Part 2 (1/2)
”Myself.”
”You are going to be lost to your husband.”
”If he wants me, he can buy me.”
A man near the front shouted, ”Only if he outbids me!”
Another man shouted, ”And me!”
The auctioneer glanced at the men and licked his lips. The commission on this sale would be substantial. ”You're a fine lady. You don't look like a slave.”
”I will when I'm naked and chained on the block.” She turned to one of the handlers. ”Bring a chain and handcuffs.”
The handler looked at the auctioneer.
The auctioneer shrugged and nodded. The handler climbed off the stage.
”You are walking through a one-way door. There's no going back. Once you're sold, you'll be a slave for the rest of your life.” The auctioneer shook his head. ”You'll never be a lady again.”
”I know.”
”A slave's life is as hard as a lady's is soft. You're making a bad bargain.” As much as he wanted the commission, he didn't dare risk the accusation that he had rushed to sell an unwilling woman. He had to give her every opportunity to change her mind. Until she was sold and her choices no longer mattered.
”I know better than you what bargain I'm making. A lady's life is no life at all. That is a fact.”
The handler returned with a chain and cuffs.
Irene's heart was pounding with fear, but she wasn't going to back down. She looked out into the audience and saw James standing with his latest purchase standing naked at his side.
He was staring at her with an intensity that she had never seen before. His face was red and his jaw set.
She had her husband's full attention at last.
”This is your last chance,” the auctioneer said. ”I'm warning you for your own good. Don't do this.”
”Sell me!”
”Take your clothes off, then. I don't sell pigs in pokes. The men have to see what they're buying.”
Both handlers were standing behind her. She turned to them and said, ”Strip me.”
One of the handlers stepped up and unfastened her top b.u.t.ton.
”No,” she said. ”Just tear it off. I'll never wear these clothes again. I'll never wear any lady's clothes again.”
The handler grabbed her bodice at the neck and pulled. b.u.t.tons flew; fabric tore.
The top half of her dress gaped apart. Irene's full b.r.e.a.s.t.s and erect nipples tented the thin silk camisole underneath.
The other handler ripped the cuff apart at her left wrist and then tore the sleeve open all the way up her arm and across her shoulder.
The left half of her bodice fell away.
While the first handler gave the same treatment to her right sleeve and shoulder, the second stepped behind and split the entire back of the dress from neck to ankle.
In a moment, the fine blue satin dress with white trim was nothing but a pile of rags at Irene's feet. Only a filmy camisole protected her modesty. It didn't do much of a job.
Each handler grabbed one side of the camisole at the neckline, front and back, and pulled. It split like tissue. A cold breeze drifted across her delicate white skin.
Irene's b.r.e.a.s.t.s were hanging free for a hundred men to ogle.
All those eyes horrified her. She crossed her arms over her chest, covering them.
The handlers didn't care about that. They grabbed her panties at the waist and pulled them apart, revealing her thatch of brown curls.
This might be the first time in centuries that an unshaved crotch had been revealed on this stage.
She pressed her legs together and dropped her right hand to cover her s.e.x.
Talking bravely about being naked on stage was an entirely different matter from standing here, suffering the stares of a hundred strangers, every one of them imagining themselves slaking their l.u.s.t with her body.
She whimpered as the handlers grabbed her stockings and pulled them down her legs.
She didn't resist when the handlers raised one leg to pull her shoe and stocking off; and then did the same with the other. She would have felt foolish standing naked but for stockings pooled around her shoes. There was more dignity in complete nudity.
As soon as she was naked, the auctioneer raised his hand and the handlers released her.
”Let your hair down,” he said to her.
She turned her back to the audience, reached up, and pulled the pins from her hair. She each pin fall on the stage. Slaves did not wear their hair up. She would never need hairpins again.
The hall was so quiet that she could hear each pin drop.
When the last was pulled, her long, brown hair fell in a cascade down her back.
The handlers grabbed her wrists, forced her hands behind her back and cuffed them together. She could no longer cover herself when they turned her to face the audience again.
Her shoulders were forced back, thrusting her b.r.e.a.s.t.s boldly forward, and her s.e.x was presented to the men at their eye level. She had never before been so indecently exposed, not even in her husband's bedroom.
She had never before felt so vulnerable.
She didn't just feel vulnerable; in all truth, she was. Before the day was over, one of the men in this room would own her. Would be doing whatever he wished to her. Would be using her s.e.x. Would be beating her. Would be giving her to other men. Whatever. And there would be nothing in the world that she could do to change her fate now.
A handler clipped a chain about her neck. It was cold and heavy.
Before he led her across the stage, the auctioneer said, ”Wait. What is your name?”
”Irene.”
”No. That's a lady's name. You need a slave name.”