Chapter 14

Tulsa was surprised to find that her "uniform" for the beginning of the evening's festivities was the same outfit she'd so carefully selected for that first auction exactly one year ago. Now she was going to be wearing it for another auction, but this time there was no pretense of fantasy play. This time, it was for real. She was truly a slave, about to be sold to the highest bidder, who would have complete control over her, indeed, the ability to determine whether she should live or die.

It felt strange to be wearing so much clothing, even as skimpy and revealing as it was. The closest thing to any clothing Tulsa had been permitted at any time during the past year was a cotton apron while cooking, and a sanitary pad during her periods. She'd also been put in a diaper twice, just before being punished for disobedience. Nobody had wanted to deal with her shitting herself during either of those beatings. But except for those few occasions, Tulsa's attire had consisted solely of her ever-present spiked heel sandals and collar. By comparison, what she was wearing tonight seemed like... well, she couldn't even remember what it was like, there not being much of a frame of reference in recent history for her.

One thing Tulsa hadn't had any recent experience in was wearing makeup like she did in her pre-slave days. Sure, she still used makeup regularly, but it was always applied in a slutty manner, to make her look like a street whore. Tonight, she was going to appear as close as possible to the way she looked that night at the old theater. Another slave, a former Hollywood makeup artist who had come to the island after running afoul of some unsavory organized crime characters, worked from a photograph and reconstructed Tulsa's original appearance as well as she could. It was still slutty, but not nearly a slutty as she was used to these days.

Her bald head was easily covered with a wig - manufactured with her own hair, no less - and eyebrows were painted on. Of course, it was neither possible nor desirable to hide all of the physical changes that had taken place. The tiny black lace bra, for example, no longer fit at all, so her upper body was covered only by the translucent lace top, which now barely covered the nipples on her enormous udders and left her midriff bare. Likewise, many of the other modifications had changed her appearance somewhat, but it was certain that everyone present would have no problem recognizing her from her pre-slave photographs.

The preparatory work done, Tulsa was told to stand quietly in the corner of her room, nose against the wall, and finger herself until she was called for. It wasn't long before she was once again whimpering in need, her fingers coated with the juices that flowed like a small river down her thighs.

Finally, much to her relief, one of the clinic staff came in and ordered her to stop playing with her pussy. Snapping a short leash to her collar, he led the shaking slave from the room

The slave was given a quick tour of her temporary home, and a brief explanation of the sequence that would be followed for the auction. The clinic's owners had long ago learned that a slave would tend to bring in a considerably higher price... and, therefore, a higher commission for the clinic... if she wasn't terrified. In order to alleviate the fears that all slave girls have to one extent or another, it was decided that the subjects would be given a thorough briefing on the process. Once briefed, Tulsa began her evening's duties.

As her prospective buyers arrived, Tulsa met them at the door. Kneeling submissively, she kissed each person's shoe and told him (or her... there were several women among the group) that she hoped she was found worthy of purchase.

Once all the guests had arrived, a cocktail tray was hung by sturdy chains from her nipple rings, and filled with a variety of drinks. The back of the tray rested against Tulsa's taut belly, as the weight of the tray and its contents pulled her udders painfully downward. With her wrists chained behind her back, Tulsa circulated throughout the room, offering drinks from her tray to the assembled slave owners. As she wandered, she was subjected to the most intimate prodding, poking and pinching of her body, her ears burning and her face turning red at the crude comments made about her.

Once the cocktail tray was empty of its wares, the slave was ushered back into the changing room for her next transformation. This time, her face was made up as though she were a teenager trying to look "sophisticated." In other words, virginally slutty, with too much lip gloss, excessive blush, and an overabundance of eye shadow. After the gloss black wig, cut in a pageboy style, was placed on her head, she was given her next costume. This time, she would be a French maid, decked out with a starched white maid's hat topping a skimpy costume that exposed more than it covered. A frilly white apron over a tiny black miniskirt, black fishnet stockings, and absurdly high patent leather spiked heel shoes - a full size too small for her - made it impossible for her to walk at all without exposing her not-so-private parts. In fact, her labia were seductively visible from under the tiny skirt, the rings in full view.

Once properly attired, Tulsa was led back out into the main room, where she found the guests sitting around a large banquet table, waiting to be served their dinner. Serving, of course, would be Tulsa's job.

It was a seven course meal, and each dish was individually delivered by the slave, displaying the appropriate etiquette for the task. A variety of several wines was also offered, and the slave had to return to the kitchen whenever a glass needed to be filled, lest the wine get warm. While the bidders casually relaxed and ate their meal, the slave scampered about the table, filling glasses, clearing dishes, retrieving items for her guests. It seemed that every time someone at one end of the table wanted something, that particular dish was at the other end. By the time dessert had been served and the dinner dishes cleared from the table, Tulsa was covered with perspiration again, and she strained to keep the pain in her feet from the too-tight shoes from being visible on her face. While dessert was being eaten, Tulsa was taken back into the dressing room for another transformation.

When she finally reappeared, it was "au natural." Wearing nothing but her collar, Tulsa's skin had been scrubbed clean to remove all traces of makeup. Even her rings... those in her nipples as well as her cunt lips... had been cut off. This time, the bidders would have the opportunity to see her body without any adornments or accessories. And, they would now also have their first opportunity to sample her for themselves.

The banquet table had been removed during her absence, replaced by a four poster king sized bed more luxurious than anything Tulsa had ever felt... not to mention nicer than either the tile floor and hospital bed she'd been sleeping on for the past year. Chairs surrounded the bed, affording a ringside seat to anyone who wanted to watch. For those who preferred a bit of privacy, a small room off to the side provided a smaller, yet equally plush, bed. The slave became intimately familiar with both areas over the next five hours, to the point that both mattresses had to be flipped over so the Masters and Mistresses using her weren't subjected to the pools of cum she was leaving behind. Tulsa was well and thoroughly fucked, in her cunt, ass and mouth. She proved herself to be a responsive bitch, but there was a bit of rumbling about the fact that she hadn't apparently cum during the entire ordeal. What, they were all asking each other, was wrong with this bitch? All the parts seemed to be intact; modified, perhaps, but intact. Was she frigid, or what? Donna anticipated the questions and quickly approached the auctioneer's lectern.

"Most of you have already made use of my slave. I'm sure you found it to be moist, compliant and accommodating. However, I've heard some discussion about the fact that it did not have a single orgasm while being raped. No, it's not as some have suggested; the slave is not frigid. The reason is that I have not permitted it to orgasm... As a matter of fact, I have not permitted this slave to cum in over eight months. Although it has been fucked several times a day, it has not had a single orgasm in that time."

A low murmur rolled through the room as the assembled bidders whispered among themselves. Never had any of them heard of such unbelievable obedience! What sort of training could accomplish this? They had to know!

"Please, allow me to explain," Donna continued. "The reason it hasn't had an orgasm isn't due to any particularly high level of obedience. As a matter of fact, the slave still has a long way to go in that regard. No, it is totally due to a new, experimental form of control involving drug therapy, positive and negative reinforcement, and psychological conditioning developed here at the clinic. This technology has allowed me to, for lack of a better term, 'turn off" the slave's orgasms. It was almost nine months ago that I told the slave it was forbidden to cum, and since that time, no matter how hard it has tried, the slave hasn't been able to achieve even a single, momentary orgasm. I can't explain all the details of this new control method, but perhaps the clinic's director could if you're interested.

"At any rate, since this slave will belong to someone else by evening's end, I thought it might be nice if I released it from restriction and allowed you to observe how nicely it creams. Oh, by the way, this particular conditioning will transfer to whomever holds ownership.

"Tulsa," Donna directed the cum-covered girl, "get up on your hands and knees like a good doggie bitch. Spread those knees wide, so everyone can watch your cunt gaping open when I tell you to cum."

Donna made the girl wait in anticipation on the hard tile floor, allowing globs of semen and cunt juice to drip from her open cunt and asshole, adding to the perverse scene as white glop dripped down her thighs.

"CUM, BITCH," Donna finally commanded, and wave after wave of orgasmic bliss washed over the girl. Everyone watched in amazement as Tulsa's cunt lips visibly spasmed, opening and closing like a guppy's mouth, her own secretions rapidly flowing down her legs and pooling up on the floor below her.

"Oh, one thing I forgot to mention, folks," Donna casually mentioned. "Tulsa has been conditioned to have an orgasm every time she hears the word 'cum, ' no matter the context. But when her owner gives her the command, she will begin a continuous series of orgasms until she's told to stop.

"Say," Donna stopped for a moment, thinking. "Does anyone know what the world record is for the longest continuous orgasm? You know, she'll continue cumming until I tell her to stop. Even if she passes out, she'll keep having orgasms."

Donna and the crowd watched as Tulsa moaned feverishly, her body covered in a sheen of perspiration, her breath coming in gasps, as orgasm after orgasm washed over her naked body. A full fifteen minutes passed before Donna ordered the slave to stop. Tulsa collapsed in a limp, quivering heap on the floor, gasping for air, as the crowd applauded.