Chapter 4

Dear Diary, I’m sorry for cutting and running yesterday. You know you play second fiddle only to Charles. So where was I? Oh, that’s right, the auction.

I was the first subject on the block, but only after an announcement and very embarrassing explanation was made. The announcement was that I was to be auctioned first, as an example of how such auctions were once held.

The announcer assured everyone that subsequent participants would be afforded the appropriate levels of respect and consideration but that the sponsors of the night’s events didn’t want the guests to trivialize an auction of real people, even for charity.

To say that my anxiety went into overdrive was an understatement, Diary.

I was called to the area they called the stage, which was really just a raised platform not even two feet high. It was just high enough that everyone could clearly see me. The room lights were cut off and special stage lighting replaced it.

Charles got me to my feet and anyone who hadn’t seen me kneeling in my handcuffs got a good look at them once I stepped onto the stage, since the shawl had been taken at the same time as I’d first knelt.

Charles led me to the stage with a hand under my elbow and although I’m only five foot three inches in bare feet, wearing my five inch pearl white shoes, my head was level with his shoulder. With my hair in the updo the way it was, I looked even taller.

I was introduced as Mrs Cherie Fairweather, the announcer making a point of pronouncing my official first name making it sound truly French even though I’m originally Canadian.

He then went on to tell the room my age and that I have been married to the same man since I was nineteen. Next he began to get personal, sharing my measurements, that I’m a three hole whore, my predilection for cock, although only ever having had Charles’ and assuring the audience that I’ve never provided services to a woman but am open to it, as if such a thing was of particular interest to me.

The way he listed off my attributes as if from personal experience was somewhat humbling. These are attributes, Diary, that I’m not embarrassed about per se, but listed off so dispassionately as if detailing the features of a used car made me feel small.

He finished off my resume by listing off most of the fetishes I’ve been trained to enjoy from armpit licking to Zoophilia. I think you know, Diary, that I have never had sex with an animal or would I have written about it, but Charles has expressed an interest in seeing me suck a horse cock. He must have provided the announcer a list.

I don’t know how the bulk of the audience took the announcer’s detailed breakdown of my sexual resume because a few in the audience were vocal enough for all of them. Those few voices called me a slut, a crack whore, a skank and a few other obscenities I don’t recall now.

If I’d wanted to I couldn’t identify the hecklers because a spotlight was trained on me, blinding me to anyone more than about three feet in front of me. All I could see were many indistinguishable shapes. I imagined more than a few of the guests wished they had not eaten the last niblet of their dinner.

I may no longer be a prude by any standard but I certainly remember the days when I was, and even a mention of watersports would have turned my stomach back then.

Or maybe not. I mean, Diary, that when Charles introduced me to it, I’d thought it had something to do with swimming. Of course that episode too was in the burned pages although I don’t think I need to go over my introduction to that fetish in detail again.

I only discovered the announcer was not the auctioneer when she made her entrance. She was a very intimidating Hispanic woman with long glossy black hair wearing black latex that emphasized her cleavage and her long legs. Those were encased in thigh high black patent leather stiletto heeled boots.

There was about a six inch gap between the top of her boots and the hem of her short skirt and I was able to make out the band at the top of her black stockings. She carried a microphone and a quirt that she swished around threateningly as she introduced herself to the crowd amidst a loud round of applause, whistling and catcalls.

The audience weren’t nearly as intimidated as me although they weren’t within striking distance of the quirt either.

Diary, I hate to delay my story again but I only allowed myself fifteen minutes to update you and I’ve discovered I can’t cover everything I want to tell you any faster without skipping ahead so please be patient with me.

Luckily Charles has filled my time with an assortment of exercises that won’t require much catching up. I’ll write more soon.

For now and always yours, Diary, Cherry.