?

- Tomorrow the head of the palace harem is coming, the Master explains to his men. I promised him some easy-to-train girls for the Kingdom Councillors. Normally, we will be rid of these five sluts.

I listen with one ear, while the guard pulls me by the collar to put my head between his thighs. It's time for dessert. I want to cry, but I hold on. While opening my mouth to the guard, I keep my ears open to the conversation.

- The guys from the mines came to see me earlier, says the guard I'm sucking on. One of them really liked having fun with the older one. We should sell her at a good price.

- We'll see. First the Palace men, then the mine men. If we want to keep our place in the market, we have to keep good relations with the authorities.

- And if he doesn't want them?

- Then it will be the mines. And goodbye to these mouths to feed.

I accelerate the movement while listening. Hope motivates me. Tomorrow it will be over. With my exploits of the day, I am sure to finally leave this hell. Palace life, what a boon! To serve high lords, Masters of Masters. Any slave would dream of it... Finally, I will leave this iron prison for a golden cage.