By Kinkabella
Archived Here With Her Kind Permission

Part 19 - Signed, Sealed, Delivered

The sound of the auctioneer's gavel banging and his declaration that I had now been sold was still ringing in my ears after I was directed to the wings on the other side of the stage. An auction assistant led me to find a place with all of the other slaves who had been sold. They stood facing the back wall and like them, I was pushed up close to it so a short chain hanging from an eye-bolt in the wall could be hitched to my collar. It was a very short chain which forced me to stand pressed to the wall and severely limited any movement of my head. The height of the eye-bolt was such that I could still stand flat-footed on the floor, but only just. The girl who had been sold immediately before me was a few inches taller than me, and she had to stoop in what looked like an uncomfortable position to accommodate the length of the chain, and the girl sold after me spent the entire time we stood chained there desperately struggling to remain on the tips of her toes so as not to hang herself. A gag was then forced into my mouth and secured tightly in place by a leather strap buckled at the back of my head. It was like an oversized squash ball and it tasted strongly of the rubber it was made of.

I stood there chained like that for a very long time while the auction continued on the stage. Throughout the remainder of the auction I heard men in discussions with a man who identified himself as the account manager and who collected payment before any slaves would be released from the wall. Mostly the sold slaves were taken individually, but occasionally a man would take possession of three or more. It was all a bit confusing for me, but I soon heard a slaver approach and say "Spellbook Slaves and Games, lot 37."

It was difficult to hear him clearly above the din of the auction, but I heard enough to know this man was now my owner.

"Here is your leash and key. You can go unlock her from the waiting wall now," the account manager said to him.

A mix of feelings began to swirl within me -- partly the sense of imminent relief from the restrictive position against the wall and partly dread of what might happen next. A commotion suddenly broke out behind me. I immediately recognized Nelson's voice angrily attacking the man over some kind of deal that apparently had been made, and Nelson kept saying "we" so I assumed he meant him and my husband. There was a faint glimmer of hope that the slaver could be persuaded he'd made some kind of mistake until Nelson said something about having paid "every slaver in the country", and I knew that couldn't be right. He was clearly talking about a bribe of massive proportions -- money I knew couldn't have come from him, even if he had pooled with my husband.

The slaver who had bought me didn't raise his voice in return but instead spoke in a calm, confident tone about some technicality I didn't understand. Nelson, on the other hand, clearly did know what he was talking about and he screamed curses at him until another man intervened.

The stranger said something about making a deal to settle the dispute with my new owner, but the phone call he made only served to make things even more unclear for me. I got the distinct impression from his phone conversation that Nelson wasn't arguing because he himself had been out-bid but rather he sounded like he was some kind of agent for somebody else. I heard the name "Johnny" mentioned but the rest of the conversation was lost on me. He eventually ended the call and then spoke to Nelson.

"Mr. Smithfield. I think we have a solution to your issues. We aren't going to pull out of this deal over some forty-ish slut. Not going to happen. However, I think I have a plan that will at least dull your pain of not seeing her hung by the neck."

Nelson? See me hung by the neck? I couldn't believe my ears! I immediately began twist and squirm in an effort to turn around and see what was going on, but the chain held me fast. My futile struggle ended quickly because the gag made it difficult to breathe. I stopped and rested my forehead against the hard wall. The discussion behind me continued but I couldn't hear it properly over the sound of my galloping heart. Words like "camera" and "broadcast" were mentioned, as was money and they eventually brokered some kind of deal. The man doing the brokering again mentioned Nelson's desire to see me killed and I struggled to find any reason at all as to why he would even think such a thing. It just didn't make any sense!

I had worked for Nelson in his bookstore for nearly three years and in that time I had always been friendly with him. In fact, I even used to enjoy working for him, even though his management style was a direct throwback to the high-flying 80s entrepreneurs, complete with his occasionally wandering hands and his often blunt sexual innuendo and crude invitations to have an affair with him. I accepted this from him because I never thought he was serious, and even if he was, I'm positive I never once turned him down in anything but polite terms. If I had brought a sexual harassment suit against him, I might have been able to understand his motivations. I turned my attention to the deal being made.

My new owner agreed to sign a contract which specified I would be tortured by him three times a week for the next year. Nelson conceded he wasn't completely happy with that arrangement but said "Whatever. But make her drink -- just two glasses of wine -- every night." My new owner happily agreed to the conditional deal.

The sound of my husband's voice a short distance away caught my attention.

"Nelson! Look what I've got!" my husband called out to him.

"Grant, you dog! Two of them!" Nelson said.

My husband has two -- what -- ? I thought to myself.

"Are you the one that foiled Nelson's -- evil plans -- ?" my husband asked somebody; my new owner, I guessed.

The realization the my husband could have been involved in any of this made me freeze. The dread of the thought paralyzed me for a moment but the feeling quickly passed and I struggled frantically to get free.

"How could you? How could you do such a horrible thing to me?" I tried to shout through the gag. Only a high-pitched, muffled whining sound came out of my mouth and saliva, which dribbled down my chin. I was so -- so distraught I could barely contain myself. I could feel myself start to become hysterical when Nelson, after making the round of introductions between my husband and new owner and the third man who had negotiated the earlier agreement went on to explain that my husband, contrary to what he'd led me to believe, had in fact obtained his own slaver license.

"He was going to go out and buy her freedom, but Mr. Jones here showed him a better way..." Nelson said to my owner.

"Yeah, well, I mean, look what I got. I could combine their ages and they'd still be younger than Ingrid. Who could blame me?" my husband laughed.

I suddenly felt crushed inside. Deeply hurt and rejected by the man I had loved and been faithful to for nearly twenty years. I was made to feel old enough to be the mother of his new-found toys. If I had any tears remaining, which I didn't by this stage, I would have cried a river. The men behind me continued talking and making some sort of arrangements to meet somewhere, but all I could hear now was the sound of my life as it was rewound at fast speed in my thoughts.

"They have left. I'm going to unlock you and take you for a bit of a walk. I want some answers from you before I have to deal with them again, and I think your are the one that can supply the answers I need. Just calm down. I'm not going to snuff you, at least not today. Not unless you give me good reason to, of course. You understand?" A voice, close and hot on my bare shoulder, whispered.

I nodded slowly to confirm I understood, even though nothing at all at that point in time made any sense to me whatsoever. His hands then reached around my neck and I felt the chain connecting me to the wall drop away. It was replaced with the bulldog clip of a leash and, following his quick jerking of it, I stumbled along behind him as he led me outside and sat me down on a concrete park bench. His hands wrestled with the buckle at the back of my head and once the ball-gag was removed, I gasped a sigh of relief for my tired, sore jaws.

"OK, Ingrid is it? What The Fuck Is Going ON???" my new owner asked.

I had the chance to look at him squarely in the eyes for the first time, and he was looking seriously at me, but I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.