Slave Sophie Auctioned

I look out at the sea of faces. Some jeer, some wink or hollar. I blush in modesty. I move my hands lower, almost as if to cover myself with the thin strip of chain. It is the only familiar clothing I've got left; they took the rest from me when I turned 18 last night, but as the descendant of a conquered people, I've never been allowed to move through the city without chains before. My pale skin, unfamiliar with the sunlight, appears to reflect it off of my skinny form.

I get up to the platform and there is a man I have never seen before. He takes my chains from me, a sudden coldness on my wrist. That moment of freedom immediately ends when he grasps a fistful of my curly blonde hair, lifting me to my tiptoes. I know better than to raise my arms to fight it. The pain makes me let out a soft whimper, and i hear a roaring from the crowd. They wave fistfuls of bills, all well-dressed and some drunken. He fastens my arms to a fixture overhead, as if I'd flinched, and I'm almost insulted. When they took me from my home, they said everything would be well for my parents and brother if I cooperated. I know that they will kill them if I do anything to resist, so i want to show my enthusiasm, do the best I can to protect them.

He introduces me as a "fine specimen" and I'm flattered. He keeps using the word "pure" and I don't understand what he means. He keeps mentioning how small I am, but describes me as tight. I've never heard a petite girl described that way before, and i think people in the capitol have funny language.

He brings the microphone up to my mouth and asks, "You ever cum, honey?"

I want to ask where, but I don't want to sound dumb so I assume.

"No," I answer, "I've never come to the Capitol before."

The crowd erupts in laughter, like the surface of the sea disturbed by a ship.

"Well, good news" the auctioneer smiles. "I think you're going to like it a lot."

With that, he slides a hand up my thigh. I shiver at the warmth of his touch, and fight the reflex to cross my legs. Part of my wants to kick at him, but the other part is intrigued. Suddenly I am aware of a change in something; a tightness. The word comes to my head in his voice, almost like he'd been able to predict the future. Something inside of my clenches warmly into itself.

He slides a single finger to the split of my untouched petals. I gasp, to the loud approval of the crowd. He runs it lightly along me and, instinctively, my knees buckle just enough to force it through the part. I feel a zap between my legs, brief and sharp. He withdraws suddenly, bringing two fingers together and apart to display a slimy residue.

"As you can see, she's ready to go on command," he announces. Then he pops a finger into his mouth and announces, "Sweet as honey!" I feel a surge of pride, enjoying the crowd's reaction. He replaces the finger, running slowly along the slit, just short of the bud. I restrain myself from plunging into him again, knowing it will somehow satisfy this bizarre itch. He does it for too long, so long that I can hear the chains above me rattle from my fine trembling.

With his other hand, he suddenly envelopes the entirety of my small, pointed breasts. I scream, feeling my nipples harden so quickly that they are pressed back almost painfully by the heel of his hand. As if to reward my reaction he adds another finger to part me, laying them flat across my pleasure center. The slow, sharp circles cause my heart to race. I pant, hungrily, and the swelling inside of me grows. With every small motion there is heat, and I feel so slick that I'm almost sure I'm literally melting onto his hands, dripping down my own narrow thighs and into a puddle on the wooden stage.

He spreads me for the crowd, gingerly brushing my maidenhead. When his finger passes over the unbreached opening I feel something inside of me burst. My insides are thrown into a fit of intoxicating convulsions. I transcend myself, unrestrained screaming that frightens the birds from the trees and is somehow louder than the uproar of the bidders as they shout out numbers so high that they are meaningless to me. I can barely catch my breath, almost terrified that I've been driven mad. When it passes I turn red. I cross my legs, so slippery against one another that I threaten to lose my footing.

When they stop yelling out numbers, I expect to be taken down from the rack. Instead, a man steps up. He looks to be somewhere between my age and my father's; grown, but not yet old. His body is broad, almost beast-like, and his skin is tanned from what I assume must be days lounging in his garden. His manhood is different than any I have ever seen, swollen so that only half of the length can be covered by his enormous hands. The men in the crowd clap for him. Some look half-hearted, and other, I notice suddenly, in similar states of arousal. Once again I feel a strange pride, pride that I could do that to them.

"Sophie, I'd like you to meet Brock, your new master!" The auctioneer announces. I smile, awkwardly. I move to wave, forgetting my hands are still bound above me. He smirks; it's not a friendly look. I'm suddenly overcome with a feeling of dread, of vulnerability. With one hand he is able to cover most of my middle, lifting me off the ground. The other aims his monstrous member against my fragile virginity, ignoring my panicked whimpers. I try to hush them, thinking of what is at stake.

It doesn't appear to bother him. He slides his bulbous head against my pussy, getting it nice and wet, and then starts to push in. He doesn't move his hips, lifting me off of my feet and then lowering me, slowly, back down onto him. The pain is biting as he defiles me, and my body squeezes to reject him.

"So... tight..." he pants, and gravity forces far too much of him into to me. Halfway down, he meets resistance. I want to protest that it's too much, it's too big, but he keeps going. I feel lmpailed, like he will run out of room and keep going right out my mouth. He steadies me so that I am leaning forward slightly, and then forces the rest of the way in with a thrust that makes my kidneys shift. He keeps pounding away at that same, unbearable depth. I bite my lip, fighting back screams. I cant help but twist at first, struggle. He takes no notice, only tightens his grip and quickens his pace until I learn to accept it.

When I finally give into it, I'm deafened to the cheers of the other men. I lose all connection to anything but the massive thing inside of me, hollowing me out and yet filling me to completion. He rewards the submission, moving his hand between my legs to indulge me once again. The whimpers turn into long, liberating moans. My toes curl, feet still off the ground, and I my insides begin to choke the giant cock, milking it. I feel a sudden spurt of heat hit the pit of me, sending me into another fit.

He snaps the collar around my neck while I'm still twitching inside. on fawnish legs, he leads me through the crowd, who part to form a part. I'm unsure what to do with my hands in public, with no chains on them.