Farm Sale


Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, .

Desc: Sex Story: Sold at a sale of farm equipment, Paulie believes she'll be a sex slave to the family. It doesn't work out that way.

GET OUT! I screamed. Dad noisily entered my bedroom, slamming the door loudly against the wardrobe. The crash reverberated in my head, a head still sore and groggy from the night's drinking but, before I knew what was happening, the thin blanket and sheet zipped from the bed and sailed across the room leaving my near naked body completely exposed. GET OUT! I screamed again, GET OUT YOU FUCKING PERVERT, what the hell do you mean by coming into my room? Shit, it's only 7:30! Completely ignoring my protests, he grabbed my arm and dragged me to the bathroom and stood in the doorway.

MUM! I yelled knowing she never got up later than 6:30. She didn't appear, but I didn't have time to think about it.

It's no use calling your mother Paulie, we've both had a gut full of your behaviour. You've fifteen minutes to piss, shit, wash and dress. Don't worry about make-up, just get yourself clean so you can eat breakfast before we leave. We've put up with your bloody nonsense long enough and from today, you're out of here. You're old enough now to look after yourself. I stared at him in horror and barely took in his words but there was no mistaking the anger and bitterness in his voice.

You're throwing me out?

Sort of. He thrust me towards the toilet and growled, Get on with it, I've to be at the sale field before ten. For a girl of my age, I'm no weakling, farm work had seen to that, but I certainly wasn't a match for father and I knew I would be the one hurt if I tried to thwart him unless I had an escape route. He didn't give me a chance.

A little over an hour later, sitting on the grass with my hands tied behind my back and fastened to an ancient iron plough, my midriff bare except for Ô1,000 guineas' scrawled across it in felt tip pen, I had time to contemplate the events that led to my being there.

I hated the isolation of living on a farm with our nearest neighbours half a mile away, and they were an elderly couple that didn't have kids. Our road or lane as we referred to it, not much more than a track really, only went as far as Gill Farm at the foothills of the mountains, nearly a mile further on. We were the middle farm of the three on the lane and a mile from the Ômain road', still only a B class road, with the nearest small town twelve miles to the west. Each school day I had to walk the mile to the main road and get the special bus to the school in town and with only the one bus back, I couldn't attend any of the after school clubs unless I could arrange a lift. Only rarely would Mum and Dad take time off to collect me and there were always farm chores when I got in. We never seemed to have much money either, and being canny farmers, were loath to spend it on school events and outings they believed to be frivolous. I never went on foreign trips or even to a couple of field trips. All this and the manual farm work I was supposed to do, caused a great deal or resentment and rebelliousness in me and I frequently vociferously made my views known and either refused to do the work or did it so slovenly, someone had to do it again. Dad spanked me a couple of times and used his belt once but next morning I complained to one of the teachers who informed the authorities and they almost took me away from the farm. Somehow Dad convinced them that it wouldn't happen again but I knew that he believed they'd made a big mistake because my behaviour worsened and they then had little control over me.

I had a few friends. Janie Keats lived on the main road and her mother was more cooperative in being a taxi service. Occasionally I was able to get a lift home with her but she didn't like driving down our narrow farm road in the dark, especially with sheep wandering along or asleep on the tarmac, so she dropped me off at the junction and I had to walk the rest of the way. I wasn't short of boyfriends either, at least not when they realised I wasn't shy and there were a number of places on the farm where we could indulge in illicit sex, at least we could when the weather was dry.

My sixteenth birthday fell on Wednesday July 9th but we decided to celebrate on the following Friday because Graham, my boyfriend at the time, worked midweek evenings at the local pub. School had finished for the year so a dozen of us gathered at the bowling alley and after a couple of hours, went to the Colin's house in town because his parents were away. By midnight, only six remained and only Graham was near sober. I know at least two boys fucked me and I almost fell asleep in the car when Graham drove Janie and me home. By then it was past 3 a.m. The walk along the farm lane in the light rain sobered me up a little and I remember deliberately trying to disturb my parents by making as much noise as I could when entered the house but they must have already decided to throw me out because they didn't even shout or swear at me. Throwing my wet things on the floor, I crawled into bed and thus my near nakedness when Dad rudely woke me.

A few months ago, an architect came and viewed our old wooden clad barn. We didn't use it much these days because it was in need of repair and we'd had a modern metal clad structure to replace it. The architect sort to turn it into an upper class dwelling and eventually obtained the necessary planning permission and Dad sold it to him. The price he got more than paid for the new barn but I didn't see any of the money. I didn't even get a new pair of jeans out of it. Perhaps if I'd been nicer to them, I would have but it wasn't in my nature to beg for things.

As long as I can remember, Dad has been a collector, in his words, or a hoarder, in mother's words, of old farm machinery that he stored in the barn. Steam engine bits, gas engines, old binders and balers, wooden hay rakes and many other items including the iron plough from the 1920's that I was tied to. With nowhere now to store them, Dad decided to sell the lot and through a network of clubs and farm organisations, advertised the sale and auction. He certainly didn't advertise me! At that time I figured it was all a bit of a joke with him trying to get his own back on me. You can't sell me, I'm not an animal or a slave. You'll bloody-well end up in prison if you do. He just grinned, We'll see, Paulie, we'll fucking see, he smiled at my protest. His unconcern worried me but by then people started arriving and my humiliation began.

Is she being sold with the plough Bert?

I'll split the lot if you wish, you can buy the plough separately, Dad answered.

Two boys came and felt my tits and I swore at them. We're allowed to touch everything else that's on sale.

If you haven't the money to pay for her, leave her alone, Dad yelled at them.

I thought only horses were sold for guineas these days? a woman in riding gear said to her companion.

Maybe she's for a different sort of riding. They both laughed.

Midday came and I was hot, tired and pissed off at being the butt of many jokes. With increasing ill temper, I swore and cursed those who came near but in the main, they were all working men and laughed or came back with a comment of their own. About that time a middle-aged couple stood in front of me and for a long time spoke quietly together and then called Dad over. Will you take pounds for her, not guineas? the woman asked.

I might be tempted unless I get a better offer and you pay cash. I burst into tears. Dad really intended to sell me.

Look dear, the man said to his wife, They're now going to auction that little stationary engine I want so can I leave you to see if she'll be suitable and negotiate a price? Here take my wallet, there should be enough cash if necessary and I can pay for the engine by cheque. Once more my sale looked a distinct possibility. For a while she talked with Dad out of my hearing and left me to ponder on my situation. Would I be worse off than at home? Would they want me for sex? To be kept as their whore? Or just to do menial work? Fortunately, by then most of the attention was focussed on the auction.

What's your name girl? The woman knelt and spoke sharply but quietly.

Paulie, Pauline Meadows. I glared at her.

Well, Paulie Meadows, if I employ you, then you will need to speak with more respect. What work have you done?

None, except a bit of farm work, ma'am. I said Ôma'am' as sarcastically as I could and was rewarded with a flicker of anger in her eyes.

It sounds as if your life with us might be painful, at least to start with. You're a well built girl, full breasts and obviously don't might flaunting them, can I presume you are not a virgin?

So you do want a whore! Aren't you woman enough for him?

You'll pay for that later. She asked more questions but I refused to answer.

Are there any accessories with this item? she asked Dad Two suitcases and a bag in my truck. Mother must have packed them while I ate breakfast. I wondered why she didn't come down or respond to my appeals for her assistance; they really had planned to sell me.

You can't buy me! I'm not a slave or an animal!

I'm not buying you Paulie, I'm buying a thousand hours of work from you but you'll have to add your board and lodging to that so you'll be with us for quite a time, especially if you only work a few hours each day. I'll take her Mr. Meadows, can you help me get her into the van please? I could only cry and watch her stand, and count the money from her husband's wallet and place it in Dad's hand. Whatever euphemisms they used, I'd been sold. What lay ahead I couldn't even guess.

Peter, I would like you to meet Paulie Peter, will you please look away from that screen for two minutes while I introduce your new governess.

.... There is more of this story ...

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Ma/Fa /