



 
                    EARN WHAT YOU'RE WORTH

                             by 

                          Joe Doe


IN ORDER TO BE BONDED FOR A MIDDLE EASTERN BUSINESS DEAL, CHRIS 
MONDAY AGREES TO LET THE INSURANCE COMPANY "DETERMINE HER WORTH."  
THE BEAUTIFUL YOUNG EXECUTIVE SOON FINDS HERSELF SUBJECTED TO A 
HUMILIATING EXAMINATION IN A PUBLIC SLAVE MARKET.



Part 1

"I want to thank you for having lunch with us today, Abdul," Jack 
Monday said. 

"It is always a pleasure to dine with a good friend and his rare 
and beautiful American Beauty rose," Abdul replied, glancing again 
at Chris, who looked down at her shoes and blushed slightly.

"Well, I confess that we also have an ulterior motive," Jack 
explained.  "Chris has the opportunity to secure a large oil 
contract with the royal family; the commissions alone would put 
us on easy street forever.  But, before she can do business with 
the royals, she must be bonded by a local insurance company." 

Abdul had noticed that Chris couldn't make eye contact with him 
tonight, which was very uncharacteristic for the self-confident 
American executive.  He hadn't understood why, but, as soon as 
they mentioned the words "local insurance," he smiled knowingly. 

"When they bonded me in America, the amount of the insurance was 
based on my salary," Chris explained.  "If a man dies in the Arab 
world, his market value is the net present value what he could have 
earned.  But, in this culture, as you know, they're not used to 
American working women, and they value a woman...um...differently."

Jack handed Abdul some papers.  "As bizarre as it seems, we need 
an assessment of what her 'market value' would be," he explained.  
"And, by 'market value,' they mean her selling price if she were 
sold on the open market as a slave girl."

Chris felt herself flush.  Had the room suddenly gotten very warm?

"It has to be done according to state regulations, whatever the 
heck those are, and it has to be signed by an authorized slave 
trader," Jack said.  He paused and handed the papers to Abdul. 

Jack smiled.  "And you, my friend, are the only slave trader I 
know."

"I couldn't believe it when Jack told me you bought and sold 
slaves, Abdul," Chris said. "I thought you just did imports and 
exports." 

"I import and export slaves, my dear," Abdul said, with a smile.  
"You, for example, would be classed as an import."  They all 
laughed, Chris a little bit nervously.

"But I'm afraid I must refuse your request," Abdul said, gently.  
"The regulations this document refers to are quite explicit, and 
I've been friends with you for too many years.  I would never dream 
of subjecting Chris to that type of treatment.  The assessment 
itself is a humiliating process.  Chris would be stripped quite 
naked and transformed from a lovely young American executive into 
a piece of squealing livestock.  I could never subject my friend's 
wife to this."

At this Jack and Chris began to argue with Abdul.  It was a good 
career move for Chris, and the money she could earn was enormous.  
She was a successful executive, but she was still a salaried 
employee.  "This is a golden opportunity to earn what I'm worth," 
Chris insisted, earnestly.

Abdul tried to explain that there was more than money involved 
and that most women would never want to experience the level of 
humiliation that Chris was now eagerly requesting, even for King 
Solomon's Mines.  But, eventually, they wore Abdul down, and he 
agreed to process Chris the following morning.

Chris didn't sleep well that night.  She kept thinking about the 
term "process."  What an unusual word choice.  And then there was 
the way Abdul had looked at her as she was leaving.  He had always 
been polite to her, even chivalrous.  But, when he looked at her 
now, she could feel something different in his appraising stare.  
Was he "sizing her up"?  She shuddered.

Abdul picked her up very early in the morning.  She had asked if 
she should wear her Western clothes or her chador, and Abdul 
laughed.  "Clothes will hardly be an issue once we reach the 
slave market!" he responded cheerily.  He laughed heartily, but 
Chris just looked blank. 

Abdul opened the door of his Mercedes for her and treated her very 
respectfully during their long ride to the market.  She found it 
somewhat surreal, as she chatted about her job and political 
matters with the man who would soon be subjecting her to a 
humiliating slave assessment.  As the surrounding countryside 
became less familiar to her, she became more grateful that her 
friend Abdul was with her.

The roads were rough, even for the 4-wheel-drive Mercedes.  At 
last, however, they drove into a dusty "town" of mud buildings 
and tents.  They pulled up in front of a large featureless brown 
slum, and Abdul ushered her inside.

He explained that the market would not be open for another hour, 
which is why he had asked her to come so early.  He had known her 
for years, and, in order to spare her "needless humiliation," he 
would leave during her actual assessment and return after lunch 
with her husband.  She would be assessed by his older female 
assistant, Najya.

"I should warn you that she hates Americans, especially beautiful 
young American woman," he explained.  "She lived in America many 
years ago when she was young, but she was 'dumped' by a series of 
suitors in favor of younger, prettier Yankee women.  She finally 
ended up working as a domestic in a sorority, where she was very 
badly treated.  I showed her your picture and told her about your 
fabulously successful career.  I even mentioned that you had been 
a sorority girl."  He smiled.  "Naturally, she was eager to help."

"Wonderful...thanks a lot, Abdul," Chris said, sarcastically.

"Najya will be tough on you, but the government regulations are 
strict," he explained.  "I won't tell you exactly what is involved; 
frankly, the less you know at this point, the better.  I need to 
talk to Najya, but you are welcome to look around.  Don't go out 
front alone...stay in the building or the enclosed courtyard."

After Abdul left, Chris wandered around the room.  It was large, 
with a bar in one corner and a big window facing the street.  So 
much for the Islamic prohibition against drinking!  Of course, if 
they were buying and selling slaves, such a minor matter hardly 
seemed to matter.

The room looked a little like an auto repair shop, she thought.  
There was a steel chain hanging down from the ceiling every four 
feet, with a switch on the wall behind each chain.  She pressed 
the switch, and the chain moved upward.  But why did they need so 
many winches?  Looking at the place, she was also surprised that 
it even had electricity!

She continued to explore the mystery.  On the wall behind each 
chain was a sheet of paper, with writing in Arabic and English.  
She looked at the document behind the first chain and read it:

	WALTERS, CYNTHIA
	LOT NBR: 5748-383483-84438
	NATIONALITY: ENGLISH
	OCCUPATION: FORMER SCHOOL TEACHER
	STATS: 5'5" 33-25-34
	AGE: 29
	STATUS: SLAVE FOR 2 YEARS
	VIRGIN: NO
	DESCRIPTION: SKILLED HAREM DANCER, PLAYS PIANO AND SINGS, 
		EXPERT IN ORAL ARTS.  NO MARKS OR TATTOOS, SPEAKS 
		SOME ARABIC, WELL-EDUCATED BUT SUBMISSIVE.

Chris looked at the chain dangling down just a few feet in front 
of the sign.  There were two steel manacles on the end of the 
chain. 

She swallowed hard.  This wasn't a repair shop.  It was the 
showroom! 

She couldn't believe how many chains there were.  Each had a notice 
giving the name and personal details of some pathetic woman who 
would soon be put up for sale on that very spot.  There were women 
of every nationality advertised here, but most of them were Arab. 

Regardless of who they were or where they came from, their entire 
lives were reduced to a few simple facts on a stark data sheet.

She picked up the chain and examined the manacles closely, 
comparing their circumference to her own wrists.  Yes, they 
would fit her very nicely.  She shuddered. 

Abdul wouldn't actually chain HER in this room, would he?  It 
looked like an auto dealership or the showroom of a furniture 
store.  He wouldn't dare humiliate her like that....

Would he?

She saw her reflection in the window with her hands in the air 
examining the chain.  For a moment it almost looked like she 
herself were on display in the window.  She jumped back in horror 
and quickly put her hands down. 

"I'm an American; I'm a free American," she said to herself.  "I'm 
just here for a stupid insurance procedure.  And I will be back in 
my corner office by this afternoon."

Chris looked at her reflection in the window.  She was dressed 
smartly in an expensive pale blue suit.  "A slave girl wouldn't be 
dressed like this!" she said to herself.  The thought calmed her 
for a moment.

She looked at herself again.  "A slave girl would probably be 
wearing next to nothing...or nothing at all!" she thought.  She 
shivered.  Abdul had warned her that her exam would contain nudity. 
Was he just trying to scare her?  He wouldn't really strip her, 
would he?  He wouldn't strip her NAKED, would he?

She had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach.  She decided 
to distract herself by reading the rest of the data sheets. 

	OHWADA, SEBBA: Housewife....
	LEIE, FRANCESCA: Student....
	BUDAROFF, LEEDA: Clerk....

Then Chris saw something that made her blood run cold: 

	MONDAY, CHRIS
	LOT NBR: 5748-383483-84489
	NATIONALITY: USA
	OCCUPATION: OIL EXECUTIVE
	STATS: 5'7" 34-25-35
	AGE: 33
	STATUS: ENSLAVED TODAY
	VIRGIN: NO
	DESCRIPTION: BA STANFORD, MBA HARVARD, NO SLAVE TRAINING. 
		NO MARKS OR TATTOOS.  FLUENT IN ENGLISH AND ARABIC. 
		SASSY, PROUD, UNTRAINED. 

It had to be a mistake!  

It was obviously just a stupid mistake.  Since she was going to be 
assessed today, some pin-headed paper-pusher assumed that she would 
also be available for sale.  It was a simple clerical procedure 
that Abdul would correct as soon as he returned.

She looked at her "slot."  She would be facing the picture window, 
visible to pedestrians on the street.  As an MBA, she knew that you 
always put your best inventory in the window, to encourage walk-in 
traffic.

She quickly tried to banish the thought from her mind.  She wasn't 
inventory, damn it!

It HAD to be a mistake!  She looked at the door Abdul had gone 
through.  She wanted to see him NOW, so that he could correct this 
awful gaffe as quickly as possible. 

The showroom suddenly started to feel very claustrophobic, and she 
wanted desperately to go elsewhere.  She tried the door Abdul had 
used, but it was locked.  So she crossed the room and went through 
the door in the opposite wall. 

The next room was more confusing than the first.  There was a sink 
in the corner and variety of syringes and other medical instruments 
laid out on a large table in the center of the room.  In one corner 
was a desk that had a stack of papers and a stapler on it. 

On the wall was a sign in Arabic.  Roughly translated it said, 
"Virginity guaranteed!"

But the central feature of the room was a series of six short black 
tables scattered around the room.  They were too high to be desks, 
too short to be dressers.

And then she noticed the shiny steel stirrups at the end of each 
table.  She flinched and, once again, started to have that queasy 
feeling.

She had seen exam rooms before, of course, and had been given 
pelvic exams.  But the sight of six tables scattered casually 
around the room without so much as a curtain or blanket in sight 
left her stunned.  A curtain would have been a trivial investment.  
It was almost as if this brightly lit room was DESIGNED to be as 
humiliating as possible. 

Chris decided that she didn't want to be in this room any longer, 
either.  She went through the next door.

The next room was even more curious.  It looked like a wooden barn, 
with straw on the floor.  In the center of the room was a sizeable 
forge.  The room was empty, but the fire in the forge burned 
brightly.

There was an anvil and a few boxes next to the forge.  She looked 
in the boxes, expecting to see horseshoes.  But the first box 
contained a series of steel pegs that looked like small railroad 
spikes.  Why would someone build a miniature railroad in this 
desolate hellhole?

Then she looked at the next box.  It contained manacles!  She put 
one around her wrist, and then slid in the small metal peg.  It fit 
easily. 

She hurriedly slipped off the manacle and dropped the shackles and 
pegs into their boxes.  She knew that, after the blacksmith did his 
job, the manacles wouldn't come off so easily.  She winced and made 
her way through the next door.

She was relieved to step out into the fresh air of a large 
courtyard after her trip through the chamber of horrors inside.

The courtyard was almost filled with rows of cheap folding chairs.  
A brochure of some sort lay on each chair.  There was bar in the 
back, flanked by wooden bleachers.  Towards the front of the yard 
was a large wooden platform that looked like a stage.  Such 
courtyards were not unusual in the Middle East, and she herself 
had had business presentations on stages just like the one she 
was facing now. 

It was rapidly turning into a very hot day, and she picked up one 
of the brochures and sat down on the chair, fanning herself with 
the pamphlet.  Out of idle curiosity she turned it over and scanned 
the cover.  Roughly translated, it read:

			WOMEN FOR SALE

              ALL NATIONALITIES, ALL PRICE RANGES
                   PERFECT FOR HOME OR HAREM

She opened up the brochure.  It contained a list of names, lot 
numbers, and times. 

	12:00 PM
	VARSHAS, RAJEI 5748-383483-84487
	MANDELLA, MARITA 5748-383483-84488
	MONDAY, CHRIS 5748-383483-84489

Chris jumped out of her chair and ran towards the stage.  This 
could mean only one thing.

The platform was covered with sand.  In one corner was coiled a 
long, black, snake-like thing.  A whip!

There was no doubt about it.  She was staring at an auction block.  
But not just any block.  If the brochure was right, it was the 
block where SHE was going to be auctioned off.  It had to be a 
mistake!

Right?

She looked nervously at her diamond watch.  It was almost 9:00 AM.  
"The time is FLYING by today!" she thought desperately.  Her 
auction at noon was just a few hours away. 

Chris looked at the wooden steps fearfully.  The platform was high, 
and the courtyard had plenty of seats.  She knew that everyone 
would get a good look at the merchandise and trembled at the 
thought.  Tentatively, she put one foot on the first step leading 
up to the block.

But something stopped her.  She stood frozen in fear.  She couldn't 
do it. 

What disturbed her the most was the dampness she now felt between 
her legs.  The block was horrifying, humiliating, and exciting, all 
at the same time.

Suddenly a door flew open, and an old Arab woman in a chador came 
out, followed by two huge, bare-chested men armed with swords.  
They looked like something out of the Arabian Nights.

"Inside, infidel!" the woman shrieked at Chris. 

Chris crossed the courtyard with as much aplomb as she could muster 
under the circumstances.  "I need to speak with Abdul right away," 
she said, urgently.  "There's been a mistake in this brochure."

Najya slapped Chris hard across the face.  "You speak when you are 
spoken to, Christian piglet!"  The two guards grabbed Chris and 
propelled her into Najya's office.

"Abdul he not back 'til after lunch," Najya said, curtly.  "I am in 
charge!  You do as I say, you not be hurt!  This not America...you 
speak when spoken to!"  She sat down at her desk and leisurely 
poured herself a glass of water.  Chris was thirsty, but she knew 
better than to ask for a drink.

The woman looked Chris up and down and smiled.  Then her smile 
faded.  "Strip!  Everything off!" 

Chris swallowed hard.  The moment she was dreading had come.  
Nervously she looked back at the two hulking thugs behind her. 

"In front of...THEM?" she said, in disbelief. 

"We move 1000 girls a month through here!" Najya responded.  "Do 
not worry about them -- you are just one more American poossy!"  
Chris flinched at the term, but did start to remove her clothes.

Najya smiled in triumph as Chris stripped naked before her desk.  
Most of her things were simply discarded, although Najya put the 
expensive watch and jewelry in her desk drawer.  Soon Chris stood 
naked and humiliated in front of the sneering Arab woman.

Najya told Chris to put her hands on top of her head.  Then she 
slowly moved her finger in a circle, and Chris slowly turned around 
and around, subjecting herself to the old woman's humiliating 
appraisal.

Najya stood up and ran her finger down between Chris's breasts all 
the way to her crotch.  "You keep your poossy hair shaved," she 
said, appraisingly.  "Americans are such WHORES!" 

"Let's get her on the table!" Najya said, addressing the guards.  
"We have much work to do and little time." 

The guards pushed Chris across the courtyard and into the exam 
room. 

Najya ordered her to "Mount the horse...feet in the stirrups!" and 
Chris scampered onto the exam table, exposing herself to the 
leering guards.  She may have been "just another American poossy," 
but it was clear that the two guards were enjoying her humiliating 
experience enormously.

As soon as Chris put her feet into the stirrups, Najya laughed, 
because she could tell that the blonde was wet and excited.  Najya 
quickly snapped on a pair of surgical gloves and probed Chris's 
genitals with quiet expertise.  If Chris hadn't been so wet, it 
would have been a painful probing indeed, because Najya was 
obviously not interested in her comfort.  Chris turned her 
face away.

Najya worked her fingers around the outer lips of the young woman's 
pussy, checking for imperfections or signs of disease.  Then she 
spread it even wider, examining what she laughingly referred to as 
"the porker's pink meat" while Chris blushed crimson.  Finally she 
stuck her index finger unceremoniously up Chris's butt hole.

"You are tight, bitch...at least for now," Najya said, with a sneer.

When Najya tossed her gloves into the garbage, Chris thought her 
exam was over.  But Najya picked up a long black vibrator and put 
it on the naked woman's stomach.

"I need to see how responsive you are," Najya explained, casually.  
"Pleasure yourself, you dirty little whore!"

"No...you can't...not in front of THEM!" Chris said, pointing to 
the leering guards.

"Yes, sure, in front of THEM!" Najya said mockingly.  "Now you had 
better get to work making your filthy poosy nice and juicy, or I'll 
horsewhip ever' bit of skin off your pampered American ass!"

On Najya's belt was a long, tattered whip, coiled and ready.  Chris 
knew that the whipping was no idle threat, and picked up the 
vibrator.  

BZZZZZZZ!

Najya smiled, relishing every second of the white woman's 
humiliation.  She was going to enjoy taking this proud and 
sassy career woman down a peg or two.

Reluctantly, Chris slowly began to work the vibrator in slow 
circles around her clit.  She closed her eyes and tried to 
pretend she wasn't there, but Najya's commentary reminded her 
constantly of her position. 

"See how wet she is!" Najya said to the two guards.  "American 
women think they are so special, with their money, and power, and 
fancy educations.  But they are all just little whores, like this 
one here.  If I had my way, I would strip every one of them as 
naked as Allah made them and march them straight to the busiest 
corner of the marketplace." 

"That's it, you cheap, stinking whore!" Najya said.  "Get your 
steamy Yankee poosy nice and wet!  The buyers looove you insatiable 
American whores!"

She laughed, loudly.

"At least little Miss Infidel here is going to know what it feels 
like to have her sweet little poossy shown off for the crowd.  I'm 
looking forward to seeing the look on her face when we put her 
pampered white ass up on the block."

Chris was only seconds away from orgasm when the vibrator switched 
off and a hand clutched her throat.

"On your feet, American bimbo!" Najya said, as she dragged Chris 
towards the next room.  "We have a business to run and can't stand 
around all day watching you jerk off!"

Najya issued her new commands.  "You must not touch yourself again, 
slut!  I want you nice and juicy for the buyers!  To keep yourself 
wet, rub your white thighs together.  That will help relieve the 
pressure on that itchy little poossy!"

Chris struggled as she was dragged towards the door of the barn.  
She knew a very bad day was just beginning.

		******************************

Part 2

WHILE CHAINED NAKED AT THE MARKET, CHRIS MEETS SOME "FRIENDS" FROM 
THE OFFICE.  BUT THEIR EXAMINATION IS NOTHING COMPARED TO THE 
HUMILIATION SHE FACES ON THE AUCTION BLOCK.



The two guards roughly shoved Chris into the barn and forced her to 
kneel in front of the anvil. 

"I had to take away your expensive American jewelry, but we have 
some new ornaments for you," Najya said, sarcastically, fitting a 
manacle around Chris's right wrist.

Chris tried to squirm away when she saw the blacksmith approach 
with a glowing steel peg.  But the guards easily held her in 
place.  The peg locked her new "bracelet" into place, and the 
blacksmith plunged her hand into a bucket of water.  With ruthless 
efficiency, the guard quickly fixed manacles around her other wrist 
and each ankle.

"Now we can chain you to your coffle and march you butt-naked right 
through town like you're just another slave girl," Najya said, with 
delight.  "One look and ever'body will know what you are."  She 
smiled down at Chris.  "And the best part is that foreign white 
bitches like you get special ones of stainless steel -- because 
they AREN'T COMING OFF!"

Chris knew that was true.  Nothing short of another blacksmith 
could remove these irons.

She was forced to lay her neck on the anvil so that her collaring 
could be completed.  While she was bent over, Najya playfully 
stroked the cheeks of her bare bottom and teased her about the 
"delights" to come. 

Najya attached a short leash to Chris's brand new collar.  "We 
still have a few minutes before your new masters arrive, little 
doggie bitch!" Najya said.  "So we going to have to kennel you!" 

Najya walked Chris out the door of the barn, through the exam room, 
and back through the showroom.  The street was filled with people 
now, and Chris felt herself blush hotly as her nakedness was 
casually paraded past the large glass window.  

Najya unlocked the door that Abdul had exited through, the door 
that Chris had found locked before.  Chris almost fainted when 
she saw what was behind the door. 

The room had shelf after shelf of women in small dog cages.  The 
smell was intense, but, unlike a real kennel, the women were 
silent as Chris was forced into her cage.  Najya secured Chris's 
manacles to the front of the cage, and gave her some water...in 
a doggie bowl.

It was a hot day, and Chris was thirsty.  Her manacles were 
attached to the cage, so she stuck her face into her dog bowl 
and began to lap up the water with her tongue.

A few hours ago she was a proud, independent, young American career 
woman.  Now she was just a randy bitch left kenneled with her wet 
sex in the air, lapping water from her doggie dish. 

She had just finished her water when the guards came in and started 
taking women from the cages and leading them back to the showroom.  
When they came to get her, she allowed herself some degree of hope. 
Maybe Abdul had arrived in time to correct this horrible mistake!

Instead of taking her to the office, however, the guards marched 
her to her proper position on the floor.  They didn't have to 
bother with the handcuffs, but instead attached the chain to her 
manacles with a small padlock.

Then they ran another short length of chain through the shackles 
on her ankles, hobbling her.  

Finally, they used the wall switch to raise the chain to which her 
wrists were attached until her toes barely touched the floor.  She 
would therefore be constantly shifting her weight that morning in 
a vain effort to keep the pressure off her wrists, a little dance 
that would cause her to jiggle provocatively before the buyers.

As Chris stood there, Najya posted an updated fact sheet, having 
added:

	FEEL THE WETNESS OF THE INSATIABLE AMERICAN WHORE!

The worst part was that it was true.  Despite her humiliation (or, 
more likely, because of it), the juices were still running down 
her legs.  She could actually smell her own musky scent...which 
meant the buyers would be able to smell it too.

The spot Najya had selected gave pedestrians a perfect view of the 
naked American woman.  Most people ignored her, as if such sights 
were common.  A few Muslim women stopped to curse her or make 
obscene hand gestures as she dangled helplessly in the window.  A 
few stopped and smiled at her, letting her off with a leering smile 
or a wink.

But many came in for a closer look.

Chris noticed that Najya made sure the other slaves were handled 
only by genuine buyers and not by the merely curious.  Chris, of 
course, was a different matter.  Najya encouraged every man and 
woman in the showroom to handle Chris, to feel her breasts, and 
to finger her steamy "poossy." 

At one point Najya brought in an enormously obese Arab.  From 
the conversation, Chris gathered that he was a local buyer for 
a brothel that catered to Western businessmen. 

He examined Chris quickly, but in more detail than the other 
buyers.  Most of Chris' handlers concentrated on her breasts, 
pussy, and buttocks.  But this more experienced buyer, while 
fondling these areas freely, also took the time to run his hands 
up and down her legs, check the bottoms of her feet, feel the 
texture of her hair, and check her teeth.

Chris knew from his tone and way of handling her that he would be 
an uncompromising task masker, and she prayed that he wouldn't buy 
her.  Somehow the thought of "entertaining" Western business 
executives, some of whom she undoubtedly knew, was also more 
humiliating than just losing herself in some anonymous harem.

Then, just when she thought she had reached the maximum amount 
of degradation possible, three people that she knew walked in!

They were three Arab boys who worked in the mailroom.  The youngest 
of the three -- a geek virgin named Omar -- had just turned 18, and 
they were celebrating his birthday with his first trip to a slave 
market.

When the boys saw her dangling helplessly in her chains, they were 
thunderstruck.  In the office, she was an untouchable blonde ice 
queen, the very vision of unobtainable American beauty for the 
three young Arabs.

But now she was spread out stark naked, with her musky juices 
running down her legs.  How could this be?

Chris quickly explained about her insurance exam and was about to 
order the boys to run and find Abdul, when Najya's riding crop 
exploded across her bottom with a sharp CRACK!

"Silence, Christian wench!" Najya ordered.  "It is not your place 
to make idle conversation with your betters."

The boys smiled.  It was great just seeing the haughty Chris Monday 
stripped bare naked in front of them.  But seeing the woman who had 
always ordered them around so casually now forced to fall silent 
before them, her "betters," was unimaginably exciting for all of 
them.

Far from rescuing her, Najya now encouraged the boys to "feel the 
quality of the merchandise."  They needed little encouragement.

"Squeeze her ripe American hooters!  Like a Playboy bunny, no?"

"Hoist her titties in your hands, feel their fullness.  They bounce 
and shake nicely, don't they?"

"Run your fingers down her stomach.  Flat as a board!"  Now feel 
her hot American poossy!  You can smell it from here, can you not?" 

"Work your finger into her soft, wet crack!  These American bimbos 
are always ready for action, are they not?" 

Najya turned Chris around so that her backside was facing the boys. 
Then she flipped the switch on the wall to lower Chris so that she 
could stand flat-footed.  Chris was grateful to have the pressure 
off her wrists, but then Najya bent her over and spread her cheeks, 
allowing each of the horny boys to probe her rectum to their 
heart's content.

"Now put your finger in her mouth and make her taste herself.  Make 
her suck on your finger.  I bet she would be good sucking on other 
things, too," Najya said, with a laugh.

"I'm not supposed to do this, but, since this is your birthday, 
I would like to make you this offer," she said, quietly, as if 
discussing some conspiracy.  "She needs to be given a test drive, 
much like a camel or a car, as part of her assessment.  Since it 
is his birthday, I would like to give Omar the chance to do it 
in the small cubicle next door.  Inshallah!  I will even let all 
three of you mount this particular animal and charge you only a 
token fee." 

Najya paused and ran her riding crop menacingly across Chris's 
bare backside, warning her to cooperate.  "What do you say, girl?  
You realize that you will owe these fine, strapping boys a great ]
debt for helping you out, don't you?  But you want their help, do 
you not?"

Chris did desperately wanted their help...she wanted them to go get 
her husband to rescue her.  The last thing she needed was to be 
fucked senseless on a cheap straw mat by three errand boys.

But the caress of the crop told her she had no choice.  "Yes, kind 
sirs, your assistance in assessing me would be most appreciated," 
she said, humbly, her head bowed.

The boys were only too happy to grant the "fine American lady" this 
"great favor."  The older two boys both wanted the "proud American 
bitch" to give them blowjobs, but Omar desperately wanted to lose 
his virginity inside her "poossy."  So Chris was unceremoniously 
and rigorously fucked, and Najya watched the whole time, partly to 
make sure that she would be unable to plead for help, and partly 
just to gloat while she was put through this final humiliation.

Najya's price was very reasonable indeed.  All three boys were able 
to enjoy Chris for far less than the cost of a Big Mac!

The boys enjoyed her thoroughly, teasing her that they could hardly 
wait to get back to work and tell their friends that they actually 
got to fuck "the stuck up Yankee goddess in the corner office."

Najya smiled and toyed with her crop the entire time, warning Chris 
that she should take whatever the boys dished out and like it.  
Chris meekly complied.  The only things worse than the fucking 
were the fact that she had three orgasms...and the fact that 
everyone knew it!

She was surprised when Najya didn't return her to the showroom, but 
instead fastened her hands behind her back with a short chain and 
led her out into the now crowded courtyard.  There, Chris was 
attached to a coffle of other naked women, some white, some dark.  
It was only when she looked to the stage at the front of the 
courtyard that this new development made sense.

The auction had begun.  HER auction!

Up until this time, she had still secretly hoped that she might be 
rescued, that someone would arrive and correct the mistake, or that 
Najya would be satisfied that the despised Western bitch had been 
humbled enough in the window of the slave market.  But now that 
last hope was crushed.

She looked around to see if there was anyone who might help her.  
Although there were many buyers molesting her with their eyes, 
there wasn't a single friendly face. 

The three boys from the office stood in the back, still laughing as 
they ogled her naked charms.  But it was clear from their jovial 
mood that rescuing her was the last thing on their minds.  They had 
come to revel in her humiliation on the auction block.

Abdul and Jack wouldn't be back until after lunch.  And the program 
said that she was going to be auctioned at noon.  She squinted at 
the sun.  It was almost directly overhead. 

She knew there would be no rescue. 

There was a tug on her chain as she was unhooked from the coffle 
and led up the stairs to the block.  Her time had come.  With her 
hands manacled behind her back and her ankles still hobbled, she 
awkwardly mounted the ominous steps of the auction block.

The auctioneer cracked his whip and ordered her to squat on the 
block with her legs spread wide, so that the buyers could see her 
"juiciness." 

She awkwardly squatted in that humiliating position while the 
auctioneer went on to explain the lofty educational status and 
haughty social station of the "American infidel bitch."

"How delicious it would be to have such an accomplished 
representative of the Great Satan in your harem, yours to 
command, obedient, dancing for you, sucking you with those 
bright red American lips, tirelessly entertaining you...and 
your friends!"

To demonstrate she was "a fit specimen," the auctioneer loosened 
the cracked hobble and commanded her to do jumping jacks and deep 
knee bends, while he pointed out her "big, bouncing boobies" and 
"dribbling gash."

The comments from the audience, even more salacious, caused Chris's 
eyes to mist over.  But she was still steaming wet!

Finally, he ordered her to turn around, kneel down on the block, 
and spread her legs wide.  He probed her rectum and pussy with 
the whip, exhibiting their tightness to the buyers.  He even 
called on the three boys in the back for a testimonial as to the 
"pleasures to be found between her milky white thighs and in her 
slutty, salacious mouth."  The boys eagerly called out their 
"ratings" of her recent performance, as her face burned crimson 
with humiliation.

As the bidding started, the auctioneer took advantage of her 
exposed pussy facing the crowd to slowly masturbate her in front 
of the eager audience. 

As he had hoped, the sight of Chris wiggling her ass helplessly 
while having orgasm after orgasm on the block drove the bidders 
into a frenzy.  She fetched an excellent price.

She was finally led from the block, still weak in the afterglow of 
her many orgasms.  Who had bought her?  Then she saw the obscenely 
fat man grinning at her.

"No!" Chris screamed in horror.  "It couldn't be!  Anyone but HIM!" 
Najya walked up, smiling. 

It was finally too much for Chris, and she felt light-headed.  Her 
knees buckled, and she fainted, falling into blackness.

		******************************      

When she awoke, she was back in her hotel room, dressed in her 
Western clothes, with an ice pack on her head.  Her husband and 
Abdul were standing over her.  "At last you awake, my fine 
American Beauty rose!  That bump on your head had us worried for 
a while," Abdul said, smiling as if nothing had happened.

"What happened?" Chris said, dazed and confused.  "The market...I 
was SOLD!"

She tried to sit up, but her husband gently eased her back down on 
the bed as Abdul explained. 

"The regulations require that we establish 'a true market price' by 
putting you up for auction.  Of course, we arranged it so that the 
final buyer, or the man you thought was your buyer, was actually in 
my employ.  The auction had to look realistic, so naturally we 
could not reveal the deception to you.

"Many buyers resent this procedure, because, in truth, their chance 
of buying you is only an illusion.  No matter what they bid, the 
'shill' will always outbid them.  But those are the rules, and that 
explains your so-called 'sale' today."

Abdul continued.  "I apologize for the treatment from Najya.  It 
was her idea to 'rent' you to those boys from your office.  As you 
can imagine, I gave her quite a stern talking to.  But, in fact, 
no real harm was done!" he said, breezily.  "Najya is quite a 
scamp, isn't she?" 

"Oh, yes...she's QUITE...quite...." Chris said.  "So, my processing 
is over?"

"As far as I'm concerned.  Your insurance papers are complete, and 
our business is done.  Najya did suggest that we take you to a more 
central market, since she is convinced that, with more time and a 
larger pool of buyers to examine your charms, we could get a better 
price.  Of course, the market she suggested is frequented by 
Westerners, including executives from your husband's place of 
business, so I told her the bids we had were sufficient."

Chris looked at him.  She considered.  She fingered her collar and 
once again felt an unmistakable dampness between her legs. 

Quietly, she said, "Would this other market be open tomorrow?"



Edited by C. Lakewood

 






 
