Tuesday, 27 October 2015

Second Person Submission: The Auction.

Wrote this earlier. It needs work and fleshing out, but it's been a while since I blogged, so I might as well see what people think about it. ;)


* * * * *

You awake lazily from a dream you can’t quite recall to discover yourself in darkness.

There’s something covering your eyes, and your body feels… strange.

You’re... hot… your knees bent… legs spread wide… aroused… and there’s a coolness around your pussy that’s making you feel exposed…

With a start, you realise that you’re nude… Not only that, but as you begin to reach a hand towards your face to find what’s obscuring your vision, you find someone has cuffed you with leather straps at your wrists, your knees, your ankles...

You struggle momentarily as adrenaline enters your body, and your senses begin to report in.

Somehow you’ve been captured, stripped, cuffed…

You don’t know who, or how, but they’ve got you spread like a sex doll.

Presented… Displayed… Ready for use...

You listen intently and realise that you’re not alone. You can hear muffled voices, conversation, laughter, both men and women… but all of it sounds like it’s coming from the other side of a window. You can’t make it out because there’s some other clearer noise… some rhythm… pulsing, and hypnotic gently drowning it out.

There are discernible words in there, but there’s something about them that you can’t focus on. It’s like as soon the word is spoken, you forget what was said. It’s making you feel strange. Sexy. Obedient…  Wait what? “Where did that thought come from?” you ask yourself.

As you attempt to speak, you find your mouth’s already open wide. Gagged, spread and the only sound that emerges is an erotic sounding grunt:


The sound echoes strangely… as though rather than a room, you’re in some kind of box or container.

“Hello!?” you try to call, though it emerges from your wide-open mouth as “Ellell?”

Again, the sound has this strange quality, making you feel like the walls of whatever cell you now find yourself in are only inches away from you. Like you’re in some kind of box… or cage… or display case…

Considering the circumstances… you feel strangely relaxed, almost good.

The wetness of your pussy tells you something, and you can smell the scent of your own arousal hanging in the air.

Then you realise the reason why you feel so good… so chilled… you feel like you’ve just had an orgasm…

You’re feeling the afterglow.

But when did that happen?

What is your dream?

How did you get here?

Then you hear the voice. Piped through speakers.

“Ahh, ladies and gentlemen, it looks like Lot 17 has come back to her senses. This girl certainly has some stamina, doesn’t she?”

There’s an appreciative murmuring from outside your box.

“For those of you just joining us, Lot 17 is a 21 year old girl from London who wishes to become owned property. She’s taken well to hypnotic conditioning and as you can see, you may place her in any mindset that you choose. For example…”

A tone plays, and your world transforms.

You’re a slut. A horny piece of fuckmeat that needs to be used. You feel a dildo positioned near your pussy and you hungrily begin to wiggle your hips down so you can slide it into yourself.

“This would be slut mode…” comes the voice,  “in this state the only thing that matters to Lot 17 is getting herself off. The fact that she’s bound, naked, and on display barely registers to her.”

The words are meaningless, why is no-one fucking you? Why is no-one sucking at your nipples? squeezing your ass? fucking your face-hole? God, you need it. Pussy, cock, anything, EVERYTHING! All that matters is pleasure, sensation, fucking, play, that wonderful dildo that you’re thrusting yourself onto greedily over and over and over.

“In contrast, this… would be damsel in distress mode”

Another tone plays and everything changes.

Suddenly you’re scared… panicing. Tearful.

What’s going on!? Who’s saying this? How did you get here?! What’s happening to you Help!

“Eelllllp eeeeeeeee!” you moan tearfully, struggling against your bonds.

“Ohhh 17.” mocks the voice “No-one’s going to help you now. This is what you wanted after all!”

“uck oooo!” you grunt “oo’ll regret ish!!”

“As you can see Ladies and Gentlemen, this one will be perfect for roleplay. At a moment’s notice she’ll become your slut, your captive, or simply....”

Another tone.

Now all that matters is serving… pleasing… obeying… surrendering… being the best submissive you can be.

“...your slave” finishes the voice.

You love that voice. You’ll do anything for it. That’s your owner. You’re their property. You’ll do anything for them, be anything, think anything, and you love it.

The gag loosens and you hear the voice asking you a question.

“Who Do You Obey, Slavegirl?”

You hear your own voice answering loudly and clear: “This slave obeys *you* Sir, it will please, serve and surrender however you wish it to.”

“Very good!” says the voice of your owner. “And are you happy to be shared with my esteemed collegues here?

“Of course Sir!” you answer proudly. “If you believe they will treasure and enjoy your property as you do.”

“Capital!” comes his voice, before continuing.

“I’ll be renting Lot 17 out for a period of 3 days. During that time you can give her whatever name, personality or set of behaviour that you like. She’ll be your ornament, your slavegirl, your fuckdoll, or your pet. If you enjoy a little resistance in your playthings, she’ll fight you tooth and nail. If you like the idea of snapping your fingers and having her as your eagerly obedient pleasure pet, she’ll switch between resistant and obedient mindsets at the touch of a button.”

“Bidding begins at £800 for a three day period.”