The girls sat excitedly in a corner of the main dining hall, clustered around the group’s treasurer. It was one of the first warm days of Spring and the ladies were enjoying wearing their new light-weight outfits. Some wore sundresses, others wore skirts and light blouses. A few wore just their official Sigma Alpha Tau sports bra as a top, complete with matching jogging shorts.
“Ladies,” their treasurer started, “as I mentioned, we’re currently upside down on our mortgage and the bank is threatening to foreclose if we don’t come up with some money fairly quickly. We’ve made *some* progress through our car washes and bake sales, but we’re still woefully short.”
“How much?” a girl asked from the back.
Their treasurer gave them a figure.
The group groaned in unison.
“Car washing isn’t going to cover that…” one said.
“Ideas, anyone? We need something big.”
The girls looked at each other, their eyes glancing from member to member as they tried to brainstorm a solution to their financial problem.
Then, one of the girls raised her hand.
“Speak, pledge,” the treasurer said.
“Well, in high school my softball team held an auction to the baseball team, where the guys could buy us for a week as their personal assistants. If a guy put up a minimum amount of money, he could get one of us to help with his baseball stuff, like carry his equipment bag, clean his shoes, wash his batting glove, track his stats, take pictures; that sort of thing. But if a guy wanted a particular girl as his assistant, he would have to outbid his teammates to get her. It got a little competitive over some girls, particularly where a boyfriend was trying to win his girlfriend. It was a lot of fun and we raised some pretty good money really quickly.”
“Oh yeah? How much did you get?”
“About five thousand.”
A look of shock passed over the treasurer’s face as the group reacted to the figure.
“Yep. Enough to cover our trip to Nationals, plus a little extra.”
The treasurer started jotting some numbers down. “Ok, so you probably had thirteen girls on the team…”
“We only put nine up for auction; one for each position. The others acted as the supervisors to keep the boys from abusing their privileges, so to speak.” The pledge paused. “Of course, like, if the boyfriend won his girlfriend, there may have been some lines crossed behind closed doors…”
The circle of women giggled.
The treasurer continued her calculations. “So, that works out to just under four hundred per girl. If we allow for a larger population of girls, and a college man’s deeper pockets, we could earn anywhere from five thousand to fifteen thousand ourselves!”
One woman, her rich blonde hair draped over her face, peered over the treasurer’s shoulder, studying the numbers. “That assumes we put at least twenty girls up for auction. That’s a lot of girls. What if we just did ten girls – one for each fraternity on campus – and raised the minimum? Frats will have richer budgets than individual guys, so we could get more income for less output.”
“Basic price elasticity,” her brown-haired neighbor chimed in.
“Or better yet, reduce the available number of girls to just seven, so that four of the frats will have to compete just to get one of us. That should raise the demand side of the equation a bit,” the blonde woman said.
“I like that idea,” the treasurer replied, “so who wants to be put up for auction?”
The girls looked around at each other. Nobody volunteered.
“What are some of the rules?” one girl asked tentatively.
“Ok, how about this,” another girl said, her long dark hair pulled back neatly into a pony tail, “Each of the frats can win one girl as its ‘house girl’. She’ll be responsible for basic stuff, like cleaning the bathrooms, organizing the living room, greeting visitors, answering the door and telephone, sorting the mail. Just the basic day to day drudgery that guys don’t like to do. That’s why their places are a wreck. They should be all over this like ants at a picnic.”
“Sounds like you’re our first volunteer.”
Jasmine looked at the treasurer, her pony tail sliding across her shoulder as she turned. “I… uh…”
“Oh, come on! It’ll be fun, Jasmine. It’s just basic stuff, like you said. You do all that anyway; you’ll just be doing it for someone else and helping to raise money for our house. Plus, you’ll get to meet all those guys and see how they really are when they aren’t drunk and puking their guts out on the lawn.”
The group laughed.
“Ok,” she replied, “but I don’t want to be the only one…”
“You won’t be. Since nobody else is volunteering, we’ll make it mandatory for the pledges,” the treasurer said.
“No,” the blonde woman retorted, “they already have plenty to do around here. And officers should be exempt as well. We can supervise the operations. In fact, with so many girls spread out all over campus, we might as well exempt all of our seniors to act as supervisors.”
“Fine, then the juniors and sophomores will be the house girls,” the treasurer said. “There’s ten of them and we only need seven. Maybe we’ll start the auction by allowing the girls to bid for their freedom right away. That should get the evening started right and get the boys’ wallets warmed up. Agreed?”
“All in favor?” the blond woman asked the group.
“Aye,” came the response from the group.
“Ok, Liz, Tiff, and Ashley, you can be responsible for organizing the auction, ok?”
The blonde woman, her neighbor, and the darker girl behind her acknowledged their acceptance of the job.
“Jasmine, can you formalize the rules so we can distribute them out to the fraternities? Get those written up by tomorrow morning and we’ll add it the flyers we distribute. Agreed?”
The girl nodded her head. “I’ll do it tonight, after my workout. I'll think better then.”
Jasmine stood in the narrow hall that served as the backstage entrance to the modeling runway they had constructed in the dining hall. She could hear the music thumping as Liz worked the crowd of men into a bidding frenzy. As the girls had anticipated, having three of the “properties” bid for their freedom got the guys worked up quickly. The sight of three scantily-clad young women buying themselves out of indentured servitude had certainly added an adrenaline jolt to the party atmosphere.
The outfits had been Tiff’s idea. She had joked about how they were practically going to be house slaves, so they might as well dress the part. Each girl was tasked with making her own ‘house girl’ costume, but they had to follow a certain pattern: thong bikini bottom, bikini top, with layers of brightly colored sheer material embellished with sequins and beads. It had been a fun exercise as the group compared their designs and shared ideas on how to best show off their natural assets using select colors, cuts, and design cues. They had even made custom facial veils to complete the effect. To make sure each girl could be identified by the bidders, each of them wore a collar with a numbered tab dangling against her neck.
When Jasmine had completed her outfit, she had looked at herself in a mirror. She looked and felt amazingly erotic, and she could feel her Little Jasmine start to purr with pleasure. She knew the guys would go nuts over her. She wanted to be the highest-earning girl in the group, and she was going to do what she had to do to get there.
“Sold!” Liz cried, banging the wooden gavel as a Tau girl exited the stage, “And now, our next offering for bid…”
That was Jasmine’s cue. Her heart was beating a thousand times a minute. She thought she was going to die. She exhaled, calming herself, then proceeded through the decorative curtains and onto the runway.
At first, the spotlight blinded her as a cheer went up from the crowd. She quickly got used to the glare, but the noise was deafening. The room was packed with men clustered around tables, the sorority’s seniors bringing the groups mugs of beer and trays of nachos as the men laughed and celebrated and music blared from the loudspeakers. As she had been instructed, Jasmine smiled and paraded across the stage, making eye-contact with as many of the men as she could, her shoulders back, head up, arms at her sides, shaking her hips as she strode down the narrow walkway.
She could hear Liz speaking to the crowd but the words weren’t registering in her brain. With the music, the lights, and the shouts of the excited men, she was in a state of sensory overload. Fortunately, the girls had practiced their runway walk and she knew where to spin, return, and take her place on the stage, waiting to be auctioned to the highest bidder.
The men gestured with paddles as her president called out the bids, each table pushing her price progressively higher as she stood there, barely clothed, the spotlight enhancing the curves of her body. Even though she was clothed, she felt naked.
That’s when the little voice in her head told her to do it.
It told her to strip.
Why not? If you feel naked, you might as well be naked.
But what would the other girls think of her? What would the consequences be? What would happen if she actually did it? Right there? On the stage in front of everybody?
The music was loud, pulsing, driving against her ears. Lights flashed around the crowd of laughing, boisterous men as they watched her standing there, holding her pose on the stage as they bid on her body.
One of them would own her like a slave.
His to do with as he pleased.
She could feel the familiar tingling in the little valley between her thighs. A familiar warmth enveloped her body, and she knew she was beginning to glow even though she was practically naked. Two tugs on the right knots and she would be half-way there. Two more tugs would finish the job. But which man should have that privilege?
She surveyed the tables, looking for just the right group. The Lambdas where there in force; the party boys who never missed a reason to drink en masse. Next to them were the Deltas, the athletes of the frat population, steroid junkies in tennis shirts. They made good randoms for a girl just looking to have a good time and an arm to hang on. At the other end of the scale were the Gammas, the science geeks of the universe who formed a unique subculture based on their own imagination. There were some prospects there if a woman was looking for a husband with earning potential. Next in line were the Sigmas. The Sigs were a safe bet, a mix of athletes and intellectuals, most aiming for grad school some day. If it was possible to be conservatively daring, or daringly conservative, they were. They would push the party envelope up to the point it would look bad on a grad school application, and then back off.
That’s when she saw him.
While the other men were cheering and grappling for the paddle, he sat quietly in his seat, watching her up there, his arms crossed with a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. What was he smiling at? Her, certainly. But everyone else was, too. Everyone else was laughing and cheering and yelling and doing everything else that goes on at a spectator event. But he just sat there smiling. At her. As if he knew her secrets.
The voice repeated itself.
She turned to face him as she raised her hands behind her back. She felt the knot there and found the loose string. One little tug would be all it would take.
One little tug.
Her heart was beating furiously, the blood rushing through her ears as she stood in the harsh light on the stage, fingering the knot against her back. Did she have the courage? Could she really do it?
Then came the banging of the gavel. “Sold! To the Sigs! Your second purchase of the night! Thank you, gentlemen!”
Jasmine smiled and turned, exiting the stage. Apparently someone had thought enough of her to steal her away from another fraternity. Or had thought less of the first girl they had purchased. She wondered who the unfortunate wench could be. The poor girl would be devastated.
She stood at the registration table, the sorority’s clerk recording her collar number as property of the Sigs. She looked to see what her purchase price had been, but the light was too dim to see the numbers. Her treasurer clipped a small fob to Jasmine’s collar; the unmistakable sword-on-shield of the Sigmas. She now belonged to them.
After she was registered, she was directed to the main lobby, where she was lined up with the other girls, each of their collars decorated with tiny symbols of the various fraternities that had bought them. She tried to find the other Sigma shield that matched her own, but as she started to mill around she was told to wait in line until the auction was complete, then her new owners would collect her on the way out. Her indentured servitude would start tonight. After all, the boys were partying hard and someone would need to clean up their mess when they got home.
None of the girls were talking. They stood silently in the shadows along the wall, each contemplating what would happen to her next. A few whispers came from one end of the line of girls, but they were quickly silenced by the supervising seniors. There was a reason for that. Those girls with the awareness to follow the bidding would know their purchase price and could compare it with their sisters to see who fit where in the sorority’s pecking order. But the sorority considered all girls equal, and any attempt to set another girl down a rung on the social ladder was frowned upon. Jasmine had learned that the hard way.
It had been over a boy, of course. His girlfriend, Kendra, was also in her sorority and it had caused a bit of drama when he had broken up with her, and had then asked Jasmine out the following weekend. It had seemed innocent enough to Jasmine, but the old girlfriend didn’t see it that way. She didn’t want to let the relationship go, even though it was over. Afterwards, Kendra had often gone out of her way to make things difficult for Jasmine, without overtly violating the sorority’s codes.
And now Jasmine had been sold to a fraternity as their slave.
She could hear the music thumping throughout the house, mixed with the jaunty laughter of men being men. An amplified female voice seemed to fill the gaps in their bellowing calls and Jasmine knew another sister had been sold and would soon join her in the growing line along the wall. She wondered if the price had been high. She wondered if the girl had stripped to raise it higher.
Then, she heard two male voices drifting down the hall from the registration table. A female voice confirming what they were saying. Then, Ashley coming down the hall with a medallion in her hand, seeking one of the girls in the line. She found her target and singled out the poor girl, removing the fob from her neck and replacing it with another.
“A bargain has been struck,” was all Ashley said in response to the questioning looks.
Jasmine looked to see who had been exchanged.
It was Kendra, the girl who Jasmine had replaced.
Ashley held Kendra’s Sigma shield medallion in her hand as she turned and headed back to the registration table. Jasmine had replaced Kendra again.
Jasmine stood in the foyer of her new home, clad only in the simple costume of a slave girl.
The Sigma representatives had been kind to her as they escorted her down Panhellenic Drive, their group blending with the others from the auction into a sort of Greco-Roman parade as the men spoke boisterously with one another of their night’s conquests. A few had tried to engage her in small talk, but Jasmine had simply nodded and given short answers, preferring instead to listen to the interaction of the men as they strode towards their mead hall; all hail the conquering heroes.
Gradually the parade had thinned as each group broke off and entered their residences, the men instinctively forming a tight ring around their purchased woman; whether for her protection or to keep her from escaping was open for debate. Jasmine wondered which would be worse; being the house slave to a bunch of drunk Lambdas or the ‘roid-raging Deltas. Or even the Gammas, for that matter. The real punishment for the girl sold to the Gammas probably wouldn’t be felt until the following day, when she would be subjected to their curious conversations and made to feel intellectually inferior.
In a way, Jasmine believed she had got off easy. At least the Sigs were normal.
After entering the Sigma House and giving her a quick tour, each of the men had said their good-nights and gone off to their rooms, leaving Jasmine alone with two of the Sig officers who had seen fit to set up a small living space for her in an unused utility room off the main hall. It wasn’t air-conditioned, but if she left the door open she could get the cold air from the main floor. The windows opened if that wasn’t enough during the day. They also showed her where her private bath was located – a simple utility sink with a chemical shower designed for emergency use. It wasn’t much, but she would have privacy from accidental intrusion. She could use any of the toilets in the house if she hung a sign on the knob first.
Now she was alone in the sleeping house, the soft ambient light beaming through the paned window as she surveyed her little room. It was nice. Not spectacular. Just nice. It had a bed and closet and a desk with a chair. There was a new rug on the floor and fresh linens on the bed. Four neatly-folded towels rested on her pillow. It was simple but clean. She could smell the faint lemon-pine aroma from their efforts to please her. The men had obviously gone out of their way to make it presentable.
She wondered if the Lambdas had done the same for Kendra.
Tugging at the knots around her neck, her back, and her hips, she stripped off her little slave girl outfit and, running some water in the sink, rinsed it out, then hung it up to dry near a window. She would have to wear it again tomorrow until she could get another set of clothes. That meant she would have to remain nude all night while it dried, and hope that none of the men stole a peek through her open door in the morning.
She stood, naked, in front of her window and stretched, feeling the fatigue leave her muscles as she reached high into the air and spread her legs, balancing on the balls of her feet. A soft kitten growl then a gentle settling back onto the floor. She wiped her eyes, then stepped over to her little bed, pulled the covers back and slipped under the sheets.
She awoke to a sunrise through her window and the smell of breakfast in the air. She could hear the noise of a man's heavy footsteps on the staircase outside her open door.
She quickly threw off her bedcovers and made a dash for the door, trying to close it before her privacy was invaded.
That’s when she tripped over the pile of clothing someone had set on the floor, causing her to sprawl awkwardly across the new rug.
That was how he found her; legs apart, naked on her belly, her bare ass rising up into the morning chill.
“Good morning,” he said cheerfully.
The man was dressed casually in shorts and a t-shirt, with a running hat snug on his head.
“Good morning,” she replied, frozen with embarrassment.
“I saw your costume hanging in the window and thought you might want something a bit less revealing; at least for now. I set some things by your bed. I see you found them.”
“Yes. Thanks,” she replied, slowly beginning to unravel herself from the floor, “would you mind…?”
“Hmm? Oh, certainly. I’ll close the door.”
He turned around and shut the door, then leaned against it.
Jasmine made a tiny whimper.
“Something the matter?” he asked.
She gave him a sarcastic look, then reached for the rug, trying to pull it up with one hand as she reached for the unruly pile of clothing with the other.
“You shouldn’t bother,” he said, “I’ve seen it all before. Most of it anyway. You kicked your covers off last night and I had to put them back on you this morning. You’re very pretty when you sleep. Did you know that?”
She glared at him. “What kind of pervert are you? Going around looking at sleeping women! You’re a peeping tom!”
“Only by accident,” he said apologetically. “I figured I could come in and cover you and protect at least some of your modesty. Or not, and protect none of it. You should be thanking me for looking out for your social welfare.”
Jasmine thought about that as she unfolded a shirt.
“You’re right," she said apologetically, "Thanks; and thanks for your clothes. I’ll wash them and return them to you later.” She rolled over onto her bare bottom and sat up, her back towards the man, as she slipped his t-shirt over her head.
“It’s no trouble. My pleasure actually, Miss…?”
“Jasmine. My name is Jasmine.”
“My pleasure to meet you, Miss Jasmine. I just wanted to stop by and make sure you were ok. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d love to stay and chat but there are five kilometers of road with my name on it.”
With that, he turned, opened the door, and left, closing the door behind him.
Jasmine just sat on the floor, not quite sure what to make of the whole thing.
The sun felt good on Jasmine’s bare skin as she lay, naked, on the roof of the house.
She’d spent the early part of the day cleaning the bathrooms after the men had finished their morning routines, and it seemed as if every guy in the house had taken her picture while she was doing it. She wasn’t surprised. Bending over in her slave girl costume while she wiped out all six shower stall drains - three on each of the upper two floors - must’ve presented them with a very tempting target. She laughed to herself as she wondered how many times her ass was going to be broadcast across the galaxy.
It had been a nice gesture for her mysterious friend to give her some of his clothing, but for the most part the attempt had been in vain. Other than the overly large t-shirts which she could use for nightgowns, the rest of it had simply been too big for her. So, after giving the chemical shower a try and finding it anemic and frustrating for true bathing, she had elected to wear her slave outfit again, complete with collar and fob identifying her as property of the Sigs. She was, in a way, proud to belong to them.
One of the boys had shown her how to get up to the sun deck, suggesting she take advantage of her mid-day break to relax and recharge herself for the afternoon and evening plans. What those plans were, she didn’t know, but he had made it sound like she would be very busy. So, she’d followed him up the stairs to the roof access, where the men had constructed a small deck complete with hand rails and two wooden loungers. They’d even rigged up a make-shift shower using a hose and a garden sprayer.
Dutifully hanging her little sign on the door knob would guarantee that none of the men would disrupt her peace up there. So, she’d removed her costume, applied her sun oil, and now lay on a lounger relaxing in the warm Spring sunshine.
“So there you are, whore.”
Jasmine quickly turned her head towards the female voice.
It was Kendra, holding Jasmine’s costume in her hand.
Kendra’s own costume looked like it had seen better days. Dirty and stained, with one shoulder strap hastily repaired, it gave testimony to life at the Lambda house.
Jasmine reached for the woman's hand that held her clothes.
“Ah!” Kendra said, pulling the small collection of sheer material away from Jasmine’s outstretched fingers, “Not so fast. We have a score to settle.”
Jasmine sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the lounger. “Please…” she begged, reaching again for the clothing.
“Stay!” Kendra commanded.
Jasmine froze, waiting to see what Kendra had in mind.
“I haven’t forgotten that you stole my Gregory from me, whore,” Kendra spit, “and I haven’t forgotten that I was the one that was sold to the Lambdas, when it should have been you.” Kendra glared at the girl. “Look at me,” she said, “Look at me! Look at what they’ve done to me. See this?” Kendra pointed to a large stain on her brightly-colored leg, “This is what beer looks like when it comes spraying out of a man’s mouth. This, this, and this are cheese stains from one of them dropping his snack while he was pawing at me last night. And this,” she said, pointing to the damaged strap, “is how far he got before I managed to kick him off of me!”
Jasmine just sat and stared as Kendra seethed on the deck.
“And do you know where I slept last night?”
“No,” Jasmine replied in a tiny voice.
“In the kitchen, on the floor, like a dog!”
“I… I don’t know what to say…”
“You could say it’s all your fault!” Kendra hissed. “I’m the one that’s supposed to be here with the Sigs! Me! Instead it’s you. You… you little whore. You should be the one in the Lambda house. I’m sure they’d love to have a little whore like you over there fucking every one of them. You’d probably enjoy having their cum all over your face.”
Jasmine, frightened, sat quietly on the lounger.
Kendra straightened, lifting her head as she regained her composure. She held out the little ball of clothing in her hand and said, “If you want this, you’ll have to do exactly as I say. Otherwise, I’ll throw this over the edge and you can figure out how to go down to get it.”
Jasmine felt her heart jump into her throat. She’d have to go down three floors filled with men, out the front door in front of a very busy Panhellenic Drive, then go around the house to reach the backyard shared with the Lambdas and Deltas. It would guarantee that every man in the three houses would see her. Naked.
“Ok,” Jasmine replied, “I’ll do whatever you say.”
Kendra smiled. “That’s a good whore. Now stand up. Let me have a good look at you.”
Jasmine stood up, her nude body on display to her adversary.
“Lock your hands behind your head and spread your legs,” Kendra commanded icily, “I want to see what I have to work with.”
Jasmine closed her eyes, exhaled, locked her hands behind her head, then dutifully spread her legs, allowing the vengeful woman access to her most sensitive regions.
Kendra set part of the wadded-up bundle of clothing on the lounger farthest from Jasmine. Then, still holding some of the longer pieces of sheer material in her hands, approached the naked body of the young woman who was submitting herself to Kendra’s whims.
Kendra circled the helpless girl, an evil smile pulling at her lips. She moved behind her prisoner and wrapped part of the discarded slave costume around Jasmine’s wrist and knotted it. Then, with a jerk, she pulled Jasmine’s hands apart and tugged them down behind the captive girl’s back. Quickly, Kendra slipped a loop of material around Jasmine’s other wrist and tied her hands together, leaving them bound behind her. Kendra then moved to the front of the girl and stepped back, admiring her prize.
“Yes, very lovely,” Kendra said appreciatively, “I’m going to have a lot of fun with you, whore.”
Jasmine shuddered slightly with fear and tried to calm herself as Kendra’s gaze drifted up and down her body.
“Avert your eyes, whore,” Kendra commanded, “look straight ahead until I tell you otherwise.”
Jasmine blinked, exhaled, then did as she was told.
Kendra stepped towards her prisoner and, with an exaggerated swing, slapped her open palm against the girl’s sex.
Jasmine let out a soft cry of pain as the impact raced across every nerve in her body.
“Did that hurt?” Kendra asked, “It certainly appeared to. Let me try that again, harder, and see if I can loosen your tongue.”
Kendra swung her hand back. Jasmine tried not to watch as Kendra brought her palm forward again, delivering another blow to the captive girl’s pussy.
Jasmine winced, but did not cry out.
“You’re stronger than I thought, whore. Or perhaps fucking all those Sigma men has toughened you up, hmm? Perhaps I need to try harder.”
Again, Kendra swung her hand back. Jasmine braced herself for the impact. Kendra paused, watching Jasmine ready her body for the pain, keeping the captive girl waiting for the blow.
“No,” Kendra said, “Maybe I’ll try something else.”
Then Kendra brought her hand against Jasmine’s mound again, slapping at the sensitive skin, an audible smack exploding between Jasmine’s legs.
Jasmine jumped from the blow, whimpering slightly with shock, but managed to hold her position on the wooden deck.
“Yes, you are a strong one,” Kendra said with an evil smile, “I can see it’s going to take a lot to break you. Let’s see if you’re up for a challenge, shall we?”
Kendra, giddy with her new plaything, began to run her hand across Jasmine’s chest, playing with the poor girl’s exposed tits. Kendra hummed the sorority’s official song as she casually fondled Jasmine’s slightly-sunburned breasts, the dark ovals becoming tighter as the captive girl stood naked and helpless in the open air.
Kendra pinched and rolled the girl’s nipples, the little nubs standing out long and proud, begging to be stroked.
Jasmine could feel the familiar warmth beginning to build in the crevice between her legs. She hoped Kendra wouldn’t notice.
Then, Kendra’s gaze dropped to her captive’s crotch.
“Well,” she said with a grin, reaching for the girl’s sex, “look who’s come out to play.”
Jasmine flinched as Kendra’s finger brushed against the exposed inner lips of Jasmine’s pussy. She blinked and gasped, trying to fight the urge to close her legs as Kendra toyed with the opening to Jasmine’s tunnel. She could feel her clit beginning to awaken.
“Does this please you, whore? Does it? I bet it does.” Kendra continued to tease and torment Jasmine’s body, pinching and stretching the sensitive guardians of her tunnel. “I bet you like having your box fondled. In fact, I bet I can make you cum right now. Why don’t we try that? Why don’t we see just how much of a whore you really are, shall we?”
Jasmine closed her eyes, focusing on just trying to breathe as Kendra reached down between Jasmine's wide-spread legs and began to stroke her sex in earnest. Kendra's fingers were gentle, yet demanding and focused, as they probed deeper into Jasmine's body, stroking the walls of her vagina, searching for her secret spot.
She let out a gasp and nearly buckled when Kendra found it.
"Hmmm, yes, there it is," Kendra whispered huskily, encouraging Jasmine to surrender to the pleasurable caresses, "Let go. Let your body enjoy the ride. That's a good girl."
Jasmine moaned as her clit responded to the attention Kendra was giving her. She began to grind against Kendra's patient fingers, trying to drive the woman's touch further into her sex. Kendra could feel her captive's muscles pushing and flexing against her hand as Jasmine gave in to the demanding warmth beneath her mound of Venus.
Kendra smiled as Jasmine's gasps grew shorter, the naked girl's lean tummy quivering with exertion as she flexed her hips against Kendra's hand, grinding against her tormentor's fingers.
Then, a series of short, whimpering squeaks as Jasmine begged for her sexual release.
"Hold it, whore. Beg for it," Kendra demanded.
"Please..." Jasmine begged as she tried to hold it.
"Now you can cum."
Jasmine gasped and choked and swallowed and then she came, hard.
"Ah, that's my pretty girl," Kendra said, "come for me, my little slave, and show me how much of a whore you really are."
Finally, Jasmine's gasps grew into deep draws of breath as she recovered from her ecstasy, her body glowing with her post-sexual rush as she stood, glistening with oil and sweat, on the wood deck high above the world.
Kendra laughed and backed away from her prisoner, cracked open the door and reached inside. Retrieving Jasmine's little privacy sign from the door knob, Kendra laughed again and tossed it over the side of the house as Jasmine watched in horror.
"Now," she said, "let's see if you can get out of your bonds and into your clothes before one of your owners finds you undressed up here."
With that, Kendra turned and went down the stairs, leaving Jasmine naked and gasping in the sunlight.
Jasmine sat on her little bed, the door closed over her tiny room, and wanted to cry. Or vomit. Or both. Whichever would make her feel better.
Tiffani had brought over Jasmine's little case that morning. All of the girls had been permitted to pack one for the week-long stay; everything they would need to tend to their grooming and make-up needs. She'd also dropped off a change of Spring clothing consisting of a pair of shorts adorned with the Sigma Alpha Tau lettering and a matching tank top. Tiff promised she'd swing by later in case there was anything Jasmine had forgotten to pack. Now Jasmine was wondering if she should tell the Tau officer about her encounter with Kendra.
It wasn't that Jasmine hated Kendra. She could see where Kendra would be angry with her for the way things were turning out. What she couldn't understand was what she had done wrong, or what she could've done to avoid making Kendra mad at her. It wasn't like she could control Gregory's amorous attention, or avoid the Sig's outbidding the Lambdas for her. She had simply gone along with the flow.
Now she had a pissed off Kendra promising to make her life a living hell for the rest of the week, if not the rest of the year.
If she reported her, what would happen?
Probably nothing officially. Kendra hadn't broken any rules; at least none worthy of a council meeting. There would be the usual gossip, of course, but otherwise life would go on as if nothing had happened. Except for Jasmine and Kendra, nobody else would care other than as a tidbit of juicy conversation over coffee and sandwiches. And Kendra would probably come down even harder than if Jasmine had not said anything; so, Jasmine decided to just ride out the storm.
There was a gentle rapping on her door.
Jasmine leaned forward and opened it up.
"Are you ok?" Tiffani asked, seeing the expression on Jasmine's face, "You look a little..."
"Yeah, I'm fine," Jasmine replied, "Just tired. That's all."
"Well, listen, you better rest up because tonight there's a party over at the Lambda's for all of the house girls and as many of the frat guys as they can squeeze in there. They want all of the girls to wear this."
Tiffani handed her a tote bag as she sat on the bed next to her sorority sister. Jasmine reached in and pulled out a handful of white material. Inside the bag was some decorative lacing, some pins, some gold trim, and a small sewing kit.
"What is it?" Jasmine asked.
"It's going to be your toga," she replied with a smile, "you have to make it yourself. All of the girls will have to make their own. And you can only use the stuff that's in that bag. They're going to be giving an award for the best toga so they want everyone to have an equal start. What you do with the stuff is up to you."
"Nope. Toga only."
Jasmine frowned. "There's not much here."
"More than what you used for your slave girl costume. I'm sure you'll come up with something," Tiffani replied, giving Jasmine a playful slap on her thigh. "Cheer up. The Sigs are counting on you."
There was another knock on the door. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
The girls looked over at the source of the noise. It was Jasmine's mysterious stranger. "No, I was just leaving," Tiffani replied, then turned, winked to Jasmine, and got up to leave. The man turned to the side and pressed against the frame as Tiffani pretended to squeeze past him, her breasts rubbing against his chest. She smiled flirtatiously at him as she made her way out the small doorway. After she had cleared the door, she winked at Jasmine again from over his shoulder.
"I just wanted to check up on you and make sure you had everything you needed," he said, unaware of the silent message being sent behind his back.
Jasmine smiled. His clumsy attempt at small talk was obvious. "I, uh, I think I have everything I need. Thanks."
"So, what's in the bag?"
"Oh this? This is supposed to be a toga, but I have to build it first."
"For the party tonight, right?"
"So how far have you gotten with it?"
"Not very. I haven't even taken it out of the bag."
"Well, let's see what we have to work with," the man said, reaching into the bag and pulling out the rest of the material. "Hmm," he said as he held the material up to her chest, first at one angle, then at another. "I think we could do something with this. How do you feel about something off the shoulder?"
"You're kidding me, right?"
"Hmm? It's a cute look. You'd pull it off well."
"You really think I'm going to let you build my toga?"
"Is that a problem? I've seen you naked already."
She growled. "I was asleep."
"And now you're awake." The man stretched the toga material over her right shoulder, then pinned it in place over her little slave girl costume. He then tried to stretch it downward to cover her Little Jasmine, but it just barely reached. "That could be a problem. You may have to go with a two-piece design, but that's ok because you have a cute tummy."
Jasmine smiled at the compliment, then looked away, slightly embarrassed.
"You're cute when you're blushing," the man said.
Now she was really embarrassed. "I... uh..."
"It's ok," he said, "like I said, you're cute and now you're even cuter."
Jasmine giggled slightly. She felt like she needed to say something, but wasn't quite sure what. "So... um..."
"Ok, I'll take the bottom half and you can work on the top half."
She looked at him. "That wasn't..."
"Ok, then I'll measure the pieces, you can do the cutting, and we'll both do the trimming. Better?"
That wasn't what she was going to say either, but it was a good idea. It also got her out of an uncomfortable situation. "Yeah, ok."
He held the material up to her chest, bunching it at the shoulder, then wrapping it around the back. He tried to pin it off, but the sheer fabric of her slave girl outfit kept getting caught in the pins.
"This would be easier if you weren't wearing that thing," he said.
She looked at him. "So, how much exactly did you see last night?"
"Between last night and this morning, everything but your personal business, and I saw a little of that, too. But, as you pointed out, you were asleep then."
"And I'm awake now," she said.
She tilted her head at him. The voice in her head was telling her to strip.
Right there. Right now.
Unlike last night, this time she wanted to obey.
She unpinned the material from her shoulder and pulled it away from her body, handing it to him as he stood there, waiting.
She reached back for the knot against her back, found the little string, and gave it a tug. The slave girl outfit around her chest loosened, supported only by the string around her neck. She reached up and loosened the knot there, too. The tiny triangles of her top fell away from her body and into her hand, exposing the golden skin of her breasts to the man, the mounds slightly reddened by the mid-day sun.
He stood there, mesmerized by the sight of her bare tits.
"Well," she asked playfully, "are you going to take my measurements or what?"
"Sure," he said, staring at her breasts for a bit, judging their heft with his eyes before regaining his composure. Once more he began to wrap the material around her torso.
"You know," she said, "I don't even know your name."
"Robert," he replied, "I'm the consigliere to the house officers."
"Consigliere. It's an Italian word. It means, roughly, that I advise the officers on matters pertaining to the house and the fraternity. I'm a former officer, graduated, now back for grad school. I'm not a true member of the fraternity anymore, but I can stay here as their advisor so long as I'm a student at the university. My room is directly above yours. I'll try to be quiet when I'm walking around."
She lifted her arms so that he could pin one side snug against her frame, drawing her breasts upward and tugging her nipples into dark ovals. "So, what sort of advising do you do? Give me an example."
"Well for one thing, I'm the one that told them to bid on you, even though we had already won a girl."
Jasmine turned, a surprised look on her face.
"That was you?"
"Yep. We actually made a profit on the deal. After the Lambdas saw the girl that came on after you and the prices being offered by the fraternities that didn't have a girl yet, they wanted to deal, so we sold them the first girl; the one we bought before you."
"Wait. You got more for her than you paid for me?"
"No. We paid more for you, so we had more margin to work with on her. When the Lambdas saw how the prices were going up, they made us an offer of 10% over our bid, so we got our money back plus a little extra, and they paid less than we did for you. Everybody won. Now lift your arms again."
Jasmine raised her arms like a prisoner surrendering to her captor, letting the man pin the material snug against her almost-naked body. She grinned. She had earned more money for the sorority than Kendra had. If Kendra only knew...
"You may have made things difficult for me," Jasmine said.
"Because now she thinks you wanted me more than you wanted her."
Jasmine gave him a quizzical look.
"That's right. I did, and I convinced the president that the fraternity did, too. You were absolutely radiant on that stage, and now you're here and our bathrooms are clean and the guys have new screensavers of your ass on their phones. I'd say we did ok."
Jasmine laughed. "So why choose me over her?" she asked, fishing for more compliments.
"Let's just say you wear your costumes well." He passed one final pin through the toga top. "Take a look in the mirror and see what you think."
Jasmine turned to the full-length mirror on the back of the door. He had bunched the toga at her shoulder, letting the pleats drape cross her chest, then flared it out against her sides. It looked very flattering on her.
"I'll have to trim off the excess along the bottom here and here," he said tugging on the fabric, "and use that to build your lower piece. I'm thinking something like a mini-skirt, with a matching g-string underneath, so nobody sees more of your business than I already have. What do you think?"
She turned in the mirror, imagining what he was describing. In her mind's eye, it looked cute. And definitely sexy.
"Sounds good to me," she replied.
He reached in the bag and pulled out a tailor's pencil and made a mark along the bottom ruffle of her toga. "Okay, cut along there and give the top piece to me. You can have the cuttings to build your skirt."
"How are you going..." she started to ask.
"I have a sewing machine in my room," he replied, "I sometimes have to make custom pieces."
She squinted her eyes. A thought flirted in her mind. Was he gay? "Why would you have..."
He smiled. "I know what you're thinking, and no I'm not. I'm a military reenactor. Specifically, Greco-Roman. Its not like I can go down to the mall and buy a paludamentum from the Third Servile War."
"The cape that the centurions wore when they set off on a campaign."
"In fact," he said, "I have a better idea. Let me do all the cutting and sewing. You just stand there and look beautiful."
Jasmine smiled at his joke.
"Perfect. Just like that," he replied as he unpinned the sides of her top, carefully gathering the folds of material in his hands as her breasts were once again bared. As he collected the fabric, the inside of his wrist accidentally brushed against her exposed nipple, causing her to flinch slightly as she brought her hands down to cover herself.
She sat on her bed, arms folded across her chest, patiently watching him as he carefully laid the fabric out on her little desk and diligently cut along the dashed line he had drawn. Soon he had cut the twisted fabric into two distinct pieces and a third smaller piece.
"Ok, stand up," he said holding a piece of fabric in his hands.
She stood still, her hands cradling her tits as he stretched the fabric around her hips.
"Just enough..." he mumbled as he marked the fabric with his pencil, "Ok, I'll be back in a flash."
He collected the tote bag of materials and headed for the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. "Oh, don't go anywhere, and don't get dressed. I may have to come down from time to time to check my tailoring. Just wait here."
Jasmine nodded as he headed out the door.
Sitting there, half out of her slave girl costume, she began to feel a little horny.
Jasmine studied herself in the mirror. She looked - and felt - beautiful.
"This is amazing!" she said.
"Thank you," he replied, "I added laces to the sides of the top so that you could change in and out of it easier, then added the lacing to the sides of the skirt to match the top. It makes it a lot easier to adjust the fit that way, too. With the gold trim along the hemline, it looks a lot better, don't you think?"
She nodded her head. "Very nice."
"I'm glad you like it, because I brought down some accessories." He opened a box and lifted out a bronze cylinder decorated with a snake head. "This is a little something I picked up during my travels," he said, handing the jewelry to her. "Its a reproduction of a period piece. No real value, but it looks nice."
After slipping the cylinder around her bicep, she reached into the box. "What else do you have in here?" she asked. She felt a piece of metal and pulled it out.
It was a manacle, linked with about three feet of chain to another manacle.
"That would be a slave chain," he said, "used for securing captives."
She looked at him.
He quickly said, "I thought it might tie in nicely with the slave auction from last night and the Roman theme for tonight. You know, you could be my Roman slave girl for the evening. That way, you'd always have an escort."
She knew what he was really saying, and that she should be upset, that she should throw the chain at him in protest. That's what a proper girl would do.
She balanced the chain in her hands. She could feel a welcome tingling in her Little Jasmine. Maybe she wasn't a proper girl after all.
"So, um..." she said, letting the chain swing softly in the air, "what did you have in mind?"
He smiled and moved closer. "Put your hands behind your back."
When she did, he clicked one closed on each wrist. The feeling of helplessness to protect herself, particularly her barely-covered front, made her Little Jasmine tingle a little more.
"There's also a collar," he said, reaching into the box. When he withdrew his hand, he was holding a length of chain with a metal collar at one end, and a smaller manacle at the other. He gently fit the collar around her neck, careful not to catch any of her long, dark hair, and clicked it shut. The chain rested neatly against her chest, pressing the material down between her breasts, as a circular piece of metal - intended to be a handle - tapped against the rim of her belly.
She looked at herself in the mirror again. She felt more than just beautiful. She felt absolutely erotic. If she hadn't been chained, she would have ripped off her clothes and fingered herself right there. Or maybe it was because she *was* chained that she was feeling incredibly horny. Either way, she knew that night's celebration would be a special one.
"So what are you going to wear?" she asked.
"My centurion armor, of course."
"And I'll be your slave girl," she replied.
She thought about that for a second. "What if I don't want you to be my master?"
"You're a slave girl. You don't have a choice," he said with a chuckle.
"But what if I want to dance with someone else?"
"He'll have to ask for my permission first."
"But I can't?"
"No. You're a slave girl. Your job is to please me."
She thought about that for a second. "So what happens if I don't please my master?"
"Then I would have to punish you, I suppose."
"Well, first I would strip you, as was customary in Roman society."
"Strip me?" She looked at him, tossed her hair, then turned her hips and shoulders. "Are you up for the task? This outfit is a little tricky. Maybe you should practice first so you don't make any mistakes."
He paused, then smiled at the invitation as he reached for the knot at her shoulder.
She nervously tugged at the chains around her wrists as he unlaced the sides of her top, the loosened material falling away from her body as the strings parted from the toga. Her breasts fell only slightly from their own weight as she moaned softly, begging for his touch. She tilted her head up, her mouth open, as he gathered the remnants of her top in his hands.
"Don't you want to kiss me?" she asked.
"No, not really. Most slave girls were used like whores and I don't know where that mouth has been."
She gasped in mock surprise at his playful insult as he turned his attention to her bare breasts, his hands moving to cup and lift the two golden-hued mounds, her soft nipples slightly pinked by the sun. She closed her eyes and moaned again softly as he gave her tits a gentle squeeze, his fingers pressing her flesh against her body. He then patted gently at the sides of her boobs, watching them tremble from the impact of his hands against her skin. Just as he had judged their heft with his eyes, now he was judging them with his hands.
She tugged again at the chains around her wrists, instinctively wanting to grab his arms and wrap them around her bare back and pull him closer to her. She moaned in frustration as he continued to torment her breasts, his fingers now tapping against the dark ovals that capped her gently bobbing mounds. He traced a line around the bull's-eye of her teats, his fingers circling inwards until they rubbed against the hardening nubs, stroking them seductively as she squirmed in response to his touch.
"Please..." she begged.
He looked at her, smiled, then ran his fingers along the sides of her body, dancing across the latticework of her ribs as he made his way down to the strings holding the tiny skirt against her hips. He tugged at the knots and the strings fell away. He loosened the fabric around her perfect ass and slid the small strip of white material down her smooth legs, leaving her clothed in nothing more than the tiny g-string over her sex and the shackles around her wrists and neck.
He grasped the loose end of the chain dangling from her collar and pulled her towards the bed.
"On your back, slave," he commanded.
She did as she was told, gently settling onto her small bed, the chain around her wrists now pinning her hands to the linens. Her perked nipples pointed upwards towards him, begging to be stroked.
He gently planted a series of baby-soft kisses from the hollow of her neck down along her chest towards the rise of her breasts, his lips circling her dark areolas before gently nibbling at the perked nubs. She gasped and sighed as he continued to gently massage her breasts with his lips; a tiny squeak coming from her throat as he lightly pinched her nipple between his teeth. His hands stroked her body sensually, tracing delicate lines across her soft skin.
She whimpered, begging for him.
She hooked her thumbs in the tiny string around her waist and lifted her hips, trying to pull the tiny bit of cloth away from her pubis but prevented from moving very far by the chains around her wrists. He saw her presenting her sex to him and pushed her gently back down onto the bed, his fingertips tracing gentle lines down her wonderfully cute tummy until they rested on the slender bit of cloth covering her little mound of Venus. He pushed the tiny string downwards, revealing the neatly-trimmed triangle of fur she kept hidden there, the tip pointing to her pussy. He slipped his finger under the material and found the top of her slit. He pressed his fingertip into her crevice, causing her to gasp and moan as he found the aroused head of her clit.
He toyed with the blood-inflamed cap, pressing and rubbing against it, causing her to squirm, helpless to prevent him from continuing to torture her little head. She whimpered again, begging him to probe deeper into her sex as her hands were pinned to her body by the chains around her wrists. He smiled as he ran his fingers along edges of the material covering her vulva, circling her pussy.
"Surrender yourself to me," he said.
Jasmine gasped as he gently stroked her sex through the cloth. "What?" she asked questioningly.
"Surrender to me. Surrender your body, your mind, and yourself to me. Let me be your master."
It was so tempting. His touch felt so good against her body. She wanted him. She wanted him now. But still, she was reluctant. "I... I don't know..."
"Let me be your master, at least for tonight."
She flinched as he continued to caress her body; one hand lightly tracing the curves of her breasts as the other toyed with the edge of the fabric covering her snatch. She sighed, the breath escaping through her parted mouth, across lips longing to be kissed.
He looked at her intently and said, "Be my slave."
The voice in her head, the one that told her to strip, was now telling her to do it, to let him take control of her body.
She wanted to refuse. Her mind told her to be free. It was someone else's voice, one that sounded just like her, that said, "Yes. I will be your slave."
And now he was smiling. She had pleased him and now he was going to please her.
He grasped the end of the chain around her neck and lifted her up towards him. Her mouth parted as he gave her a deep, hard kiss. She moaned with pleasure as he gently eased her back onto the bed, his fingers wrapped around her body as she settled against the linens. Then, his fingers ran delicately along her flanks, tugging at the string around her hips and drawing the slender thread down the length of her smooth legs, leaving her naked but for the chains around her wrists and the collar around her neck.
He leaned forward and kissed the rim of her belly, whispering to her how beautiful she was as she spread her legs and offered herself to him.
He kissed her tummy again, her wonderfully cute tummy, as his fingers probed the opening to her tunnel. Slowly, gently, he slipped his hand against her slit, his fingers pressing against the wall of her vagina, searching for her special spot hidden within her passage. She flinched when he found it, and soon he was rubbing his hand along the folds of her pussy, stroking her body with one hand as the other stroked her genitals.
She tried to adjust the bindings around her wrists, raising her spine off the bed as one of her hands disappeared underneath her and the other reached forward towards her pussy. He saw what she was doing and forcefully pushed her back down, pinning one hand under her body as he held her other one against her naked thigh. He wasn't going to allow her to cum until he had decided it was time.
Now she was thrusting her hips against his hand, trying to drive his fingers deeper into her body. She moaned, then whimpered, then moaned again as he continued to stroke the inside of her body. He could see that she was building towards her orgasm as she increased the tempo of her thrusts against his hand. Cruelly, he withdrew his fingers from her body.
She looked at him and whimpered, begging for her release.
"Beg for it, slave" he said.
"Please," she replied, "please let me cum."
"Master," he reminded her.
"Please let me cum, Master."
He promptly reinserted his fingers and began to stroke her again, his knuckles sliding easily into her well-lubricated pussy. Soon she was flexing her hips as the muscles of her tummy rippled with her exertions, once again working towards her release.
Her mouth opened as she gasped and choked, and gasped again, her body tensing as a small cry escaped from her throat. She squealed as every muscle in her body spasmed at the same time, her fingers clutching at his arm; the same one that held her hand against her bare thigh.
Soon, she settled back onto the bed, her chest rising with each gasping breath as her nipples pointed towards him, still perked and ready to be stroked. She smiled as she lay there, a light sheen glowing against her skin. She looked at him dreamily and whispered "that was fantastic."
"Welcome to the Roman Empire," he replied with a grin as he lifted the loose chain linked to the collar around her neck. "This means you belong to me," he said as he set it gently across her naked body.
She lay on the bed, basking in the post-coitus glow. She had surrendered to him. Now she was his property to do with as he wished.
Jasmine sat in the darkened bedroom, waiting. She could hear the music outside, and the sounds of what seemed like a thousand male voices laughing and yelling over the thumping of the band.
The Lambdas had started the party early, their preparations beginning before the sun even went down. From her opened windows, she could hear the sounds of construction - hammers banging, power tools surging - as the boys built something next door. She could see the initial scaffolding of a raised stage and backdrop, and had assumed it was for the band. But, what confused her was the large "X" frame being built on a raised platform off to the side. She thought perhaps it was for lighting or special effects of some sort.
Robert explained to her that the Lambdas had decided to have an auction of their own, and that each fraternity should bring their house girl for the sale. Whichever girl could generate the most money would be crowned for her fraternity and her house would receive the prize offered by the Lambdas. What that prize was, Jasmine didn't know, but she knew it must be something special.
Each of the seven girls had been brought over at specific times and had been sent to individual rooms so that they couldn't see each other before the auction. Jasmine, sitting on a Lambda's bed, could hear the shouts and roars of the boys and knew that the girls were being brought out one by one for bidding. She wondered how long it would be before it would be her turn to stand on the stage in her skimpy toga, nearly naked but for the little pieces of fabric over her breasts and hips and the chains around her neck and wrists, as the men leered at her and passed judgment on her body.
Then the door opened. Two men entered the room. One tugged on the chain attached to her collar as the other moved behind her and grasped the chain dangling from her wrists, rendering her helpless to resist as a blindfold was placed over her eyes.
She was carefully led down the narrow hallway towards the back of the house where the Lambdas had built their party room; a giant concrete-floored space with wide doors leading to their backyard. She could feel the change in flooring with her bare feet and knew she was being led from the bedrooms of the house, to the party room, and now towards the backyard where they had constructed their stage. The noise was deafening, and she could barely hear the drunken cheers being yelled in her honor over the sound of the blood rushing through her ears.
She felt someone lift her leg as her toes stubbed against the hard edge of a staircase. She planted her foot on the stair and instinctively lifted her other leg, feeling for the next step, cautiously climbing the staircase she knew held the band and the mysterious frame. One of her two handlers placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her around, then pushed her backwards until she felt something hard against her back.
Someone kicked at her feet and she obediently spread her legs, then felt something wrap around her ankles, holding them in place. Someone grabbed her arms and she felt the shackles there being loosened, then her arms being pulled up over her head and held wide apart. Soon something was wrapped around her wrists, stretching her out, and she realized that she was now bound to the X frame she had seen earlier.
Then her blindfold was removed.
She blinked, trying to adjust to the bright light. Another cheer went up through the crowd and someone on a microphone started yelling for bids. She scanned the crowd, searching for Robert, but there were so many faces and so much movement that she couldn't focus on any particular one for very long. More bidding; more noise. The sound was much more than she had heard earlier, when the other girls had been auctioned. She wondered, with her legs spread wide and lashed to the frame, if the men in the front row were looking up her little miniskirt and getting a show of their own. She was glad she had constructed the little g-string. Though small, it at least gave her a minimum amount of modesty; a little bit of protection of her privacy.
Now the spotlights were sweeping the crowd as a final bid was called for. There was some hesitancy, then a final wave of a paddle as the auctioneer banged the gavel and sealed her fate. Someone on a microphone called for a cheer and the crowd responded enthusiastically. Jasmine looked to the other side of the stage as the other girls were brought out, each dressed in a full-length toga and wearing their little house girl collars, their bodies well covered in fabric. Jasmine was the only girl wearing such a tiny costume.
Kendra was smiling; that evil smile of someone who had just gotten away with murder. Jasmine realized that Kendra had tampered with her bag, deliberately leaving her very little material to work with.
And apparently, Jasmine had won the auction as a result.
So why wasn't Kendra upset about losing to her? Again?
Jasmine began to become suspicious; wondering if there was a hidden reason for the party.
Robert appeared out of nowhere and was now standing next to her, trying to say something to her that she couldn't make out over the thumping of the music and the roar of the crowd spread around her. Was he telling her she won? She politely smiled and nodded her head, not really understanding what was going on but just going with the enthusiasm of the partiers.
He smiled, then reached for the little strings holding her bodice together and tugged; the knots falling away as the laces were undone.
Her eyes beamed a look of shock and surprise.
He was stripping her, right there, on the stage, in front of a crowd of boisterous men.
She was helpless to stop him.
She opened her mouth to protest, but her words were lost in the din of the party. Instead, he leaned in and kissed her passionately, causing another cheer to course through the drunken crowd as he lifted her top away from her body.
The men yelled with enthusiasm as they gazed at her bare tits, the skin still red from the mid-day sun. She fought the hold of the bonds around her wrists, trying to bring her arms down to cover herself. Her struggles only served to inflame the passions of the men spread before her, the emcee egging the men on as her breasts swayed from the movement of her arms.
Next, Robert ran his hand along her tummy, feeling her quiver nervously on the frame as his hand approached the curve of her pubic mound, the little ridge barely covered by the skirt around her hips. He intended to strip her completely. She tried to turn her sex away from the eyes of the crowd, but Robert simply followed her as he reached for the laces around her hips and tugged at the knots there, working the slender threads through the grommets as the fabric was loosened. She knew what was coming and tilted her head back in frustration, her long dark hair falling against her shoulders as the laces were pulled free of her skirt.
Another cheer ran through the crowd as the bottom of her toga, the strings dangling loosely from the tiny rectangle of cloth, fell onto the stage, leaving her clad in only the skimpiest bit of fabric tied by a slender string around her hips. She was bound, stretched wide on the frame, with only a tiny g-string covering her sex. She was on full display to the crowd of men, helpless to resist anything they wanted to do to her.
Robert leaned up against her and kissed her again. The taste of him ignited the passion she had felt earlier. She could forgive him for stripping her on the stage, in front of everyone, if he kissed her like that every time she saw him. She pulled at the bonds around her wrists, trying to reach out and hold him close to her again. He kissed her, one final time, then slipped a knife under the string. He smiled at her, and with a jerk of his hand her last bit of clothing was removed.
The crowd went wild at the sight of her pussy, the inflamed guardians of her tunnel on high alert.
She turned her head, trying to look away, trying to hide her shame at her arousal. Despite the public humiliation, she was excited by what he was doing to her.
A brazier was brought onto the stage, seven long black handles protruding from the little bowl of glowing embers. At first she didn't know its purpose; she didn't want to know. Then, her suspicions were confirmed and the fear set in as she saw him fit a heavy gauntlet over his hand and reach for a long iron poker, the glowing tip shaped like the Sig's sword on shield.
She was going to be branded.
He was looking at her pubis.
That was his target. That was where she would be marked.
Fear gripped her throat.
Then, he said something to someone she didn't recognize. A look of relief washed over her face as he set the poker back into the fire. Maybe he had changed his mind.
Now someone - a man - was kneeling before her, holding a silver object and placing it against her mound of Venus. She froze in place, trying to identify the object pressed against her most sensitive spot. Then she felt the vibration of an electric razor against her body and she knew she was being shaved.
She knew she was being shaved in preparation for her branding.
She cried and whimpered and tugged at the bonds around her wrists as the dark curls of hair were trimmed away, exposing the soft skin underneath. She tried not to flinch as the angry blades slipped closer to her snatch; careful not to be nicked and bloodied as the razor stroked her skin. Then the person moved away, taking the silver electrical tool with him. She realized there was nothing stopping Robert from marking her now.
Again he reached for the rod extending from the glowing bowl, the tip yellowing slightly in the electric spotlight of the stage. She tore at the lashes around her wrists and ankles, trying to pull herself free as the iron moved closer to her body.
She gasped and panted, preparing herself for the pain.
She felt the heat of the iron's approach as it moved between her thighs. She knew where he would mark her. She screamed.
Then she felt the piercing white-hot pain against her skin and smelled the acrid stench of burning flesh. An inhuman scream tore from her throat. He held the tip of the rod firmly against her mound, just above the top of her slit, as her skin sizzled and popped. She knew it was her own body being scorched, and imagined the horror of the wound she was suffering in her most private region. Sweat glistened on her skin and matted her hair as she pulled fearfully at the bonds holding her body fast to the frame. She screamed again.
The crowd screamed with her; yelling and cheering as her body was marked as the property of the Sigs.
Terrified, she felt her bladder release and what started as a tiny trickle soon turned into a stream. She heard the patter of her urine on the stage as the men yelled and cheered some more.
She could feel her body start to shut down, her muscles relaxing as her eyes fluttered. Then her world went black.
Jasmine woke up in her little room, naked but for the comfortable bed cloth covering her body. The morning sun had crested the treeline and was shining into her uncurtained room in all its glory. She squinted her eyes, trying to keep the bright light from burning her retinas, and turned over.
She felt something plastic dig into her thigh. She reached down with one hand and felt the edge of a bandage. She remembered the party. She remember being bound to the frame on the stage and being stripped naked. She remembered the evil black brazier with the iron rods smoldering in the glowing embers.
She tossed back the linen to see the damage.
A tiny white gauze pad, yellowed by ointment, had been placed neatly over the crest of her mound, just above her vulva. Gently, she pressed against the center of the bandage, wondering how bad the wound was. She felt a dull pain there and wondered if he would come down to find her; to apologize for what he had done to her.
There was a gentle tapping at her door.
"Come in," she said.
A friendly face with a head full of long dark hair peered around the edge. It was Tiffani. "Hey, sister," she said.
Jasmine smiled weakly and replied, "Hey."
"Are you ok?" Tiffani asked.
"I don't know. I just woke up."
"I know. I heard you stirring and figured you were awake. You've been asleep for awhile."
"What time is it?"
Jasmine squinted her eyes. "So, how long..."
"They branded you around midnight, so about ten hours."
"You haven't been out there waiting the whole time, have you?"
"Yep. All ten hours of it. I wanted to make sure you weren't disturbed until you were ready."
Jasmine groaned and rolled over onto her side, then swung her legs over the edge of her bed.
"Does it hurt?" Tiffani asked gently.
"A little bit."
"Can I see?"
Jasmine shot her a dirty look.
"No, that wasn't what I meant," Tiffani said, "I'm the one that bandaged you and I want to make sure I did a clean job."
Jasmine exhaled. "Ok, but let me pee first."
Tiffani smiled and nodded, then helped Jasmine to her feet. "Where do you go?" she asked.
"Anywhere that isn't occupied. Right now, I feel like I could just pee on the floor right here."
"Well don't do that," Tiffani said, wrapping her arm tenderly around the girl, "how about your shower instead? I saw a handicap stool in there you can use as a seat."
Tiffani helped her friend over to the tiny stall and gently guided her down onto the folding stool, then gave the shower knob a slight twist until a little stream of water was flowing down into the basin. "Ok," she said, "go ahead."
Jasmine squinted at her. "Do you have to watch?"
Tiffani laughed. "Oh, sorry. I forgot this might be a private moment for you," she said as she turned her back to her friend.
Jasmine sighed with relief as she added her little yellow stream to the clear water swirling around the shower drain.
Tiffani pretended not to smell it.
Jasmine sighed again, then after a few minutes said, "Ok, I'm done."
Tiffani let the water continue to run, flushing Jasmine's pungent bodily fluid from the stall floor as she helped her friend stand up.
"Thanks," Jasmine said as Tiffani supported her and put her back into the bed.
"You're welcome. Now just lay there while I check your wound," she replied.
As Jasmine settled into the linens, Tiffani pulled out a fresh bandage and a tube of ointment and set them on the edge of the bed. "This might hurt a little when I pull it up. If you want me to stop, just say so, ok?"
Tiffani positioned herself over Jasmine's hips, reached for the edge of the bandage, and began to pull.
Almost immediately, Jasmine inhaled sharply and tensed up.
"Do you want me to stop?" Tiffani asked.
Jasmine shook her head. "Just keep going," she replied, her jaw locked with pain.
Tiffani began to pull again, slowly; the adhesive pulling Jasmine's skin up as the bandage was lifted away. Jasmine winced and whimpered with pain as the wound was slowly revealed to Tiffani's studious eyes. Jasmine blinked and a tiny cry escaped from her throat.
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" Tiffani said as she pulled at the bandage, "I know it hurts, but I have to see, ok?"
Jasmine gave a vigorous nod as she braced herself for the pain. Tiffani tugged at the bandage again, the glue trying to rip away Jasmine's skin as the bandage parted from her body. Then, she was done.
Jasmine lifted her head to see how badly she was hurt.
Pink skin, moist and pure, rose from her ridge, the wound covered in a clear film of ointment and plasma. It was in the perfect shape of the Sigs' crest. She knew it would forever mark her as their property. She would be their slave for the rest of her life.
"It's healing nicely," Tiffani said, "if that's any consolation to you."
Jasmine put her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes.
Tiffani sighed in frustration. "I'm sorry, Jasi. I don't know what to say. I'm trying to have a good bedside manner; to keep your spirits up. But the truth is you're going to carry that for the rest of your life and there's nothing I can do about that except help it heal and make you comfortable. Please don't be mad at me."
"I'm not mad at you," Jasmine said, "I'm just really tired and in pain right now."
"Oh, ok. I thought maybe I had upset you somehow."
"No, you're fine," Jasmine said, giving her friend an encouraging smile, "but it would be nice if you told me I was beautiful."
Tiffani smiled at her warmly. "You are beautiful," she said, stroking Jasmine's face tenderly, "and very brave for doing what you did. There aren't many girls that could go through with something like that."
"Thanks," Jasmine said, smiling, "and I appreciate your help. Your bedside manner is excellent."
Tiffani accepted her compliment with a smile and a nod as she prepared to put a fresh bandage over the wound. "Normally, the practice is to leave the original bandage in place and keep the wound moist, but I wanted to make sure there wasn't anything festering down there that I hadn't seen last night. The lighting is better now and everything looks clean, so after I put this bandage on, it's going to stay there for awhile; at least three or four days. I hope that won't be a problem for you."
"No, that's fine. I don't plan on showing that part of my anatomy to anyone today anyway."
"Well, if it helps, the one person I figured you'd want to show it to is away for the next few days wrapping up things back home, before the new semester starts. So, it'll be granny panties for you. I even had Liz bring some over for you."
Jasmine laughed. "Granny panties? Really?"
"Yep. Who knows. You might even make them trendy."
Jasmine laughed again, then looked at her friend. "So is Robert really gone?"
Tiffani nodded. "Yeah, I suggested he might want to leave you alone for a few days, so he's back home running some errands. I hope you don't mind that I did that."
Jasmine sighed. "No, that's fine. We probably needed some time apart anyway. Good call."
Tiffani gave her a quick kiss on the forehead and got up. "Ok, you be good. I have to take care of some business myself. I made a 'Do Not Disturb' sign and hung it on your door. The boys also brought you this bell," she said, handing a small silver ornament to Jasmine, "so if you need anything, just give it a ring and one of them will be along to tend to your needs."
"Huh," Jasmine said with a chuckle, accepting the little decorative instrument, "for once the masters have to obey the slave!"
Tiffani grinned, "Yes, but don't abuse the privilege. It was their idea and you may end up with that bell shoved up your coochie if you aren't careful."
Jasmine laughed. "Don't worry, Tiff. I'll be good."
"Ok," Tiffani said, giving her charge a playful brush against her hair, "now I'm off. I'll be back in a couple of hours with your lunch. Hope you like sandwiches and sushi."
Jasmine's eyes grew large. "I love sandwiches and sushi!" She gave a little clap and a cheer as Tiffani headed out the door.
Then, as the door closed, she sighed, rolled over onto her side, and went back to sleep, the sun bathing her room in its golden light.
April, 2011 by Thomas Chaser
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