




                    TRACY LOSES HER PURSE

                             by

                          Joe Doe



AN HOMAGE TO KATIE SMITH'S INTREPID HEROINE.  THIS TIME SHE LOSES 
HER PURSE (AND EVERYTHING ELSE) ON A TRIP OVERSEAS.


I have followed Katie's lead and made Tracy a blonde, though I'm 
not altogether happy with that.  I've always imagined Tracy as a 
brunette, played by Keira Knightley, with her best prim-and-proper, 
Pride-and-Prejudice accent.  Casting suggestions, anyone?

Meanwhile, speaking of Pride and Prejudice....

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

Part 1: Victorian England

John Chambers was in a chipper mood.  The other two young women in 
his rail car were very pretty, and it was obvious that they enjoyed 
chatting with him as much as he was enjoying their company.  They 
were a bit older than him -– Victoria was 20, and her sister Juliet 
was 22.  However, John looked quite sophisticated in his tweed 
jacket and regimental tie, and he knew neither one of them realized 
that he was only 19.

He had served briefly in the army, but, when his father had died, 
he had returned home to settle the estate.  It was then that, over 
his strong objections, his stepmother (not wanting to be bothered 
with John day-to-day), had hired Miss Tracy Smith to be his tutor 
and governess until he could join his uncle with his regiment 
abroad later that summer.  John had protested that he was far too 
old for a governess, but his stepmother, who had never liked him, 
controlled the purse strings, and that was that.

It had been the summer from hell.  Tracy insisted on his "resuming 
his studies" and treated him like a schoolboy, to the point of 
insisting that he wear a childish school uniform, complete with cap 
and short pants.  And then there was the cane, which Miss Smith 
used with relish, for the tiniest infraction.

It would be nearly a two hour journey before they reached the 
embarkation port of Southampton to begin the long journey overseas 
to reunite with his uncle, and, for the first time since he had 
learned that Miss Tracy Smith would be his chaperone on the 
journey, John was actually happy.  With any luck the little prig 
would miss her train.

His hopes were dashed as the doors to the compartment flew open, 
and an infuriated Tracy Smith entered like an angry black cloud.  
"John Chambers!" she screeched.  "What is the meaning of this?  
Why aren't you in uniform?  That counts as a tardy, young man!"

The two other women looked at John in astonishment.  John turned 
to his chaperone, hoping to appeal to reason.  "I've graduated, 
Miss, and I'm traveling.  I didn't see any reason to...."

"You are still in my charge, and you will wear your school uniform 
for the duration of the journey.  Or should I have you fetch the 
cane, sir?" she asked archly.

Even to John, who despised her, Tracy Smith, 24, was pretty.  
Indeed, if she hadn't been wearing such a severe scowl, and if 
she had let her blonde hair down from the tight bun and allowed 
it to fall around her shoulders, the young Victorian lady would 
actually have been quite beautiful.  But, in that moment, she 
looked like the very devil to John.  

He clenched his teeth and retreated to the cramped lavatory to don 
his school uniform, carefully selected by Tracy herself.  White 
shirt and striped tie, a blazer with the school logo, matching cap, 
white knee socks, and tight short pants.  It made him feel quite 
childish, which was precisely Tracy's intent.  Standing nearly six 
feet, John was nearly six inches taller than Tracey, and she knew 
that she could keep control only if she constantly reminded him 
that she was the adult, and he was her student.  

John's worst fears were realized when he returned to the rail car 
in the humiliating uniform, and Victoria and Juliet burst into 
peals of laughter.  "So do you REALLY cane him, Miss Smith?" 
Victoria asked eagerly.

"Oh, yes, definitely.  Mostly, I cane him for being tardy," she 
patronized.  "Like most little boys, John simply can't keep on 
schedule.  But earlier this week, I caught the little rascal 
pleasuring himself.  Disgusting!  I gave him six of the best, 
right across his naughty bare botty."

"Bare?" Victoria asked, with a smile that made John regret his 
birth.  "Bare naked?"

"Oh, yes, quite bare.  There is never anything between his bottom 
and my cane.  I need to see his stripes to form the correct 
crisscross pattern on his backside.  Besides, naughty boys need 
to have their underpants pulled down, no matter their age, so they 
learn to mind their betters.  Would you like to see the cane?"

The two young women, tittering like schoolgirls, responded that 
they'd simply LOVE to see the instrument with which the strapping 
young man was disciplined.  To his horror, John was ordered to 
fetch the dreaded cane out of Miss Smith's bag.  He sat quietly, 
blushing crimson as Miss Smith bent the dreaded instrument of 
correction into a half circle to demonstrate its flexibility, 
while describing in great detail how John wept during his 
punishments, and begged for mercy, and promised to be a good 
little boy.  

The tiny compartment was too small for a proper demonstration, so 
John was punished for his imaginary "tardiness" in the dining car, 
on the bare, with the two giggling harpies and several other 
passengers watching.  He had to sit on his stripes for the rest of 
the rail journey, seething as Tracy and the tittering young women 
discussed both proven techniques and exciting new notions for 
keeping him firmly under Tracy's feminine thumb.

There were no such space constraints on the Vessel, though, and 
on three separate occasions during the trip Miss Smith obliged 
John to drop both his shorts and underpants and bend over for a 
bare bottom caning on deck in front of the other amused passengers. 
Word quickly spread throughout the ship about the shy and diffident 
young man in the school uniform and his strict and uncompromising 
governess, and John found himself spending as much time alone as 
possible, so as to avoid the whispers, amused smirks, and wry 
asides of his fellow passengers.

Everyone was relieved to reach Alexandria, none more so than John.  
His uncle, Col. Chambers, was not waiting for them at the dock, 
but had sent an officer to retrieve Miss Smith and his thoroughly 
humbled and chastened nephew from the ship.

When he saw his nephew and Miss Smith standing before him in the 
parlor, he was shocked.  He didn't ask questions, or indeed hear 
a word Miss Smith said, excepting her offhanded remark that she 
was "most pleased that the British army was helping to Convert 
these heathen."  

Col. Chambers frowned.  Although Tracy was merely carrying the 
prejudices of her class, the Colonel was always careful to avoid 
needless conflict by respecting the religious beliefs of the 
locals.  As an experienced military man, he could tell by the way 
John stared at his shoes with head down while Tracy chattered on 
like a magpie, that all of the dreadful reports he had heard about 
Tracy Smith were true.  

"I thought school was over," the Colonel said, surveying John's 
clothes with dismay.

"It is, but I felt that keeping him in school uniform allowed me 
to maintain firmer control," Tracy explained.  "If anyone should 
understand the power of a uniform, Colonel, it's you."  Tracy 
changed subjects and began rattling on prissily about the clumsy 
servants on the voyage and how "First Class on that boat hardly 
deserves the name." 

Three minutes and 1000 words later, Col. Chambers cut her off.  
"You are a kind and patient woman, Miss Smith, and I can only 
imagine the suffering you endured.  No separate spoon for the 
dessert, indeed!  Savage!  Unspeakable!" 

"We are traveling to Khartoum on the hour," he continued, checking 
his pocket watch.  "This will give you a chance to accompany John 
on the final part of his journey to the base where he has been 
assigned, and see a bit of the country before you return to 
England.  There will be a substantial bonus in it for you, if 
you can indulge me for a while longer."

At the mention of the word "bonus" Tracy's ears actually twitched, 
and Col. Chambers smiled.  "If you should like to freshen up, 
an officer will conduct you to the Governor's mansion, where I am 
staying, just across the street from the train station.  I do hope 
you will find the accommodations at the mansion satisfactory.  My 
maid, Jane, can show you the bath."

At the mention of the word "bath" the prudish Tracy blushed 
slightly, but she readily accepted the Colonel's invitation.  
She felt a bit like a child as the Colonel ordered her to 
"hurry...spit-spat!"  But she was so grateful for the chance 
to freshen up that she dutifully hurried along.

As soon as the door closed Col. Chambers turned into his nephew. 
"You have five minutes to get out of that ridiculous costume and 
into your regimentals, young man.  You are a subaltern, after all. 
And stop staring at your shoes.  That's no way for an officer to 
behave.  Change immediately...and then we can have a talk about 
our friend, Miss Smith."

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

Tracy was surprised to learn that "Jane" was an anglicized form 
of "Jamila" and that the maid who attended her was, well, rather 
swarthy.  It was quite embarrassing for Tracy to undress in front 
of someone whose skin color was so much darker than her own, a 
matter that wasn't helped by the way Jamila stared at what she 
called "the golden fleece" between Tracy's legs, as blondes were 
apparently quite rare in this area.  Not wishing to be made a show 
of, Tracy declined Jamila's eager attempts to bathe her, and 
brusquely ordered her from the room.  

The conflict between maid and mistress resumed a few minutes later 
when Jamila returned carrying, not fresh clothes from her trunk -- 
or the clothes she had just taken off -- but a schoolgirl's  
uniform!  Tracy demanded that she be brought her own clothes, but 
Jamila cheerfully informed her that her baggage was still on board 
ship, and her other clothed had already been sent away to the wash. 
"These are the clothes the Colonel wants you to wear for the 
journey, Miss Smith.  He was quite insistent on it.  Now get 
dressed, or you will miss your train and be quite stranded here."

Tracy was infuriated and screamed herself hoarse, even using 
several unpleasant racial terms that no proper Victorian lady 
should know.  But Jamila simply laughed, and left the room.

Desperate not to miss the train and be stranded in Lower Egypt at 
the mercy of some local savage like Jamila, Tracy donned the 
uniform.  She declined to put on the blazer, tie, or cap, but, to 
her dismay, the smiling Jamila followed her with the discarded 
items as she stormed out of the mansion and crossed the street to 
confront the Colonel in the station, where they would take the 
train to a point where a boat was waiting to take them deep into 
the Sudan.

Col. Chambers was in the main part of the station, surrounded by 
officers as they examined a map on the table.  But in her present 
state, dressed in a white school uniform blouse and skirt that 
didn't even cover her knees, white socks, and black button shoes, 
Tracy was in a mood to make war, not discuss it.

"What is the meaning of this?" Tracy demanded, interrupting Colonel 
Chambers mid-sentence.  "I demand that you bring me my clothes, 
immediately!"

"Your clothes are still on the vessel, Miss Smith.  This is a 
military installation here, and we travel quite...bare."  On 
the word "bare" Col. Chambers smiled and glanced at Tracy's 
lovely exposed legs, causing several of the officers to chuckle 
obsequiously at their commanding officer's wit.

Tracy, to quote Queen Victoria, was not amused.  "I have no 
intention of traveling ANYWHERE dressed like...."

"MISS SMITH!" the Colonel thundered.  "This is a foreign country, 
much different than England.  You are a young, unmarried lady.  I 
can't very well have you parading about the country with no male 
guardian responsible for you.  Women who travel through the East 
in that manner are considered little better than concubines, or 
worse."    

Tracy didn't know what was worse than being a concubine, but it 
hardly mattered.  "I don't see how a school uniform...."

"The area we are traveling to is not firmly under British control.  
Our government has a protectorate arrangement with the locals, 
and as such we try our best to respect their laws and customs, 
especially in regards non-military matters.  These people are not 
used to seeing young professional women flitting about, unattached 
and unaccountable.  A school uniform instantly identifies your 
rank and your identity as my charge, subject to my control.  Which 
you are, I might add, for the duration of your stay here.  I 
believe it was you who pointed out the power of a uniform to 
establish proper roles and relationships."

"My luggage...."

"Your blasted baggage is on the blasted ship!  How many times must 
I say that?  It will meet us at our destination.  However, there 
is one item that appears to have fallen out of your bag."

Tracy felt an inexplicable shiver run down her spine as one of the 
smiling junior officers handed Col. Chambers the cane Tracy had 
used with such undisguised relish on the trip.  She treasured her 
cane and considered it an indispensable tool of her profession.  
However, dressed as she was, watching the Colonel tap it 
meaningfully against his palm filled her with a sense of dread.

"Now, you will allow Jamila to put you into your tie, blazer, and 
hat, and you WILL take your place on the train, young lady," the 
Colonel said.  "And I will be in to deal with you shortly."

"I will not!" Tracy shrilled, punctuating her words with a petulant 
stamp of her foot.  Dressed as she was, the action made her appear 
even more childish, and she clenched her fists in frustration as 
she noticed the officers and several of the other passengers in the 
terminal smiling at her.

"Yes, you will!" Col. Chambers commanded.  To Tracy's shock, the 
Colonel grabbed her by the wrist, and within seconds she found 
herself bent over the table.  She tried to rise, but with two male 
officers holding her wrists down, and another holding her by the 
back of the neck, and yet another with his hand on her back, all 
she could do was kick her legs in futility as the spectators 
laughed.  Then two officers grabbed her by the ankles and thus 
ended even that much rebellion.

"Lt. Chambers, will you do the honors?" Col. Chambers asked.  

The officer holding her neck graciously allowed her to turn her 
head sufficiently to witness the ceremonial presentation of the 
cane, which was presented to the young officer as if it were his 
dress sword.  To her horror, she saw that the officer charged with 
her discipline was none other than John Chambers, her former 
student.

"No, please, not John!" she pleaded.  "You can't let him cane me!  
Please, anyone but him!"

"He is to be addressed as "Lieutenant Chambers, or 'Sir,' by the 
likes of you, young lady," Col. Chambers said sternly.  "After all, 
if anyone appreciates respecting a uniform, it's you.  You may 
begin, John."

Tracy shivered as John gave the cane a few playful practice SWISHES 
through the air before rubbing it slowly against her uniform skirt.  
"When she caned me, Colonel, she always did it on my bare arse," 
John pointed out helpfully.  "She said she needed to see my stripes 
to know where to crisscross the welts.  And naughty boys need to 
have their underpants pulled down, no matter their age, so they 
learn to mind their betters."

"Well, I imagine the same principle also applies to naughty female 
bottoms," the Colonel nodded.  "Still, we do have quite a few 
spectators."

Tracy became acutely aware of the dozens of eyes peering at her, 
most of them inside the station, others peering through the 
enormous windows.  It seemed every passenger on the train was 
watching, but it was the fascinated eyes of the locals that 
bothered her the most.  "Please, not on the bare!" she pleaded, 
sounding more like a schoolgirl than she intended.  "Not in front 
of all of these dirty monkeys!"

The Colonel's face tightened.  Although not entirely free from 
prejudice, during his time overseas he had come to befriend 
a number of the locals, many of whom had skin far darker than 
Jamila's.  Miss Smith, like most young women of her station, 
obviously cared more for class than character.  Perhaps it was 
time to teach her a lesson?  

He weighed the prospect of a public punishment thoughtfully as he 
surveyed the eager spectators in the room, some of whom were 
actually licking their lips.  (Others were adjusting their 
trousers.  Although he would have liked to have caned her in front 
of all the locals, she was still a white woman, and as such he 
could simply not justify it in his own mind.  "Well, we do have 
quite a large audience," he said thoughtfully.  "Perhaps a more 
private venue...."

"I never got it in private," John replied, his voice seething with 
pent up resentment.  "Miss Smith caned me on the deck of the ship, 
with everyone watching, and in the First Class lounge, and in front 
of the captain at dinner.  Her ladyship always said 'Justice must 
be seen to be done.'"

"Really?" the Colonel said.  "Well, that changes things.  Very 
well, since Miss Smith is a professional educator, and I just 
a soldier, I will accede to her wishes in the matter.  A baker's 
dozen, Lieutenant, on the bare!"

Having her bottom laid bare in front of a room filled with 
strangers was most decidedly NOT Tracy's wish, a point she 
tried to explain as the two grinning officers behind her 
raised her skirt and pulled her white school knickers down 
to her knees.  This left Tracy's bottom shamefully bare to 
all the whites, browns, and blacks standing behind her, a 
matter made worse when they quickly lashed her ankles to the 
legs of the chair, spreading her blonde sex wide for everyone 
to see.

Tracy's "golden fleece" was quite the attraction, and for several 
moments she was forced to endure both the admiration of Her 
Majesty's troops and the amazed comments from the natives as her 
lightly downed purse was unveiled.  However the room fell silent 
as John tapped the cane across Tracy's quivering cheeks, reminding 
everyone (especially Tracy) of the business at hand.  

"I've never actually caned anyone before, Miss," John said, in 
a mocking imitation of the submissive tone he always used when 
addressing his teacher.  I'll do my best, however, and try to 
make you proud of me."

Whoosh!  

Whoosh!

Whoosh!

John did his best, indeed!  The strokes fell one after another, in 
perfectly spaced succession.  Although he had never wielded a cane 
before, Tracy's tutelage had taught him well, and he knew precisely 
how to time the strokes, and separate the distance, and cross the 
welts for maximum agony.

As he caned her, Jamila, grinning broadly, began arranging Tracy's 
blonde locks into two girlish braids, pausing to smile down at her 
and occasionally dab away a tear as Tracy promised to be good, and 
to mind her betters, and to respect John's uniform, and to wear her 
own school uniform with pride.  

John's workmanship was exceptional.  Twenty minutes later Tracy, 
now dressed properly in her tie, blazer, and cap, sat in the 
crowded passenger car, trying to ignore the amused chatter and 
knowing smirks from her fellow passengers as she squirmed in agony 
in her train seat.  John had skillfully skinned both the tops of 
her thighs, her sit-down spot, and all the places naughty boys and 
girls try to shift their weight to when trying to avoid the agony 
of sitting on their welts.  

Tracy could see into the officers' car, where John was enjoying a 
cigar as his fellow officers congratulated him on his exemplary 
work in decorating Tracy's "lovely bare arse!"

Tracy's humiliation at the station had caused the army to delay the 
train's departure by almost a full five minutes, and the engineer 
laid on extra steam to make up the difference.  If this caused 
Tracy additional agony as she bumped up and down on her welts, what 
of it?  She was a naughty schoolgirl now, and naughty girls had to 
learn their lessons.

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


Part 2: The Sudan

But Tracy most emphatically did NOT learn her lesson.  When the 
train stopped to let the Colonel's party board the north-bound 
steamer, she had no opportunity to bolt, but, at Khartoum, she 
spotted her trunks waiting on the dock.  She rudely shoved her 
way past the adults and made a beeline for her adult clothes, 
in a manner that might remind one of a spoiled, greedy child 
knocking over the tree on Christmas morning in a rush to get her 
presents.  

She hurried to the ladies' loo and quickly changed her clothes (or 
as quickly as she could, given the condition of her bottom).  She 
left the hated, humiliating uniform in the trash bin, confident 
that she would never need it again.

By the time Col. Chambers and John got off the boat, she had 
already bought her ticket for the return trip and was waiting on 
the dock.  "You shouldn't dress that way here, Miss Smith," the 
Colonel advised.  "Women in this area are not allowed to travel 
unless they are under a man's protection."

"I don't need your protection," Tracy said huffily.  "It is you 
two who will need protection, upon my return to England, when I 
report your assault upon my person to the proper authorities!"

"Quite," the Colonel responded evenly.  "Since you do not require 
my aid, I shall take my leave and wish you well."

The Colonel betrayed no emotion, but John's knowing smile made 
Tracy uneasy.  The Colonel spoke to a policeman before leaving 
the dock, and Tracy found herself alone.  She had just finished 
supervising a couple of lascars loading her luggage onto the 
south-bound steamer when the policeman to whom the Colonel had 
spoken walked over and arrested her. 

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

Tracy did not speak the local language, but the judge, who spoke 
much better English than the rest of the court, tried to explain.  
Tracy, as a female traveling alone, was required to carry a travel 
permit.  Accordingly, she had asked the arresting officers to 
inform the Colonel, who had then requested Tracy's purse (taken 
from her at her arrest) so that her particulars could be copied 
onto appropriate form.  

"The document has been prepared, and you are free to go, as soon as 
you pay your jail fee."  

"My jail fee?" Tracy squeaked.

"Yes, we charge a small fee for each day you spend in jail.  It 
will be less than a penny in your English money.  Unfortunately, 
the Colonel has your purse, so you cannot pay.  Ordinarily we would 
sell your baggage at the magistrate's auction on Friday, and use 
the proceeds to pay your fine, but it is on its way down river.  
One hopes your friend, the Colonel, will return with your purse by 
Friday, or we will have to auction the one possession you have 
left."

"My clothes?" Tracy asked nervously.  

"Of course not!" the Judge said, deeply offended.  "Would we strip 
an Englishwoman of her clothes, and leave her naked?  There is no 
market for your type of clothes here, anyway, but even if we sold 
them as rags, how would you go home?  No, no, no.  On Friday, if 
the fine is not paid, we will sell you."

"You'll sell me?  You mean…as a slave?"

"Yes, precisely, my dear.  How quickly you learn.  You will bring 
a fine price on the block."

"But you just can't...auction me."  

"Of course I cannot," he agreed.  Slave auctions are handled in 
the slave market.  A slave trader will sell you, and the proceeds 
will go to pay your fine."  At this the magistrate gave Tracy his 
most becoming smile.  "Any excess, of course, will go to the court, 
as my compensation for having to deal with this trifle."

A penny was indeed a trifle, but....  "Please, you can't sell me at 
auction!  Not for a penny!" 

"By Friday, it will be two pence," the magistrate explained.  "But 
don't worry.  I have talked to the Colonel, and he assures me that 
your purse will be returned in time.  He has put one of his 
brightest young officers in charge of the matter -- his own nephew, 
Lt. John Chambers.  The lieutenant asked me to assure you that he 
will try ever so hard not to be tardy."

At the mention of the keyword "tardy," Tracy's spirits sank.  How 
many times had she caned John's backside for a trivial or even an 
imaginary lateness?  But John was the teacher now, and it was Tracy 
who would be taught the lesson.

She spent two of the longest days of her life staring out the 
window of her cell, straining her eyes at every stranger who 
approached, trying desperately to wish her former student onto 
the street below, purse in hand.

But John did not come.  

On Friday morning, Tracy watched as the whistling magistrate 
prepared the form that declared her slavery, and heated the 
wax for the official seal to validate the document.

At the last moment, however, the magistrate paused dramatically and 
addressed the onlookers.  "Once this document is sealed, this young 
woman will be a slave, henceforth and forevermore.  Before I take 
that irrevocable step, I must ask, can any of you spare a coin to 
save this girl from her sorry fate?"

Tracy turned beseechingly to the smiling men that surrounded her.  
One man claimed that he had no change.  Another protested that, 
while he had many coins, he always made a habit of emptying his 
pockets and throwing coins to the children on his way home, and 
a coin spent on Tracy might mean that a child would have to go 
without a treat.  The slave trader charged with her custody 
shrugged and pointed out that he would spend coin enough on her, 
preparing her for the auction block.

Tracy fell to her knees and begged, promising to do ANYTHING for a 
coin.  But the men laughed, and agreed that her final scandalous 
offer as a freewoman merely proved that she was, in fact, fit only 
for the collar.

Tracy felt dizzy as she watched the magistrate emboss the document 
and seal her fate.  

Tracy Smith was a slave!

During her incarceration, the Judge had made a show of treating her 
well, but that now abruptly ended.  In short order she was dragged 
outside, where she was stripped stark naked, and chained to four 
other ill-fated local women whose unfortunate encounters with the 
law had earned them their slavery.  The cuffs around her wrists 
were connected to a chain that ran from the collar around her neck 
to the shackles on her ankles, and she was helpless to do anything 
but squirm as the magistrate ran his finger down her flat tummy and 
over her golden triangle.

"It bothers you that my skin is dark, does it not?  I knew many 
blonde women like you when I was in England.  But I, as a lowly 
servant, had no chance of ever seeing one naked, let alone fondling 
her."  Tracy winced as his insinuating finger worked its way 
between her legs and began stroking her sex.

"Folk wisdom says that blondes are stupid, but your friend John 
tells me you are a teacher, and you seem quite intelligent to me.  
Still, I am I am glad that you were foolish enough to lose your 
purse, so that the purse between your legs is all that you have 
left to sell."

With that he bade Tracy well, punctuating his farewell with a 
playful swat on her bare bottom to hurry the hapless, blushing 
prisoner along to the slave market...and the auction block.  

A coffle of naked slave girls was not an unusual site in Khartoum, 
but Tracy's blondeness and bare skin drew a great deal of unwanted 
attention.  She wanted desperately to cover herself as the men and 
women on the street whistled and hooted at her, but, with her hands 
chained, all she could do was blush.

The magistrate smiled as he went back into the station and examined 
Tracy's clothes.  The necklace and cross, which had been rudely 
taken from her when she had been stripped for market, appeared to 
be solid gold, and he had no doubt it would bring an excellent 
price.  She would have no use for it now.  The little slut was 
only a slave, and she would be learn the religion of her masters.

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

The large, open-air slave market was crowded, but Tracy was not 
hard to find.  Good marketing knew no borders, and the slave 
dealers had placed her on a large raised platform near the center 
of the square, high enough for others to watch as various buyers 
put the blushing blonde beauty through her paces.  It was a 
privileged location, and Tracy found herself surrounded by stalls 
displaying the finest in carpets, silver, pottery, leather goods, 
and several prize-winning cows, camels, and goats.

Standing amidst sheep and goats was particularly humiliating for 
Tracy.  Like her, they were displayed on platforms covered in sand, 
to allow for "accidents."  Tracy, like the other animals, was 
fettered to bolts in the platform.  At night, she and the other 
livestock were watered together at the same trough, fed together, 
and bathed together.  She would watch as the goats were stroked and 
fondled by the buyers, and occasionally unchained so that they 
could be made to run.  In turn, the animals watched as the 
two-legged beast with the blonde hair was made to bend and bow for 
the entertainment of the buyers.  Was it her imagination, or were 
those camels actually laughing?

The buyers were demanding, and she spent much of the day squatting, 
spreading, and even peeing on command.  Occasionally she was 
unchained, and made to run across the market to fetch a stick in 
her mouth.  Many of the buyers seemed to enjoy making her nipples 
hard, although much of their attention was naturally focused 
between her legs.  The men enjoyed fondling her until she began 
to drip, and, on several occasions, they carried this cruel 
humiliation to its ultimate end and actually made her cum.  They 
were careful, however.  She lost count of how many buyers had, 
ever-so-gently, verified her virginity.

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

By the time John arrived, the attention surrounding Tracy had died 
down somewhat, as the teacher-turned-slave-girl had been groped and 
fondled by the general public for nearly two weeks.  There was no 
hurry.  Abdul would not sell Tracy until the welts on her bottom 
had healed, a process further delayed when Tracy's initial refusal 
to cooperate with her captors had forced her owner to add several 
lash marks of his own.  

No matter; Tracy slept each night with her bottom soaking in a 
special solution of the slave trader's own invention.  The liquid 
was quite irritating, and caused her to squirm and itch, but that 
was of no concern.  She was an animal now, a possession, and the 
important thing was that her sweet alabaster buttocks appear 
perfect and unblemished when it was presented to the buyers on 
the block.

On rare occasions Tracy was given a short white robe to wear, as a 
practice for when the auctioneer would strip her on the block.  The 
theory was that it would be more exciting for the buyers to see her 
charms first hidden, then revealed.  Of course, who hadn't seen her 
charms by this point she couldn't fathom, but the wisdom of the 
ages was in the practice, and, in any case, she was in no position 
to argue.

As fate would have it, she was wearing precisely that robe when 
John approached her auction platform.  He was an imposing sight 
in his regimentals, and Tracy swallowed as the crowd parted so 
that he could make his way through.  She frowned as he sheepishly 
held up her precious leather purse.  

"I brought your purse, Miss Smith," he said, in a mocking imitation 
of his meekest schoolboy voice.  "I'm dreadfully sorry if I'm 
tardy.  I have your two pence, if it's not to late."

It was too late, and both of them knew it.  At the jail the 
magistrate assured his anxious prisoner that John had been 
clearly informed that her chance to pay her fine was a limited 
time offer, and that once the court declared her a slave any 
chance of escaping the auction block would "vanish, like the 
desert wind."
  
Now John stood before her, holding her purse.  It contained several 
pounds, but they were quite to her now.  Slave girls had no need of 
purses, as it was quite impossible for them to legally own anything.

Tracy shuddered as she felt the auctioneer who had been training 
her touch her on her shoulder.  "Would you like to examine the 
merchandise, sir?"

"Well, I AM on a shopping trip," John chuckled.  "No harm in taking 
a little look."

There was great harm, Tracy felt, to her dignity alone, if nothing 
else.  John began to examine her as one might any other animal at 
a market -- checking her teeth and gums, running his fingers 
through her silky blonde hair, and checking the insides of her 
ears and nostrils for signs of disease.

It was a humiliating examination, made all the worse by the fact 
that she seemed certain that the goat a few yards away was smiling 
at her.   But the auctioneer was not satisfied.  "One must get a 
FEEL for the merchandise," he said, urging John on.  "Only a fool 
buys a slave clothed."

"Unhand that woman, good sir!  She is, after all, a British 
subject.  I demand her immediate release, or I shall bring my 
Uncle's cannon to bear, and level this market to the ground!"

That was what Tracy heard, in her mind.  What she heard in her 
ears was John's laughter, followed by, "Well I'm certainly no 
fool.  Show me her titties."

The auctioneer slipped the robe over Tracy's shoulders, baring her 
to the waist.  John smiled as her bare breasts bobbed into view.  
The unveiling was followed by a tap of the auctioneers whip upon 
her bottom, which was the command for her to squat before him, so 
that her prospective master could feel the goods.  

Although she wanted to resist the command with every fiber of her 
being, Tracy dutifully squatted.  She knew better than to resist 
as John took her breasts in his hands and fondled them, evaluating 
their shape, weight, and consistency.

"Rather tiny apples, but they're pleasant enough to squeeze," he 
concluded, looking directly into his former teacher's mortified 
eyes.  Is she as round below as above?"

Two taps on her shoulder signaled Tracy to stand, but the command 
was given for a reason she dreaded.  Her robe was removed, and she 
squatted before her former pupil, with her fettered hands on her 
head and her legs spread.  

John smiled.  His haughty teacher was naked and ready for his 
examination, like any other animal in the market.  He used his 
fingers to brush sawdust from Tracy's toes.  He rubbed the tiny 
grains between his fingers thoughtfully, before looking into her 
eyes with a pitiless and knowing smile.   

The bareness of her feet, the sawdust clinging to her toes, and the 
bleating of the sheep and cows around her underscored her legal 
status as mere livestock.  She was an animal to be bought and sold, 
and it was clear to her that John was going to take his time and 
relish every aspect of her degradation.

Tracy's squatting position allowed John to look directly at the 
lips of her lightly haired sex.  He had seen it at the station, 
of course, but not from this angle.  Plus there had been work to 
do then, as he had been preoccupied with laying on each stroke 
for maximum effect.  Now he was free to shop and took his time, 
examining her loveliness in detail.  

She flinched as he reached out and ran his fingertips through her 
delicate blonde curls, but the menacing touch of the auctioneer's 
whip steadied her as John worked his fingers between her legs and 
gently stroked her sex.

"Does she juice easily?" he asked, his tone casual, as if asking 
about the amount of milk produced by one of the nearby goats.  

"See for yourself," the auctioneer said, punctuating his command 
with a sharp CRACK of the whip!

Tracy, clearly terrified by the sound of the whip, instantly 
flipped onto all fours, lowered her head, spread her legs, 
and raised her bottom in the air.  She felt utterly mortified 
to be exposed this way before John.  Her sole comfort was that, 
with her nose in the sand, she didn't have to look into John's 
eyes as he began his leisurely exploration of her exposed sex.  

"As you can see, the marks on her bottom have almost faded," 
the auctioneer said.  "It won't be long before she's ready 
for the block."

Although she was trying to remain still, the mention of her 
upcoming auction caused her to shudder and move her bottom 
slightly from side to side in a way that John found most 
becoming.  On the block, she knew, she would be forced to 
smile, and frown, and dance, and spread herself open in ways 
she had never imagined possible.  She would be humiliated, 
yes, but it was important for the audience to see that, as 
well.  Her prospective masters would want to see every aspect 
of the personality that they would soon own, body and soul.

Tracy flinched as John playfully fingered the barely traces of the 
stripes he had so cruelly applied to her bottom a few short weeks 
ago.  "As you can see, she was obviously trained by a master," the 
auctioneer insinuated, not realizing that it was John himself who 
had designed the lovely crisscrossed pattern.  

John smiled.  "I tried to make the design look like my family 
crest," he said,  "Does her price include her smith fee?"

The auctioneer assured John that it did.  The term puzzled Tracy.  
Was there more money due because of her last name?  

But that thought vanished as John's finger delicately touched the 
lips of her sex.  "I hope you don't mind if I start slowly, Miss," 
John said, once again assuming the voice of a submissive schoolboy. 
"But I don't get to spend much time with girls.  My teacher is very 
strict with me, and she doesn't like it when I talk to other women. 
A right prissy one she is, too.  All the boys say she's a bitch, 
but my uncle says she's just frustrated...and needs a man to give 
her gooey honey pot a little rub from time to time."

And John did just that.  To Tracy's dismay, she warmed up quickly 
under his touch.  Soon, her little bud was popping out from under 
its sheath, and John began to circle it meaningfully with his thumb.

"Don't worry about the auction, Miss.  The Colonel and I will both 
be there, right in the front row, and we'll bid on you.  Of course 
that also means we'll have to watch, while you bend and squat and 
spread and show the buyers what you're worth.  Humiliating, I know. 
Dreadfully sorry about that, but it can't be helped, I'm afraid."

John turned to the auctioneer and complimented him on the "quality 
of his merchandise," noting the "smoothness," "tightness," and 
"pleasant odor" of the female flesh quivering between his fingers.  
"She juices quite nicely," he observed.  "I imagine a randy little 
strumpet like this will fetch quite a price."

"Indeed she will, sir" the man replied.  "There are several 
brothels that would pay handsomely to have a flaxen-haired 
slut in the front window to attract business."

John laughed out loud.  "Yes, I imagine a honey pot like this would 
draw quite a swarm.  If anyone beats us at the auction, I hope it 
is a brothel," he said casually, as if discussing the weather.  
"Then I could put more than my fingers into this tight little hole.  
I wouldn't mind sampling her behind, either.  I imagine she's tight 
as a tick back there," he said, punctuating his interest with 
several light taps of his finger on Tracy's anus, which cringed in 
panic at the threatened invasion.

The auctioneer snickered at Tracy's obvious distress.  "See?  She's 
winking at you!  Yes, this one would squeal like a stuck pig when 
you drove it into her, but she'd be velvety tight and warm and 
soft.  Snappy as rubber and smooth as chocolate!"

"There aren't many muscles on her," John said critically.  "Not 
much good for farm work or digging."

"Not now," the auctioneer admitted.  "I imagine at first whoever 
buys her will give her bedroom slippers rather than work shoes.  
But, in time, the little lazy little slut will be put to work, 
and she'll learn to drag a plow and tend the other animals."

"Can she read?" John asked, his thumb moving closer to her button 
as he felt her passion rise.  "She looks quite stupid to me."

"Who wants a slave who can read?" the man countered.  Whoever buys 
her will be interested in conversation.  Her mouth was made for 
other uses."

"Would I be able to use her...that way, in a brothel?" John asked, 
continuing to rub the increasingly excited Tracy.

The auctioneer laughed.  "You could use her however you wished, 
sir."

That did it!  Despite her efforts to resist, Tracy climaxed, her 
sex trembling and quivering like jelly in John's meaty hand.  Tracy 
had known nothing but shame since she arrived in this strange land, 
but cumming on John's hand like a randy bitch in heat was the most 
mortifying moment of her life.  The salt from her tears ran into 
her mouth even as she felt her hindquarters quiver with pleasure.

John commanded Tracy to face him, and she complied, once again 
squatting before him.  He dried his hand in the sawdust and 
then wiped off the sawdust in Tracy's hair.  "Well, it seems 
you won't be need this after all," he said, taking the money out 
of her purse.  "I'll use this to bid on you.  It's not much, but 
if someone else buys you perhaps I can rent a chance to bugger 
that tight little piggy hole of yours."  Tracy's bottom hole 
puckered up at the thought.

She looked up sadly as John patted her on the head, in a manner 
that reminded her of a master leaving a favorite dog.  "There, 
there," he said, brushing away her tears.  "Soon the welts on your 
bottom will fade completely, and your smooth white arse will be 
auctioned from this block.  Display yourself properly, and do what 
the auctioneer tells you, and perhaps you will find a master kinder 
than yourself, who will whip you only when necessary."

He walked on to the next stall, content to consign her wet, soggy 
pussy to the vagaries of the open air market.  Tracy blushed as she 
watched him inspect a cow's teeth in a manner not dissimilar to the 
way he had examined her.  As she knelt in the sawdust amidst the 
other livestock, she listened closely as he casually discussed the 
animal's fitness for farm work and whether branding was included in 
the animal's price.  The merchant assured him that it was, for it 
customary for animals to bear their master's brand.  Her buttocks 
clenched at this revelation, as she realized at last what the 
"smith fee" was.  Branding was included in HER price, if her master 
wished to mark her.

John moved onto the next stall, and Tracy's interest focused on the 
blacksmith across the square, who was preparing a newly purchased 
cow for precisely such a branding.  Watching the cow MOOO! As the 
brand was driven home, Tracy actually bit her own tongue and 
clutched her bottom in helpless anticipation of the scorching 
indignity that awaited her.  

Tracy's attention was re-focused as a man and his wife moved toward 
her, and the examination of the goods for sale in her stall began 
anew.  The woman was drawn to Tracy's fine leather purse, which 
John had casually added to a collection of purses and bags that 
were hanging from several pegs adjacent to her.  Her husband, 
meanwhile, decided instead to examine the silky purse of the juicy 
blonde slut who was kneeling before him.  

The whip CRACKED, and Tracy dutifully spun around and lifted her 
bottom into the air, spreading her legs wide as she offered her 
soggy wet purse up for yet another buyer's thorough and intimate 
inspection.


THE END


Edited by C. Lakewood
