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Slavewhore - Book 1 (Paul T Morrisson)

Slavewhore - Book 1 by Paul T Morrisson

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Moira has been bought as a 'slave whore' by Amanda Bennett, a very old friend, partly so that she can take revenge for a supposed seduction and partly to make Amanda a great deal of money. Her business, 'Club Whiplash', stages live sex shows and Moira is the perfect candidate for exhibitionist sex, especially when coupled with a good looking and virile stallion. Moira lives her life stark naked, under the constant threat and often the reality of the whip and strap, wearing a slave collar and ankle ring. She is aware she has no rights and sees nothing before her but a life of total degradation and submission. But her old friend is seeking friendship once again; dare Moira give in to the needs of someone who owns her, body and soul.

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 4 / 2018

No. words: 32900

Style: Male Dom - M/F, Sex Slavery / Training

Available Formats: MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle

Click Here For All Books In This Series



The steady murmur in the auction hall increased in volume as Moira was brought in as part of the human livestock for sale. She was shackled and naked but for a ridiculously short dark blue top, the shoulder straps of which left her strong shoulders and upper back bare. Her big melon-like breasts spilled out over the front of it, completely uncovered, bobbing and swaying with every step. The mockery of the inadequate garment made her seem even more naked.
She was followed by a stern-looking woman with blond hair tied back in a ponytail. She wore the dark uniform jacket and skirt of a female slave warder. A set of keys dangled from a chain at her hip and she held a cat-o'-nine-tails in her hand, which she laid across Moira's naked backside as they approached the bidding platform.
This was really a bleak stage with a rostrum to one side, that allowed each item to be displayed slightly above the heads of the bidders and thus afforded them a clear view. The stage had a curtain backdrop of wine coloured velvet. A spotlight from above cast a broad beam of illumination onto the place at front and centre of the stage, where the slaves were put on show.
The auctioneer, a distinguished-looking gentleman in an expensive business suit, shuffled some papers on the rostrum until he found the page he was searching for. He turned and raised an irritated brow over his spectacles at a young assistant standing idly by at the extreme end of the stage. This young lad, discomfited by the auctioneer's irate cough and sharp gesture with his pen, stepped forward quickly and slid a square, white metal sign into a display frame standing upright at the front edge of the stage, then retreated, somewhat abashed.
Moira was about to climb the short flight of steps up onto the stage when her overseer shouted and the whip cracked her once again across the buttocks. She turned her head, slightly bewildered, and was instructed harshly to climb onto the stage by means of a mounting block.
This was built in next to the steps and was quite high, so that in her first attempt at scaling it Moira slipped off, much to the irritation of the auctioneer, who turned his steely gaze momentarily down on her over his reading glasses.
The woman slave warder belaboured her a couple of more times with the flogger as she made a second attempt, placing her shackled hands and one knee on top before hoisting herself up in an ungainly fashion. Her overseer climbed the steps beside her and a third crack across the hips drove her scrambling up onto the stage with her bare bum waggling.
A shining length of brand new chain with heavy steel links lay on the stage, attached to a sturdy steel band bolted to the floor. The slave warder bent down and fastened this to Moira's ankle ring with a metallic snap that seemed to echo like a gunshot in the now silent auction hall.
Moira was on display. The appraising eyes of at least fifty strangers were fixed on her face and body, studying every inch of her.
She was tall, with massive breasts sloping out over a strong ribcage and slightly rounded stomach. Her wide hips curved down into sturdy thighs, between which her dark pubic bush grew luxuriantly. Her knee joints were well defined and sensual above long calves and high arched bare feet.
A wealth of light brown hair grew in a dense mop of thick curls around her head, coiling just above her attractively arched brows, past her wide healthy cheeks, and down around her neck to shoulder length. Moira's rounded mass of curls had always been her crowning glory, and although the rigours of her captivity now presented it in sluttish disarray, it still shone beautifully under the spotlight.
Moira's hazel brown eyes, dark-lashed and striking, combined an almost innocent frankness with a rich and natural sensuality. Her nose was small and slightly snubbed over a wide, full-lipped mouth, the strong jawline hinting at a peculiar endurance of spirit. A beauty spot on her right cheek gave her a baroque look.
She wore no slave collar on her neck and the very absence of it only increased the interest of prospective purchasers desirous of making her their exclusive property.
Above her, dust motes floated in the beam of the spotlight and the shadows at the top of the dark curtain backdrop loomed oppressively.
She faced the crowd in her full-frontal nakedness with a brave calm and touching dignity, despite the degrading circumstances. Inches from her left foot, the white metal sign identified her as a number in bold black characters.
And so she was introduced to the gathering. "Lot 17," announced the auctioneer in a clear, clipped but slightly bored tone. "Female slave, thirty-two years old, currently held on state slave farm. All rights forfeited by past misdemeanours. Well built, as you can see. Intelligent, with highly-sexed nature. May need further training, but would clearly make good breeding stock or public sex performer. Excellent purchase. Shall we start the bidding at five thousand?"
The auctioneer's gold-rimmed spectacles caught the light as he glanced around the hall. Shortly after, his lifted gavel acknowledged a bid.
"Thank you, sir. Do I have any improvement on five thousand? ... Yes, madam - six."
Moira's body quivered slightly with nerves as the bidding got under way. She breathed deeply to calm the beating of her heart and her big sweat-slick breasts rose and fell, shaking.
In spite of her degrading public sale, or more truly because of it, she was becoming highly aroused. Her eyes shone with a rising excitement at being exposed and put up for auction as a sexual object, her nipples distended on their heaving mounds and an unmistakable wetness started seeping from her moist vaginal lips.
Dazed by a sense of unreality, she momentarily closed her eyes, thinking to wake up from a dream. But when she opened them again the buyers were still there, bidding for her. Not even during her nights as a stripper had she been so affected by public exposure.
"I have seven," she heard the auctioneer as the bidding rose. "Do I hear eight?"
He nodded at the female slave warder from the rostrum. A cruel smile twisted the lips of the latter and she reached out a hand to squeeze and jiggle each of Moira's massive breasts in turn, to stimulate the bidders' interest even more. Moira endured the violation bravely, although she gasped as her female overseer's rough handling of her sweat-slippery tits caused a fresh flood of juices to soak her inner thighs.
"Turn her," instructed the auctioneer dispassionately. To him Moira was little more than a side of meat. The slave warder released her magnificent breasts and ordered her to turn with a sharp crack of the leather cat's tails on her naked hip and thigh.
Her bare feet shifted with a clink of the heavy steel ankle chain as she turned to present her back to the gathering. Her bum wobbled and was still, her weight settling evenly on her thighs. Perspiration ran from her armpits down her sides and beneath the ludicrously short hem of her skimpy top, which only served to emphasize them more, the broad globes of her big whip-marked buttocks shone enticingly under a patina of sweat.
"As you can see, ladies and gentlemen," the auctioneer continued, "the perfect slavewhore for those with an eye for the more voluptuous figure."
Again he nodded at the female warder, who reached down to cup, squeeze and slap Moira's bare ass cheeks before lashing them once more with the whip. The bidders could hear the breath hiss sharply between the slave's teeth at the severity of the blow and her bum quivered as an angry red weal was left across her bare flesh.
"Eight thousand. Thank you, madam. Do I hear nine?"
"Ten thousand," called out a clear confident female voice.
There was a loud murmur at that, and Moira gasped, imagining she recognised the voice. She was acutely and sensually aware of her throbbing whiplashed bottom and the eyes of the bidders staring at it. Sweat gathered in her bum crack and her warm musky core continued leaking uncontrollably.
"Ten thousand once," said the auctioneer, glancing around. "Ten thousand twice," he said with his gavel poised. Someone taking phone bids shook their head. The gavel came down. "The slavewhore sold for ten thousand pounds to Amanda Bennett of the Eros Corporation."
Moira gasped again and swayed slightly with shock at hearing the name of her purchaser. She was vaguely aware of the chain being unlatched from her ankle ring and the slave warder's rough grip on her arm. She paused at the edge of the stage and her eyes met those of a pretty young blond woman in a dark business suit, who nodded and smiled like the cat that just got the cream.
"Get a move on, slut," snarled the female warder, whipping Moira's rump as she was forced to clamber back down off the block. Moira hardly felt it. She'd just been bought by the woman she once regarded as her best friend.

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an author who takes a different look at pony carting and state controlled women.


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