supernintendochalmers1982: supernintendochalmers1982: Had some awesome requests com in recently. To

supernintendochalmers1982: supernintendochalmers1982: Had some awesome requests com in recently. To the person who requested the brother/sister chastity/cuckold captions, I PROMISE I will get to those soon. Request #1: A detailed description of a sissy slave auction: Either just a description of what happens there or a story about one sissy’s experience and how she feels about being auctioned off. Heather’s Story: It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Heather squirmed in the seat of her uncle’s car. The steel cuffs around her wrists were cuffed too tight, and the ones around her ankles rubbed against her bare skin. To make things worse, the lap belt of the seatbelt was causing her chastity cage to grind uncomfortably against her pubic bone. Her uncle… stepfather now, she supposed, paid her no mind. The steel plug in her bottom was sensitive to the slightest jostle, and the nearly worn-out shocks on the battered old SUV meant that each slight bump in the road added to her discomfort and her misery. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Tears stung at the corner of her eyes at the thought of how unfair it all was. The slave auction was still hours away, and while part of her hoped that the ride would be shorter so she could adjust her cage, her plug, or even stretch her legs; she also knew that these last few hours in the car were the last few hours of her freedom. Heather’s uncle looked over, and seeing the tears sighed; “Don’t go a cryin’ now. There’ll be plenty of tears ahead I ‘spect”. Heather couldn’t see it, but she could feel the weight of her chastity key against her throat, dangling off a thin chain that was wrapped twice around her pale neck, and locked in the back with a small padlock. Heather was a smart gurl, and an exceptionally pretty one. Redheads drew a premium at the slave auctions, and Heather would no doubt fetch one of the highest prices. But being smart and pretty wouldn’t save her from the slave block. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Over and over the thought ran through her head. Her parents were wealthy; the largest landowners in the small, agrarian town in Southern Sissytopia where she had grown up. It was a big family, with seemingly every other house in town belonging to an aunt, an uncle, or some third cousin twice-removed. Her parents were far, FAR too wealthy for her to be sold as a slave, yet here she was. It was pride, of course. She was being sold because of her family’s stupid pride. Her father was a wealthy man, and owned vast tracts of prime farmland, but he was the youngest son of a large family. Her uncle (she REFUSED to think of him as her stepfather) was the eldest son, and when her grandfather had died, he had inherited the old family estate. Her grandfather had been a prosperous rancher, and the farmhouse was huge, rambling, and very beautiful. Or at least it had been. These days, her uncle had let the farm get so run down it barely looked anything like the home she had visited when her grandfather had been alive. Bad debts, bad decisions, and an overfondness for betting on the ponies had left the old place a windy, sagging, and broken down house of ghosts and old whiskey bottles. Her father had refused to lend his eldest brother the money to fix the place up, and her uncle had refused to sell. He’d sit on the front porch, gazing out on the acres of corn long sold off to other family members, and sip on his cheap rye whiskey. He hadn’t had a real income in years, and he didn’t really want one. Out of spite, he was going to let the old family farm rot. Heather’s father wasn’t going to allow that. His brother needed money, and he knew of a ripe young source of cash that had just turned 17. Heather wasn’t the only sissy in the family - she had 6 brothers and sisters, 2 of them were sissies as well, but they were either too young to be sold, or older, and already indentured to a new owner. So Heather’s father, one bright Monday morning, had walked into his lawyer’s office, and disowned the pretty young sissy. In exchange, her uncle had adopted her, signed a contract stipulating that most of the money would be used to fix up the farmstead, and that when Heather’s uncle died, he would leave it to Heather’s oldest brother Ryan. He was poor enough to sell her into slavery, and he would get both the house fixed up and a bit of walking-around money. Heather had fought it. She had yelled, stamped her feet, and even tried running away. Each time her “new” father had marched her out to the woodshed, and strapped her until she screamed and sobbed. Then he would leave her sobbing on the earthen floor of the shed while he went back to the house. Finally they reached the auction. Her uncle got out of the car, stretched, and went inside. With her hands and ankles cuffed, Heather couldn’t even unfasten her seatbelt, let alone try and escape. After a few minutes, he returned to the car with two men from the auction house. “That’s the gurl!” her uncle said cheerfully, “She oughta’ fetch a mighty fine price, eh boys? Mighty fine!” The two men unfastened her seatbelt, and gently helped her from the car. “You can keep them cuffs, boys” her uncle continued “but I want the plug she’s got up her pooper. That’s real stainless steel!” Heather began crying from the humiliation as her uncle undid her denim skirt, and roughly took down both her skirt and panties. “Look at that ass, boys!” her uncle continued “Don’t mind them marks, just shows the gurl has spirit”. Her uncle grabbed the base of the plug and none-too-gently pulled it from her bottom. Heather whimpered in pain and fell forward, but one of the two auction attendants caught her and helped her to regain her balance. “Well, if that’s all, I’ll leave her with you, and I’ll wait on my cheque in the mail!” He moved back to the rusty SUV’s driver’s door and began to climb inside. “Wait! You aren’t staying???” Heather was aghast. She hated her drunken boor of an uncle but she had counted on at least one familiar face being in the crowd as she was marched out. “Uncle Barry…Please…” She was fully crying now. Her still striped bottom, her chastity cage, everything being on display to the crowd as they arrived, she was utterly humiliated, and now she was going to be utterly alone. Her uncle fastened his seat belt. “Well, I ain’t got the stomach to see one of my own kin sold like cattle. Plus, I’d like to be getting home ‘afore dark and there’s a lot of miles between here and home.” With that, he reached across the passenger’s seat, slammed the passenger’s door, and drove off, leaving a trail of blue smoke behind him. “What an asshole.” The taller of the two attendants said as the SUV drove out of sight. He knelt down and helped Heather back into her skirt and panties. Through her tears, Heather couldn’t help but laugh. She looked up. The attendant wasn’t much older than her, maybe 23 or 24, and he was blonde and handsome. “Heather Clarke?” he asked? Heather nodded. “Age 17?” Heather nodded again. “I assume that key around your neck opens your chastity cage?” Heather blushed, and nodded once more. “Okay, you should be all set, your father gave us- ” “Uncle” Heather spat. “Sorry?” the attendant looked confused, and checked his paperwork. “He’s my uncle. I know he adopted me, but he’s not really my dad… Could you just… not call him that?” The attendant squeezed her arm. “Sure thing, Heather. My name’s Mark. I’m going to get you processed for the sale today. As I was saying your… uncle provided us with the key for your wrist and ankle restraints, as well as your medical paperwork. Can I trust you not to run if I take off your ankle restraints?” Heather nodded. Mark’s kindness, combined with her humiliation had left her very compliant. She sighed with relief as the tight ankle cuffs were removed. Mark nodded to the other attendant. “You can go help out the auctioneer, Henry. I’ve got this one.” Mark led her through a single door in the side of the building, and past a waiting room full of miserable gurls waiting for their own processing. Down a long hallway, they entered a small room; it reminded Heather of a doctor’s office: Brightly lit, clean, small, and with a medical examining table in the middle. A couple of battered office chairs, a small desk and laptop computer, and a laundry hamper completed the spartan furnishings. Thre were no pictures on the wall, or even a houseplant. Mark closed the door behind them and locked it. His voice was strict, but not callous or cold; “ I’m going to uncuff you, and you are going to remove all of your clothes and place them in the laundry hamper”. No please or thank you. No room for argument. Heather stripped off her clothing, and placed it in the hamper. “They will be given to charity” Mark said. It was clear he had given the same reassurance many times before. Mark motioned for her to lay on the table. “Hands above your hand, lay on your back. feet in the stirrups”. Heather laid back, the first gooseflesh forming on her skin; the room was chilly, and she was scared. Mark locked her wrists to the end of the table, behind her head. “I am going to ask you some questions. They were already answered by your fath… uncle in the paperwork, but I need you to confirm them”. Heather grimaced, but nodded her assent. Mark confirmed Heather’s name, her age, her place of birth and her birth date. He confirmed her amount of sexual experience (Sexually active since 15), number of sexual partners (3), chastity release schedule (90 days, normally ruined, occasionally full), highest level of completed education (Grade 10), and any special skills (None). Next, he gave her a physical exam, including removing her cage and ensuring she was capable of an erection. Third, he shaved her pubis, arm pits, and legs, before getting her up off the table for an eye exam, height measurement, and weight. Finally, he replaced and locked her chastity cage. “That should do it.” Mark sighed with the satisfaction of a very pleasant job well done. “Perfectly healthy, and your answers check out with what we already had. Let’s get you down to final processing.” With her hands once again chained behind her back, Heather was lead to a large waiting room filled with other nude, cuffed sissies, each wearing their chastity key on a chain around their neck. The room was plain, with buzzing fluorescent lights, simple steel benches, and well worn linoleum floors. On all four walls, there were signs that simply said ‘Do Not Stand Until Number Called. No Talking.’ At the far end of the room was a receptionist behind a window. Mark led her up to it. “Lot 014: Clarke, Heather; Passed physical, Opening bid $15,000”. The receptionist, a tired looking woman in her 50s barely looked Heather over; “Lot 014, Passed, $15,000. NEXT!” Mark turned her around and led her to one of the benches against the wall. “That’s it. When they call for Lot 014, stand up, and the auctioneer will take care of the rest.” Mark gave her arm a gentle squeeze, then turned and walked out of the room. The room was cold, and Heather was shivering. But it was fear and nerves more than the cold. This was it. She was finished. She was a slave. If she was lucky her new owner might let her keep her name, but she knew that life as a slave was a brutal and unforgiving one. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. She wept there, in that sterile, unforgiving room. She wept for the unfairness, and the humiliation, with self pity and with anger. She was far from the only one sobbing, but the receptionist seemed oblivious to it. It was merely white noise to her. Other gurls came in, one by one, and were assigned a lot number and an opening bid. She could hear the auction floor as well. Voices, mostly men, but some women too. People talking, people coughing, people putting down drinks and picking them up, every now and then a burst of laughter would rise above the general hubbub. The noise grew as the minutes oozed by. More people arriving to bid. More people who would see her marched out, nude apart from her chastity cage, hands chained behind her back, vulnerable, humiliated, naked: A slave. There was no clock in the waiting room. The minutes ticked by without any means of marking their passing. After a while, new gurls stopped being brought in. Then the receptionist left her little office and turned out the light. Shortly after that, the other attendant; Henry, Mark had called him; came in with another man Heather didn’t recognise. He was carrying a leash and a riding crop. The other man was carrying a clipboard. “Lot 001” not-Henry called. A skinny brunette who had been crying pretty much non-stop stood up onto wobbly legs. She burst into a fresh series of sobs as Henry hooked the leash to the chain around her neck and led her out of the room. Heather could hear the crowd roar as she was brought out to the auction stage. The walls were too thick to hear exactly how much was being bid, but the drone of the auctioneer’s voice and the audible excitement of the crowd were persistent through the wall. One by one, Henry and the other attendant called the gurls out to the auction block. One gurl, Lot 006, was returned back to the cell. Heather wasn’t certain why, but if it was like her father’s cattle auctions, she hadn’t met the Reserve bid, and would have to be auctioned again. Heather was shaking so hard when Lot 013 was called that her teeth were chattering. It seemed to take hours for 013 to finally sell, there must have been a bidding war over her, Heather thought, bitterly. Finally she heard the auctioneer’s gavel bang down. She was next. About 30 seconds later, Henry and the other auction attendant came back in the room. “Lot 014” came the call. Heather stood: She could see the other gurls watching her through tear-filled eyes. Afraid, but grateful that it was her not them. Not yet. That they would keep their freedom a little bit longer. That they could maintain the hopeful little lie inside that somehow this was all a mistake and someone was coming to save them. Henry walked over and quite casually clipped the leash to her neckchain. He placed his palm in the small of her back and guided her toward the door. On shaky, watery legs, Heather walked where she was guided. The hall towards the auction block was short and noisy; here the sounds of the auction floor weren’t muffled by walls or doors, and Heather was crying openly at the sound. At the end of the hall was a short flight of steps onto the brightly lit stage. The crowd cheered as she was lead out. Suddenly, it was all too much. Heather staggered, almost fainted, almost fell. She stopped walking after only a couple of steps onto the stage. Henry jerked the leash roughly and swung the crop sharply at her backside. Heather cried out at the sting of the crop, and the crowd roared its approval. She kept here eyes down, crying with every step, until she reached the middle of the stage. Henry reached up and clipped the other end of the leash to a metal ring hanging from a cord attached to the ceiling. “Lot 014” he grunted to the auctioneer. The auctioneer looked Heather up and down, then grinned. “I think THIS will prove to be a popular item today, ladies and gentlemen!” The crowd eagerly applauded, with a few catcalls and wolf whistles. She would be popular indeed. “Turn” Henry growled at her. Heather looked up at him, eyes wide; confused. The crop whistled down again, Heather winced, the crowd jeered. “Face left” Henry growled. Heather turned, now facing the crowd head-on. Her breasts, her face, her chastity cage, all revealed under the auction’s hot light. “Face up!” Henry barked, snapping the crop sharply on her bottom again. Heather looked up to face the crowd. She couldn’t see much. The bright stage lights were facing directly at her, and they dazzled her eyes. She couldn’t make out individual faces in the crowd, just person-shaped blobs of different colours. For about 15 seconds she squinted into the lights, while her prospective buyers took in the view. “Turn around!” Henry barked. Grateful to no longer have to face the crowd, she turned away, the crowd now getting a look at her back and bottom. “Bend!” Henry placed his hand on the back of her neck, and forced Heather to lean forward, giving the crowd a better look at her bottom and her bottomhole. The leash chain drew tight around her neck as she bent down as far as the leash would allow. She seemed to be hitting a new low for humiliation every few seconds, and the tears turned to silent sobs as the crowd took in the view. Finally, with a final snap of the crop, Henry gave her the instruction to “Turn and face the crowd, make sure they see your pretty face.” And with that Henry stepped aside, leaving Heather and the auctioneer alone on the stage. Sensing the next stage of the auction was about to begin, the crowd quieted and waited for the auctioneer to speak. “Lot 014. Given Name Heather. 17 years old. Excellent health. Grade Ten Education. No special skills. Weight 111 pounds. Height five feet six inches. Agricultural background, but… heh… we all know you aren’t buying this one to pull a plow. Previous chastity regime 90 days, ruined. Modest sexual experience, NOT a virgin, gentlemen. Placed at auction by her adoptive father. Bidding starts at $15,000. Lot 014: By the power vested in me by the Sissytopia Illustrious Brotherhood of Auctioneers, I hereby revoke your personhood. You are now property, and may be sold, used, and kept however your owner or owners may see fit. You do not need to reply.” That was it. Her whole life… Her whole person, reduced to a few short words. That was the end of Heather Clarke. She was Lot 014 now. The bidding started fast. The opening bid of $15,000 was met almost immediately, and bidding rallied to over $35,000 within the first minute. Heather stood, stalk still, terrified to move, tears running down her face. She was terrified, and yet calm. This was now totally out of her control. She tried to peer through the lights, to see who was bidding on her, but it was difficult. The lights dazzled her eyes, the tears made everything blurry, the room was large, and the auction was happening so fast she could barely tell what was happening. It looked like a 3-way bidding war between a large man at the very back of the room, a tall, blonde haired man wearing a cowboy hat off to her right, and someone off to her left, whom she couldn’t see. At $50,000 the auctioneer stopped the auction. Something had changed. “Ladies and gentleman, we are going to pause here. The current bid is $50,000, as bid by paddle number 377. It has come to my attention that one of your fellow bidders has asked to see this slave’s teeth. Sir, you can come on up here. Anyone else interested in having a closer look is free to as well. Lot 014. You are to open your mouth and comply with the instructions of the bidders.” It was the tall man with the cowboy hat who came on stage to inspect her teeth. As he climbed the stairs he staggered a little, and Heather suspected he might be drunk. He produced a small, but very bright flashlight and peered into her mouth. As he leaned in, she could smell the whiskey on his breath. It reminded her of her uncle. Apparently satisfied, he gave her left breast a non-too-gentle squeeze, smirked knowingly at her, and went back to his seat. The auction started up again. Slower this time, with only 3 bidders in the running, and the price nudging up towards $60,000. To Heather’s immense relief, at $61,500 Mr. Cowboy Hat sat down and retired from the auction. That left the larger, overweight man at the back, and the mystery person to her left, who was obscured by the lights. The auction was slow now. Each bidder carefully considering their next bid. $62,000 then 63, then 64. The auctioneer was sweating, either from the hot lights or from the prospect of a big payday, Heather wasn’t sure. The bidding hit $70,000. The auctioneer stopped, and took a drink of his water. “Lot 014, in consideration of the price, would you mind giving our guests another spin, so they can see all of your assets?” Heather slowly rotated on the spot, blushing furiously, and the bidding continued. Finally, the auction came to a conclusion at $78.750. The larger man at the back of the room prevailed over the mystery bidder, and Heather was unclipped from the ring atop the stage, and lead off the stage to a new holding room. This room was different though. Barely larger than a small closet, it was more a cell than a room, she could sit but couldn’t possibly have laid down. She was still nude, still cold, and still shaking. Time passed slowly, but she could hear the auctioneer clearly. One by one the rest of the gurls were sold, though none approached the price she had sold for. Finally, the auctioneer thanked the buyers, and told the crowd to pick up their new property in the slave pens after they paid the cashier. Heather waited in the dim light of the holding pen. What would her new owner be like? She could see that he was a bigger man, but she didn’t care about that, so long as he didn’t beat her or starve her. She hoped that the high selling price would mean that she wasn’t badly treated, but that was no guarantee. Each time footsteps approached her cell, the butterflies would rise in her stomach and she’d start shivering all over again, only to be left in a cold sweat as they passed her cell by. Finally, the footsteps stopped outside her cell. The door opened. The buyer, her new Master was a large man, maybe 300 pounds, but with a kind face. He was dressed smartly in a silk suit, with polished shoes, and his manner was cheerful and animated. “Get up, get up there, gurl! No sense laying on the floor, you’ll get all dirty! Much better! Now then, you look cold, Pennyworth! Get this poor little thing a tunic, will you? Good man!” First impressions count for a lot, and Heather was hopeful for the future for the first time all day. He seemed nice. Polite. He was going to get her clothes, which had seemed like an impossible luxury two hours ago. Heather prostrated herself at his feet; “I hope that I am what you wanted, sir.” she pleaded, hoping to make a good first impression herself. “You see that Pennyworth? Such manners! Such breeding! You don’t normally see such quality from the lower classes! Worth every penny, I think. Worth every penny! Get it, Pennyworth? WORTH every PENNY?” Someone, she assumed Pennyworth, sighed deeply and dully recited “If you say so, sir.” Once dressed in a rough tunic, and a pair of clean panties, her new Master clipped a leash that was tied to his belt onto the chains around Heather’s neck. “They say you’re called Heather. Decent name. Pretty. It’s a plant, you know! Heather, I mean. Purple. Grows in grass. Good for cows. Or so I’m told. Never had much time for cows. Not unless they were for dinner! What was I saying? Oh yes! Names! Important things for people. But slaves aren’t really people. BUT! I think it’ll save everyone time and confusion if we just keep you as Heather, yes? But no last names. Slaves don’t have those. Do you understand, Heather?” Heather was having trouble keeping up. From the accent her new Master was from the far East of Sissytopia, not a place that Heather knew much about. She thought it best if she just agreed with everything. “Yes sir. Thank you sir. For letting me keep my name, I mean.” Her Master laughed. “Keep? You don’t keep anything. If I decide tomorrow your name is Batman Hippopotamus, then that’s that. Bear it in mind.” They walked a little further in silence. “But it’s really not up to me. I didn’t buy you for me. Bought you for my son, you see? Graduation gift. Just finished his first degree. Off to medical school. Good boy. Very proud. Going to make his old man prouder yet, I warrant.” Was this NOT her Master then? Had she been bought and sold only to be given as a fancy gift to this man’s son? She hadn’t known her new Master very long, but he seemed the decent sort. She knew she risked a whipping if she begged to stay with him, however. But her Master was still talking: “Got to keep his eye on his studies though. No girl chasing. Bad for the old thinker, that is! Worse than strong drink. Need to get him his first sissy. One pretty enough that he won’t be distracted by the coeds. Bad idea this co-education. Bunch of horny twenty-somethings all living and working, and studying together? Bah! Should have got him in at my old school. All men, you see? Much better! But I’m getting ahead of myself.” They turned a corner, and started walking into the parking lot. A large blue sedan was parked next to the curb, and an older, exhausted-looking man (Pennyworth, she supposed) was holding the door open for them. “can’t wait for you to meet my boy, gurl. But I suppose you may have met him already. He works here, don’t you know.” Heather climbed in the car. Sitting across from her was the nice attendant, Mark. He smiled. Heather smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again, my Master.” she said. Author’s note: This story grew organically, written off-the-cuff. I originally hadn’t intended for such a “sunshine and rainbows” ending as a life of slavery in Sissytopia is brutally hard, almost without exception. But I grew to really like Heather as a character and I wanted her to be happy. Re-posting this as it’s probably the best short story I’ve written so far. -- source link

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