Chapter 1

It was that time of the year once again – the fall charity drive season. Every year about this time, the various charities around town put together their individual charity drives. The intent of these drives is to separate the benevolent citizens from their hard-earned money before the rapidly approaching holiday shopping season does.

One of the charities I support was having a “slave auction” as their way of raising some needed revenue. Certain charitable benefactors and other well-known members of the community were invited to become “slaves” for this auction. The remainder of the townsfolk were invited to come bid on them.

The slaves then have to do what their new “owner” has in store for them – usually, that consists of going out to dinner or preparing dinner for their owner, washing their car, or some other simple chores. Nothing too difficult, this is all in good fun.

I decided to attend this slave auction – I had heard of them in the past and it seemed like a fun way to raise money, instead of the doldrums of endless phone calls begging for bucks. On the night of the auction, I got into my best three-piece suit and headed over to the auction site. One of the local hotels had offered to host the auction and so I showed up at the front of the hotel. It wasn’t very crowded yet, but I had arrived fairly early.

I went inside and was directed to a conference room on one side of the main hallway. Entering the conference room I saw a couple tables in the back already set up with refreshments – punch doughnuts and little finger sandwiches.

At the front of the conference room was a long raised platform with stairs at each end and a podium in the center. Between the two were several long tables with white tablecloths and stackable type chairs. At each place setting was a small paper and wood paddle with a number on the front.

I found a seat about three rows back from the front and pretty much centered left to right. I figured it was a good spot to watch the fun. There was only a handful of people in the audience at first but it began filling rapidly after I got settled in – I had arrived just in time apparently!

After a little while, the room had filled sufficiently for the auction to begin. The head of the charity came to the podium thanking us all for coming and welcoming us to the auction.

Then he went into his introductory speech where he told us how the auction would work, what to expect, and what we were allowed to have our “slaves” do. Once the introduction was finished he took his place as auctioneer. The first slave was brought out and the bidding began.

The slaves were supposed to encourage the bidders into bidding wars in order to drive their price up. There were prizes for 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place depending on who brought the highest bids. So all the slaves did their best and showed their stuff to get more from us bidders. Some of the women slaves blew kisses to the crowd, while the men posed showing off muscles and tight buns (those that had them!). It was a lot of fun and fortunately, it brought in a good chunk of change for the charity.

Each of the slaves were brought out one by one, bid on, then when the winning bid was declared, was walked off the other end of the stage to a separate holding room where they waited to meet their new “owner” and discuss the jobs they would be performing.

I was one of the winning bidders and after all the slaves were auctioned off (and there were quite a few surprisingly), the winners were taken to go “collect” our slaves.

I had bid on Ms. Blakely, a fairly attractive woman in her early 40’s, I suppose. I had seen her around town at various places and she always struck me as a classy, well-educated, and well-dressed woman. I was looking forward to an enjoyable evening at a nice restaurant.

We met and I told her my plans, to which she readily agreed and a date was set for two weeks from that Friday. I told her I had to go out of town for work, but I would be back in plenty of time for our date.

The two weeks went by and soon it was our date night. I had gotten prepared for an evening of fine food and fine company when, right at 7:00, there was a knock on my door. I opened the door but it wasn’t Ms. Blakely standing there...

She stood there dressed in a slinky red stretch-knit dress that fit her like it had been painted on. The neckline of the dress was cut into a deep V that went well below her tits and in the back it dipped down to where her back ended and her ass began.

The hemline also was almost embarassingly short, showing her long, lean legs off to best advantage. It had no embellishments – no sequins or sparkles, but it didn’t need them. She was enough sparkle for any dress! She stood there in my doorway, her waist-length brown hair and bangs framing her perfect face. Her big brown eyes looked at me and smiled ... that dazzling smile lit up her whole face.

“I hope I have the right address ... are you James Mitchell?” she asked.

“Yes, I am James Mitchell,” I replied.

A wave of relief washed over her face. “Oh thank goodness. I was afraid I got the apartment number wrong and this is such a big building! My name is Donna Martin, Sandra Blakely’s sister. Sandra couldn’t make your date tonight – she had to go out of town on an emergency of some sort – but she didn’t want you to have to wait on her to come back and she didn’t want to stand you up. So she asked me to stand in for her. I hope that’s okay,” she explained.

Okay? Hell, it was so much more than okay – this woman was a knockout! I thought looking her over.

“Of course it’s okay. Won’t you come in ... we are a little early for our reservation. Can I get you a drink or something?” I asked my stunning date.

“A glass of wine would be nice if you have some. If not just some water – I’m afraid I’m a bit nervous. I’m not used to dating and was never very good at it when I was!” she confessed.

“I find that a little hard to believe ... I mean you are stunning. You should have guys dripping off you like rain!” I said. “Let me go get your drink ... I’ll be right back.”

I went to get us both a glass of wine and just before I turned the corner to the kitchen, I glanced back. Donna was looking around my living room sizing me up and looking for conversation topics. I smiled and got our wine.

“I only have a house Merlot ... I don’t do a lot of entertaining beautiful women here in my apartment, I’m afraid,” I said, handing her a glass.

She blushed about the same color as her wine. “Thank you, James.”

“Did Ms. Blakely – Sandra – tell you anything about our date?” I asked her.

“Not really. And if she had, I was so caught off guard at the prospect of having a date that I was lucky I got your address right – as you saw when you answered the door!”

“Well, before we get too into this I want to be honest with you. I attended a charity slave auction a couple weeks ago where I bid on and won Sandra. We set up tonight as her ‘service’ to me,” I said.

“Hmm ... well, since I’m standing in for her, does that mean that ... I’m your slave, tonight?” she asked. I could swear I saw the glint of a mischievous smile for a moment.

“Well, Donna, I would think so. But it’s really up to you, after all she was the one up on the auction block,” I said.

“Yes, but she is my sister and I did tell her I would stand in for her.” She thought for a moment and then extended her crossed wrists to me with her head bowed. “How may this humble slave serve you, Master?” she said. She raised her head and gave me a very coquettish smile and winked her eye. This girl wanted to play!

We talked a bit getting to know each other a little while we finished our wine. “So you said you and Sandra are sisters? I’m sorry, but I don’t see it – you don’t look at all like each other,” I said.

“Actually we are step-sisters. Sandra’s father was killed when she was only four years old in a work accident. He was a heavy equipment mechanic and one day he was welding on a dump truck when it slipped off the lift and crushed him.

“After a while, her mother met and married Donald, my father. My mother divorced my Dad because she met someone who had more money and could give her what Dad couldn’t. So you see, we are step-sisters and that’s why we don’t look alike. Sandra is a few years older than me. But we are so close we forget about the ‘step’ part and just consider each other sisters,” she explained.

“I see. Well if Sandra had to get someone to fill in for her, I’m glad it was her stepsister!” I said.

“I am too,” she said, taking my hand and smiling.

“So what do you do for a living, James ... when you’re not buying slaves that is!” she giggled. She had the cutest giggle I’d ever heard!

“Well, actually I’m a firefighter. I work for the city fire department,” I said.

“A firefighter! Oh, how sexy! I’ve never dated a firefighter! But I can see that in you – you have that certain something that says you do serious, dangerous work,” she said.

“We try to keep the dangerous part to a reasonable level, but yeah it is serious work. I like it though – it makes me feel like I’m doing something to help people. Plus, it’s a great way to pick up chicks!” I laughed.

“Be careful, Master ... we slaves are a jealous bunch! Besides, this slave is all you need!” she said. She paused for a second before leaning forward and motioning me to come closer. “As your slavegirl, my job is to fill all your wants and needs ... ALL of them!” she said, sitting back and biting her long, French-manicured fingernail.

When she said that, my cock instantly snapped to attention ... and she had my full attention too! She giggled at my shocked look. “Forgive me, Master, but shouldn’t we be going ... we don’t want to miss our dinner reservation!” she said.

I shook the fog from my head. “Yes, you’re right. It is late and we have a bit of a drive across town to get to the restaurant,” I said. I picked up her purse and handed it to her. Then I offered her my arm and she smiled slipping her arm under mine and we left for the restaurant.

“Oh, Master! This is a beautiful car!” she said when we got downstairs to the car. I drive a candy apple red 1970 Dodge Challenger, a project car that I had been restoring for the past five years.

“Thanks. This is my girl, my pride and joy. With no girlfriend to dote my affections on, this baby here gets all my loving!” I said.

The news that I didn’t have a girlfriend got her interest. “You don’t have a girlfriend, James?” she asked.

“No, being a firefighter is good for dating, but it doesn’t lend itself well to any real commitment. Most of the guys in my department are either single or divorced. It takes a special kind of girl to stay with a firefighter – the nights away, the sudden callouts, and the danger ... it all makes most girls nervous,” I said.