Low chamber music drifted from the live musicians hidden behind a decorative Chinese screen at the far corner of the room, as servants discreetly removed dishes and plates from the tables. The room itself was a half-oval, straight at the front, a low wall two foot tall running left to right. Currently a thick, heavy royal blue velvet drape extended the length of that wall, floor to ceiling, concealing what lay behind.

The room was fashionably dim. Not gloomy, oh no. Just a relaxing low level of illumination, giving the sensation of cozy intimacy. The walls were paneled in rich, expensive warm wood, and the ceiling was decorated plaster with recessed lamps. The floors were wood parquet. Not laminate, not faux wood. Real wood: cherry, mahogany, ebony, bloodwood. The upper wall borders next to the ceiling had rolled velvet bunting, with thick velvet drapes hanging down. Each ten foot wide drape was gathered in halfway down, and held with a woven sash cord.

The front wall was perhaps thirty feet across --the largest dimension to the half-oval room-- with the rear wall perhaps twenty feet deep. There were eighteen round tables to the room, placed in gentle arcs of eight, seven and six tables, ranging front row to third, and positioned so that every table had an unobstructed view to the front. The tables were three feet in diameter, covered in thick white linen cloth.

Each table had its own servant. Each of those was female, between the ages of nineteen and twenty-six. And while not all might have been of supermodel appearance, their character and deportment were flawless. Each was dressed in translucent silks --some jewel-toned, some pastel-- that flowed down their bodies, clinging and outlining them. The outfits were all the same: sleeveless tunics with a single shoulder, down to just above the knees, snugly gathered at the waist with thin braided silk cords. All were barefoot. All wore locked collars.

They were slaves, after all.

Dinner was over, so now like a flock of bright butterflies --and every bit as silent in their passage-- they cleared tables, brought out desserts, brought out fresh perked coffee or brewed teas. The dinner plates were Royal Worcester; the flatware sterling silver; the water glasses cut crystal.

Although some of the diners had left substantial leavings, not a single slave dared to even lick a finger that might have slipped on spilled gravy. Not even with the mouth-watering meals served this evening. From appetizers, to entrees like eighteen ounce filet mignons, thirty ounce prime rib, five pound lobsters . . .

Dessert over, and now after dinner drinks and cordials were served, as well as more coffee and tea for those who preferred that. Light blue-grey smoke lazily hazed as several lit cigars or cigarettes. Law be damned, here, in this place, there were different laws that held fast.

There were nineteen guests here this evening. All but one male. Their combined wealth more than most third world countries GNP. As to their power . . .

Harder to calculate, impossible to ignore. Here were people that held the reins of power in tight hands, handled that as casually as you and I decided what color socks to wear.

All sat at their own table, by themselves, although both before, and now after, the meal most had mingled and conversed.

Tables now clear of everything save glasses, cups and mugs --and the occasional ashtray-- there was a low, almost subaudible hum of conversation. But when, about fifteen minutes after the dessert course had been finished, the ceiling lights dimmed even further at the same time the last soft notes drifted from the musicians, all conversation ceased as everyone returned to their tables.

The lights brightened to their prior level as there was one last drink refill then, with a colourful swirl of skirts the serving slaves departed as the lights did but dim again.

All conversation had stopped now, and all attention was focused on that heavy hanging curtain in front. A minute or two passed by, and then the curtain opened, parting down the middle and both rising and moving to the side, completely revealing what lay behind.

There wasn't all that much there. To the far right, when looking at the stage, was a lectern made of expensive wood. At the rear was a backdrop of dark matte fabric. In the middle, very close to the front edge . . .

Rising up from the floor was a polished, lacquered 4 x 4 eight feet tall. Attached to the top and pointing towards the dining area was another 4 x 4 three feet long. Both top and bottom had wood gusset bracing. At the end of the upper 4 x 4 was a pulley, and hanging down from that was a three-eights inch thick braided nylon rope, a snap clip attached to the end, with the other end threaded through eyehooks until reaching a little winch at the very back of the upper 4 x 4.

The hanging curtains at the far left of the stage rippled, then a man stepped through their overlap. Dressed in expensive yet tastefully subdued business attire he purposefully strode across the stage, stopping being the lectern and facing out to the small crowd.

Warmly smiling out he begins. "Good evening everyone, and welcome to a very special night here at The Villa. As all of you are connoisseurs of the highest caliber, I'm sure you'll be delighted with tonight's entertainment."

The curtain at the left flutters again, and a faint mewl is heard from behind. The steps out between the curtains a young woman, perhaps twenty, dressed in an elegant designer gown. Now, this one turns heads for sure. No more than five foot even in bare feet, very slender and petite, but lean and muscled. No fat here, that's for certain!

Her stiletto heels are three inches tall, and her hair sophisticatedly coiffured. Only the dainty jeweled collar around her throat declares that this one, too, is a slave.

In one hand she holds the end of a delicate chain leash, the chain extending back through the curtains behind her. Her steps slow yet purposeful; she unhurriedly walks out onto the stage. As she does three more figures enter behind her.

Two are female, one in her early twenties, the other middle twenties. Both are garbed fantastically, dressed in leather and furs (and not much of either, truth be told) as if some sort of warrior Amazon. Little amused smirks are on their faces as they step outside and onto the stage.

But none of those is what rivets the attention of the crowd.

That is left for the one between the two Amazons.

And she is not willingly walking out.

Tiny bare feet futilely attempt digging into the polished wood floor, scooting and scuffing in a vain effort at ceasing forward motion. Four foot four in bare feet --which she was-- and weighing 48 pounds, she had no chance of resisting. Especially since she wasn't being pulled along by the leash attached to the collar locked at her neck, but was being escorted out by the two Amazons, each of whom had one of the waif's little arms.

Were those two really needed? No, and yes. Considering the child's hands were fastened behind her back, each tiny wrist confined in a thick, padded leather cuff, and that tiny ankles --also secured in thick padded cuffs-- had only twelve inches of fine-linked chain between them, it was very doubtful he could have resisted being leash-led out.

But she could have collapsed, intentionally fell down, or otherwise hindered her inexorable journey out to the stage, and so it was more efficient and effective to escort one such as her out.

The source of that earlier muffled whine became obvious no sooner was the child escorted out as, no sooner did she see that stage, see the waiting crowd, then her delicate face turned pale as ice and she started whimpering and mewling over and over. Not that any of that was easily heard, no matter how quiet the room, for her mouth was filled by a bright red rubber ball gag that was firmly strapped behind her head.

Even at the back of the room one could see her vivid green eyes, currently enormous with fear and horror, so wide open whites surrounded those emerald irises.

You could hear the squeaking of her tiny bare feet as they uselessly scrabbled against the polished wood floor. Her escorts never seemed to even notice her effort, and just marched her over to the post at center stage, where the other woman waited, still holding the leash to the child's collar.

With smooth practiced ease the two Amazons unlocked the cuffs from behind the child's back then brought them forward and up, clipping the wrist cuff D-rings to the overhead rope snap hook. Then, crouching together at the same time, in a synchronous motion each unlocked one end of the hobble chain from an ankle cuff while holding a tiny ankle secure in their free hand.

One could see the child desperately trying to kick her way free, but again she might as well have not tried. The Amazons simply drew small feet apart, a little bit wider than her shoulders, then attached D-rings to the outside of the ankle cuffs to U-staples in the floor. Then they both stood up, smirked right at the child then stepped back over to the left curtained wall.

She was dressed much the same as the other slaves had been, except hers was a pure gleaming white that extended down just past little knees, a slit at her left side all the way up to her hip. And like all the other slaves, hanging from her tiny left lobe was a shiny, new, bar-coded tag. She was no longer mewling and whimpering; instead, she was softly keening and weeping, cheeks soaked with tears that thickly slid down. Before they'd dragged her out here, they'd taken great care to explain exactly what was going to happen, and she was horrified at that understanding.

Once the Amazons had finished and were standing at the left the man continued. "Tonight The Villa proffers a new and interesting item for your consideration. Number two eighty two is, as discriminating buyers can discern, fresh, new and untrained."

Indeed, everyone in the crowd was aware of just that. In fact, as soon as the child had been turned to face the audience low murmurs had started, for everyone there had seen this child before. You could hardly have not seen her before: For the last four days her image had been plastered across TV screens nationwide on countless news programs. And even if you had deplored viewing the pap supplied to the milk-fed masses and so had missed that, her face, hands and feet certainly had been lately appearing in numerous magazines.

This was no lost-in-the-system-flesh. No 'invisible' child. And that not only piqued their interest . . . it kindled and whetted even their jaded appetites.

The child had no recollection, no memory, of what had happened. Her last conscious recollection was being at an audition with her mother. The very next thing she remembered is waking up very groggy and disoriented, and being tightly strapped in a ball, something awful filling her mouth and being totally enclosed in something.

A something she later discovered, once uncrated, to be a sturdy wooden box.

The three days following that had been something of a blur. She hadn't been hurt, no. Nor had anyone answered her questions. Or speak to her at all, other than to strongly suggest that she keep silent from now on.

Which she had. She wasn't stupid after all.

She'd been well-fed, permitted baths and allowed the freedom of a small but furnished room. One with no windows, true, and a locked door. Which didn't really surprise her. They might not be permitting questions, nor had they ever answered the ones she had already asked, but it didn't take a genius to figure out she'd been kidnapped. So she made the best of the situation while waiting for her ransom to be paid.

And then there came tonight:

She was told to scrupulously bathe and groom, and detailed instructions were given her as well as supplies. That puzzled her, but she mentally shrugged. Perhaps they were going to make some ransom photographs or a movie. So they could prove they had her. And they wanted her to look nice, so everyone could tell she was being taken good care of.

And was still alive, too. That thought made her tummy queasily flutter.

She had gotten dressed in that odd outfit they'd given her. And it was just that outfit, too. No panties or socks. No shoes, sandals or slippers. Little shoulders had slightly shrugged; it wasn't much different, she supposed, than wearing just a bathrobe after a shower. Although she had wondered why they hadn't given her underwear.

Then a nice woman had come in and fixed her hair, and even applied a little makeup. Not much, just some subtle color and shading. Just like mommy would have approved of. Mommy didn't believe a girl her age or breeding should wear makeup at nine. Except for when on her jobs, auditions or interviews of course.

But then everything had fallen apart after that point. Two oddly dressed women had entered the small room and took charge of things. Before she'd known what was going on, her wrists and ankles had been fastened with strange odd cuff things, and then her hands had been secured behind her and her ankles connected by a really short chain.

Even that hadn't truly alarmed her. Made her very nervous, yes, but she assumed they were going to take her someplace for the ransom photos and wanted to make sure she didn't run and make a break for it.

But then they'd shoved that awful ball thing in her mouth, strapping it behind her head. And then had shown her that little ear tag thing before fastening it to her left lobe. Explaining what that was. What she was. Where they were taking her. And why.

"You have before you a literal blank slate, a tabula rasa," the man declared.

At that he gestured with a wave of his palm to the tiny child displayed for appraisal, little arms overhead and slender bare legs spread shoulder-width apart. She was starting to visibly tremble now, eyes enormous, darting all around as if seeking a miracle of rescue or help.

"Unlike the items usually offered for rental or sale by The Villa, this one does not come pre-trained. So you get to select what training your newest little toy will receive. And the price of that training is included in the final bid sale price. Unless, of course," he chuckled, "you select a doctorate degree!"

There were a couple of chuckles from the patrons. An audience that the little girl could not see, for two spotlights at the rear of the room were focused on her, illuminating her clearly to the audience but, in turn, making them slightly darker shapes in the gloomy shadow of the room before her.

Small hands pathetically fisted and tugged in their thick padded cuffs as he continued, again gesturing at her with a wave of his hand. "This is no finished sculpture; no completed statuette or figurine. Instead a block of finest, flawless marble, waiting to be sculpted into the shape of your desires."

"Do you want a pain slut? Trained to crave pain as an addict craves his next fix? Perhaps a puppy, a true puppy. Its mind accepting no other life, no other existence, save that as your beloved four-legged companion. The same if trained as a cat or pony."

"How about an eager cocksucker? Able to draw a bowling ball up a garden hose?" At that there were several more soft chuckles from the shadowy darkness before her. Especially from the ones that had seen the televised interview of her half a year ago. Where the interviewer had asked her how she'd feel if, in her very first movie, she had to kiss a boy.

'Yuck!' she'd replied, making a face. 'That'd be awful. I hope I could use a double for that. But, if I had to . . . ,' she'd trailed off in a deep sigh.

Gazing out in the direction of the sole woman he added, "Or to tirelessly lap and lick for hours and hours?"

"Or perhaps trained as a rabid nymphomaniac? Insatiably craving sex. No matter with who. Or how. Or with what?"

"Modifications are for you to choose as well. Like them pleasingly plump? Meat on their bones? We'll have it fed up until it's is a delight in your eyes. Like them muscled and flexible? Have her trained to Olympic Gold Medal gymnast standards."

"Permanent depilation. Piercings of your desired locations: multi-lobe; nose; brow; lip; cheek; navel; clit; pussy lips. Wherever you desire. Multiple brandings should you choose. Or none. Even the esoteric and outré: for instance, Chinese foot binding."

He expansively smiles out at the audience. "This item comes to you physically unblemished; mentally and emotionally as well. Untarnished by life's travails. Uninhibited, for it has no experience. No expectations."

"No defenses," he adds as he leans out to the audience with a knowing leer.

Straightening up he gestures to the displayed child again, his voice changing to a more neutral businesslike inflection. "Item number two eighty two. Caucasian female. Age nine. Height four foot four. Weight forty-eight pounds. Hair auburn with copper burnished highlights; curly and shoulder length. Eyes green with some gold flecks."

On and on he went, listing everything about her in exceptional detail, down even to the dusting of freckles --like golden pollen on fresh cream-- across her nose and tops of shoulders and the tiny little mole just behind her right ear.

Reaching down he picked up a pointer --just like those found in classrooms everywhere: a three-foot long length of polished slender wood tipped with a tapered rubber point-- before turning and walking towards the object on display.

By now her cheeks were soaked with tears, and snot bubbles frequently appeared and popped as she convulsively sobbed. Tears and slobber steadily dripped from her chin onto her chest. This just couldn't be happening! she mentally wailed. There had to be some mistake! There just had to be!

This entire time the gowned woman had simply stood motionless at the item's side, paying no heed to its hysterical histrionics as she continued holding the leash. In fact, it wasn't so much a matter of her paying no attention to its noises and struggles as it was her never noticing them to start with.

As the man started approaching the gowned woman finally moved. In a smooth synchronous motion, as elegant as a ballet, as he walked over the woman first unclipped the leash, then coiled it up and fastened it at the side of her hip to her belt. Then she stepped behind the item as the man halted to the stage right side of the displayed piece.

Lifting up the pointer he held it just in front of its chest. "As you can see," he began . . . then there came the harsh rip and pop of fabric and thread as the woman behind the item reached up, grasped the item's outfit . . . and tore it right off of her.

(The tunic had, of course, been specially made to easily rip and tear down the side seams.)

Before the child could react to the sharp jerk and pull on her dress and body, she stiffened in horror, little legs and arms reflexively trying to cover herself as she felt her face turn hot as a sunburn. She . . . she'd been stripped! Naked! She was naked in front of all these strangers!!

" . . . when it isn't blushing," he continued with an amused sardonic chuckle --echoed by quite a few in the audience as they enjoyed seeing it hotly blush all the way down her chest; enjoyed her renewed weeping and sobs as she was humiliatingly stripped naked-- "it is fairly complected but can reasonably tan." He used the rubber tip of the pointer to trace the easily visible outline of a modest one-piece swimsuit on her body.

He continued indicating various parts of her body, noting her 'conformance'; her physique. He pointed out her bellybutton, noting it being an 'outie'. Pointed to her tiny nipples, commenting on their shape and size.

And then . . .

She started to slowly revolve.

The floor upon which she stood was actually the center of a four foot diameter base, and it perfectly matched the rest of the floor. And as the ankle cuffs were clipped and fastened to staples in the base . . .

. . . as that base revolved . . . so did the item.

She sobbed even harder as she started to turn. Her blush deepened, darkened and descended even further down her little flat chest. Small feet uselessly jerked and pulled at the sturdy ankle cuffs, and little hands yanked and pulled overhead in their leather cuffs. There was nothing she could do; nothing she could do about being naked and revealed; nothing she could do about being exposed and displayed; nothing she could do about being slowly turned about, so that everyone could see all of her nakedness.

The back of the item now facing the crowd the man used the pointer to indicate sleek hips and pert little ass. One whose firm tiny cheeks had the uncommon roundness and definition for an item her tender years.

Four times in all did she fully spin about, each revolution taking a full minute. Then he stepped back to the lectern and smiled out at the crowd.

"Before bidding opens for this unique article, as is standard you are all now invited to approach and more closely examine and appraise the item."

And as shadowy figures, still undefined in her sight due to the spotlights facing her, started drawing near, closer and closer, she began deeply sobbing all over again.