Chapter 2

Cheryl was so absorbed in her own thoughts, standing on the stage clad in an outfit that revealed more than she hid, that she was almost unaware of what was happening around her. The heat from the stage lights caused little rivulets of perspiration to form on her skin. She squinted against the bright spotlight, hoping to see something of the audience, but to no avail.

"Ladies and gentlemen, as you can see, Number 14, while not exactly 'dressed for success, ' is certainly in appropriate attire for tonight. A sweet piece of slave meat, she is college-educated with an advanced degree, single and 32 years old. Her measurements are 35-24-34, 5'10" and 138 pounds. She is a long-time contributor to the theater and has attended several annual slave auctions, but this is her first time in this capacity. Perhaps we have one of her former slave boys out there who would be willing to purchase her?" She felt someone prod her slightly, asking her to turn around slowly so the audience could get a good look at her. As she turned, she started to lose her balance on the tiny stand, the man asking her to turn caught her, his hand sliding between her legs and pulling her back up. As she fell, one of her breasts popped out from her bra. She heard a chorus of cheers from the mostly male audience, started to fix the bra... then decided what the hell. She stepped back up on the stand, proudly pushing her chest forward for all to see. She was proud of her breasts... lush and soft, yet still firm... she could feel her nipples harden... closed her eyes for a moment and began stroking her sides. It was like nobody existed except for her. She felt herself becoming wetter and wetter. Could the auctioneer standing next to her smell her need, she wondered, getting even hornier at that thought.

"What am I bid for this exquisite creature?," the auctioneer asked, and the bidding began. Voices called out in response to the ever-increasing price, but Cheryl heard nothing but unintelligible noise. Her mind was overwhelmed by everything that was going on, her juices filling her already soaked panties. She was snapped out of her reverie by a soft hand on her shoulder.

"Come on," he said, "let's make room for the next one."

She was led backstage again, only this time to a different room. Smaller, with no furniture; unoccupied except for her. Her escort locked the door behind her, chuckling as he remembered where his hands grabbed when she fell. This one's "owner" was going to get more than just a back rub, he thought, smelling the moisture on his hand. What a hot one that one was!

Cheryl slipped out of her shoes and anxiously paced the floor of the small room, starting to panic with second thoughts of what she'd done. She was a successful, professional woman... what the hell had she gotten herself into here? Christ, she didn't even know who had "bought" her.

Oh, God... one of the guys at work? A client? One of the judges, or even worse, a court clerk or one of the firm's lowly law clerks? She'd purposely not told anyone about this, though, and it was doubtful any of her colleagues would have known about it. They... particularly the male ones... thought she was to haughty... stuck up... little Miss Perfect... but she knew what they really called her..."The Bitch." Not to her face, of course... but that was because they are all cowards, she thought to herself. She was the best attorney in the firm; she knew it and so did they. They were just jealous.