Over My Limit Ch. 03: The Sale

The auctioneer spoke again: "Slave, please address the issue. It's a serious matter if you recorded false information on your admissions paperwork, and may result in additional time."

"No," I stammered. I desperately looked around, but I still hadn't managed to work out where in the room he was. I addressed the woman. "Ma'am, I promise they're natural!"

"I'd like to check," she said, "may I?" This was not directed at me - no-one has to ask a slave's permission for anything.

"Be my guest," He said, "but please make it quick, we have a lot of merchandise to move today, and this one has already taken more than her allotted time."

The woman quickly moved to the front and climbed up onto the stage. She came right up close to me, closer than necessary. She was in her fifties, with a hard look to her mouth. I could see her being a tough brothel-madam. I could smell her expensive perfume - I'd bought myself that same fragrance before. She reached out both hands and grabbed my tits roughly. She squeezed and twisted, and pressed her fingers hard into the underside of each breast. I squealed in pain and tried to pull away, but my restraints held me firm.

"Well?" Asked the auctioneer.

"They appear to be in order," she said grudgingly. She stepped back down, but not before giving my left nipple a cruel tweak, as if to punish me for daring to prove her wrong.

Somehow, having the quality of my tits questioned was the most humiliating thing that had happened to me that day.

"Very well, let the file be updated to show that this slave has verified natural breasts. Now please, let's complete the bidding."

Soon it was over, and there was a light ripple of applause - hopefully that meant I sold for a lot. The stagehands lowered my arms and unfastened me, and I was directed off to stage right. Another man in black was standing there, and scanned my wrist ID.

"How much?" I asked.

"It's up to your purchaser whether to tell you that, now head through that door to shipping."

'Shipping'. Wow, they really wanted you to know you were merchandise!

I passed through the door he indicated, and I was in another small office. A woman in a uniform scanned me again and handed me a small package.

"Put this on."

I unwrapped it, and it turned out to be a simple disposable paper smock. It was really just a long sheet of thin paper with a head-hole, and narrow paper strips joining the front and back at waist level.

I pulled it over my head and put my arms out the sides. It hardly covered anything - it barely reached below my butt-cheeks, and from the side you could still totally see my tits, but it was better than nothing. It was the first time I'd had anything covering me since I was stripped naked in court.

She looked down at the tablet she was holding.

"Hmm. It hasn't updated with your buyer yet." She walked over close to me. She reached down and cupped my pussy. I knew enough not to pull away.

"I expect they'll keep this shaved," she said, "but I think a nice bush holds a woman's scent better. Maybe I'll come visit whichever whorehouse you're at and see."

She pulled the waistband of her pants out. "Put your hand in my panties," she ordered.

I did as she said, and found a furry bush.

"Finger me."

I slipped my middle finger inside her, she was wet.

"Taste it."

I pulled my hand out and tasted my middle finger. Her juices were strong, but not unpleasant.

"Remember that taste - I'll be sitting on your face soon enough."

She seemed to expect a response.

"Yes ma'am," I replied.

Just then, her tablet binged.

She glanced down and gave a disappointed grunt. Maybe my brothel wasn't here in town?

"Alright," she said, "through that door and bus seven. Remember, the collar knows where you are supposed to be."

"Thank you, ma'am." I headed outside, and found myself in a large parking lot with a row of buses.

I walked along, looking for number seven.

Each bus, along with the number, had a hand-written sign with the name of a brothel or slave employment agency.

I saw 'Pink Delight', 'Just Blondes', 'Open Wide', 'Tied 'n Tested', 'Ace in the Hole', 'Obedient Domestics'.

A found number seven, but it only had the number, no name. I climbed aboard. There was no driver, but three slaves, all wearing the same paper smocks as me. I sat down opposite a guy I recognised from my sale group.

"Any idea where we're going?"

"Nope," he said, "and frankly, that worries me. I'm a trained masseur, so I was hoping to go to one of the big spas."

I nodded. "Yeah, I was hoping for a high-end place."

He glanced at me, and I saw him eying my tits through the open side of my smock.

"Yes, that's where I would expect a girl with your bod to end up - you're smoking."

I grinned. "Thanks!"

I glanced down at him. On a guy his size, the smock didn't cover anything, and his flaccid cock was on full display, resting between his open thighs.

"You're not so bad yourself," I said, "maybe some rich bitch bought you for her home spa."

About ninety minutes passed, and the bus gradually filled up with men and women of all types, then finally a driver climbed on board. He didn't acknowledge his passengers, and simply closed the doors and drove the bus out of the auction complex, and into the evening traffic.

We drove though dreary suburbs, and finally he stopped outside a seedy-looking strip club.

He stood facing us and looked at his tablet.

"EG427 and DR324, come forward." He commanded. Two young women stood up and walked to the front of the bus. He scanned their bracelet IDs and led them off the bus. The wind played havoc with their flimsy paper smocks. They tried to protect their modesty, but they simply didn't have enough hands to cover their boobs, ass and pussy, and an old man passing by got a great view.

They were led into the club, and a few minutes later the driver emerged alone, holding their two slave collars. He stowed them in a plastic tub by his seat, and we drove off again.

The scene repeated, and gradually the bus emptied, stopping at massage parlours, apartment complexes, even a grocery store. The guy beside me was taken off at a really fancy mansion. We wished each other good luck.

There were only three of us left when the driver called my number. We were outside a pretty fancy apartment building in the fashionable end of downtown. As I stepped off the bus the wind ripped at my smock and nearly tore it off, much to the amusement of two guys walking past.

"Hey, fresh meat!" One of them called to the driver, "Which apartment? We might drop by for a visit!"

The driver ignored them and led me up to the building, where a smartly dressed doorman stepped out, closing the door behind him.

"Deliveries go round the back."

The driver sighed, "Come on man, I don't have time for this. It's not like we need the freight lift!"

"Sir," said the doorman, "merchandise like that certainly needs to go in freight - there's no way I'd expect my residents to share a lift with a whore."

"Even though it's one of your residents that bought the whore?"

The doorman sighed. "Ok, you can come in this way, but you're still riding freight." He opened the door and let us in. It was a pretty typical lobby, with a couple of nice couches and a concierge desk. The doorman called over to the concierge. "Hey Harry, make sure this goes freight, ok?"

The concierge nodded, and beckoned us quickly down a hallway beside the lifts and through a door. We were now in a bare concrete space with big rubber swing doors leading out to a loading dock. My feet were cold on the concrete floor.

He turned a key in a lock beside the freight lift, and I heard it begin to rumble. He looked me up and down appreciatively.

"Nice piece, where to?"

"Name of Harrington." Replied the driver.

The concierge nodded. "Eighth floor. Always have good taste, them. Maybe this year instead of a cash tip, they'll let us have her for an afternoon!"

The driver laughed, and at that moment the lift opened and he led me in. It smelled bad in here - garbage and stale cigarettes.

He pressed eight, and turned to me. I braced for the groping, but instead he looked me in the eye.

"How'd you get to this?" He asked.

"What, slavery? I got into too much debt."

"You're lucky you didn't end up in a brothel."

"Actually, that's kind of what I was expecting. Wouldn't have been so bad. Total sexual surrender, you know?" I flipped up the front of my smock and flashed him my snatch. "Being used as a mindless sex toy appeals to me."

He blushed. Luckily, the slow old lift finally opened and we stepped out. It was another dingy freight lobby with a big garbage can and a mop leaning against the wall. We walked through the only door and into a plush hallway. I was thankful to have carpet under my feet again.

He checked his tablet, then led me down the hall to door 803. He checked the tablet again, then punched a code into a little number pad. There was a click and the whirr of a motor, and he pushed the door open.

It seemed to be a large apartment, tastefully furnished in scandanavian style - smooth wood floors, clean lines, modern art on the walls. On a small table lay a thin strip of black fabric. He picked it up.

"I'm to put this on you."

"What is it?"

"It's your new slave collar - it's a really expensive one. You can't even tell."

He put it around my throat and it snapped shut.

"I think it's the newest kind - it has full biometric readings, gps, everything. It can still shock you, I'm afraid."

"I'd expect nothing less!"

He unlocked and removed the other heavy collar.

"Oh, that's much better," I sighed, rubbing my neck. "Now what? There doesn't seem to be anyone home."

"No," he replied, holding up the tablet, "It says to just leave you, they'll be home late. I guess just make yourself useful, you know, first impressions and all. It says they'll instruct you on the rules of the house, but the main one all slaves get is don't make eye contact with your master or mistress, ok?"

I nodded in agreement and smiled at him. "Thanks for being kind to me."

He blushed a little, then suddenly looked really awkward. "Um, can I ask a favour?"

"Of course, anything."

"Well, um, can I feel your boobs?" He was embarrassed to look at me while he asked.

I gave a little laugh. "I'm a slave - you don't have to ask!"

"That wouldn't feel right to me, even though that's what you were sentenced to."

"Well, anyway, you have my permission." I pulled the sides of the paper across my chest together, revealing my breasts to him.

"God, they're amazing," he sighed, reaching out and taking one in each hand. I felt a nice warmth spread across my chest as he gently fondled me, and my nipples stiffened against his palms.

"Would you like to fuck me?" I whispered.

He hesitated. "I can't - you know, the bus. They monitor how long each delivery takes. I have to go." He reluctantly let go of me and picked up the tablet and collar.

As he opened the door, I said, "Now can I ask a favour? Will you think of me when you jack off tonight?"

He blushed even deeper.

"Will you promise me?" I pressed on, "I'd really like to know you're thinking about how nice my tits felt."

He gave an awkward nod, and quickly left. It was good to know I still had it!