EARN WHAT YOU'RE WORTH by Joe Doe IN ORDER TO BE BONDED FOR A MIDDLE EASTERN BUSINESS DEAL, CHRIS MONDAY AGREES TO LET THE INSURANCE COMPANY "DETERMINE HER WORTH." THE BEAUTIFUL YOUNG EXECUTIVE SOON FINDS HERSELF SUBJECTED TO A HUMILIATING EXAMINATION IN A PUBLIC SLAVE MARKET. Part 1 "I want to thank you for having lunch with us today, Abdul," Jack Monday said. "It is always a pleasure to dine with a good friend and his rare and beautiful American Beauty rose," Abdul replied, glancing again at Chris, who looked down at her shoes and blushed slightly. "Well, I confess that we also have an ulterior motive," Jack explained. "Chris has the opportunity to secure a large oil contract with the royal family; the commissions alone would put us on easy street forever. But, before she can do business with the royals, she must be bonded by a local insurance company." Abdul had noticed that Chris couldn't make eye contact with him tonight, which was very uncharacteristic for the self-confident American executive. He hadn't understood why, but, as soon as they mentioned the words "local insurance," he smiled knowingly. "When they bonded me in America, the amount of the insurance was based on my salary," Chris explained. "If a man dies in the Arab world, his market value is the net present value what he could have earned. But, in this culture, as you know, they're not used to American working women, and they value a woman...um...differently." Jack handed Abdul some papers. "As bizarre as it seems, we need an assessment of what her 'market value' would be," he explained. "And, by 'market value,' they mean her selling price if she were sold on the open market as a slave girl." Chris felt herself flush. Had the room suddenly gotten very warm? "It has to be done according to state regulations, whatever the heck those are, and it has to be signed by an authorized slave trader," Jack said. He paused and handed the papers to Abdul. Jack smiled. "And you, my friend, are the only slave trader I know." "I couldn't believe it when Jack told me you bought and sold slaves, Abdul," Chris said. "I thought you just did imports and exports." "I import and export slaves, my dear," Abdul said, with a smile. "You, for example, would be classed as an import." They all laughed, Chris a little bit nervously. "But I'm afraid I must refuse your request," Abdul said, gently. "The regulations this document refers to are quite explicit, and I've been friends with you for too many years. I would never dream of subjecting Chris to that type of treatment. The assessment itself is a humiliating process. Chris would be stripped quite naked and transformed from a lovely young American executive into a piece of squealing livestock. I could never subject my friend's wife to this." At this Jack and Chris began to argue with Abdul. It was a good career move for Chris, and the money she could earn was enormous. She was a successful executive, but she was still a salaried employee. "This is a golden opportunity to earn what I'm worth," Chris insisted, earnestly. Abdul tried to explain that there was more than money involved and that most women would never want to experience the level of humiliation that Chris was now eagerly requesting, even for King Solomon's Mines. But, eventually, they wore Abdul down, and he agreed to process Chris the following morning. Chris didn't sleep well that night. She kept thinking about the term "process." What an unusual word choice. And then there was the way Abdul had looked at her as she was leaving. He had always been polite to her, even chivalrous. But, when he looked at her now, she could feel something different in his appraising stare. Was he "sizing her up"? She shuddered. Abdul picked her up very early in the morning. She had asked if she should wear her Western clothes or her chador, and Abdul laughed. "Clothes will hardly be an issue once we reach the slave market!" he responded cheerily. He laughed heartily, but Chris just looked blank. Abdul opened the door of his Mercedes for her and treated her very respectfully during their long ride to the market. She found it somewhat surreal, as she chatted about her job and political matters with the man who would soon be subjecting her to a humiliating slave assessment. As the surrounding countryside became less familiar to her, she became more grateful that her friend Abdul was with her. The roads were rough, even for the 4-wheel-drive Mercedes. At last, however, they drove into a dusty "town" of mud buildings and tents. They pulled up in front of a large featureless brown slum, and Abdul ushered her inside. He explained that the market would not be open for another hour, which is why he had asked her to come so early. He had known her for years, and, in order to spare her "needless humiliation," he would leave during her actual assessment and return after lunch with her husband. She would be assessed by his older female assistant, Najya. "I should warn you that she hates Americans, especially beautiful young American woman," he explained. "She lived in America many years ago when she was young, but she was 'dumped' by a series of suitors in favor of younger, prettier Yankee women. She finally ended up working as a domestic in a sorority, where she was very badly treated. I showed her your picture and told her about your fabulously successful career. I even mentioned that you had been a sorority girl." He smiled. "Naturally, she was eager to help." "Wonderful...thanks a lot, Abdul," Chris said, sarcastically. "Najya will be tough on you, but the government regulations are strict," he explained. "I won't tell you exactly what is involved; frankly, the less you know at this point, the better. I need to talk to Najya, but you are welcome to look around. Don't go out front alone...stay in the building or the enclosed courtyard." After Abdul left, Chris wandered around the room. It was large, with a bar in one corner and a big window facing the street. So much for the Islamic prohibition against drinking! Of course, if they were buying and selling slaves, such a minor matter hardly seemed to matter. The room looked a little like an auto repair shop, she thought. There was a steel chain hanging down from the ceiling every four feet, with a switch on the wall behind each chain. She pressed the switch, and the chain moved upward. But why did they need so many winches? Looking at the place, she was also surprised that it even had electricity! She continued to explore the mystery. On the wall behind each chain was a sheet of paper, with writing in Arabic and English. She looked at the document behind the first chain and read it: WALTERS, CYNTHIA LOT NBR: 5748-383483-84438 NATIONALITY: ENGLISH OCCUPATION: FORMER SCHOOL TEACHER STATS: 5'5" 33-25-34 AGE: 29 STATUS: SLAVE FOR 2 YEARS VIRGIN: NO DESCRIPTION: SKILLED HAREM DANCER, PLAYS PIANO AND SINGS, EXPERT IN ORAL ARTS. NO MARKS OR TATTOOS, SPEAKS SOME ARABIC, WELL-EDUCATED BUT SUBMISSIVE. Chris looked at the chain dangling down just a few feet in front of the sign. There were two steel manacles on the end of the chain. She swallowed hard. This wasn't a repair shop. It was the showroom! She couldn't believe how many chains there were. Each had a notice giving the name and personal details of some pathetic woman who would soon be put up for sale on that very spot. There were women of every nationality advertised here, but most of them were Arab. Regardless of who they were or where they came from, their entire lives were reduced to a few simple facts on a stark data sheet. She picked up the chain and examined the manacles closely, comparing their circumference to her own wrists. Yes, they would fit her very nicely. She shuddered. Abdul wouldn't actually chain HER in this room, would he? It looked like an auto dealership or the showroom of a furniture store. He wouldn't dare humiliate her like that.... Would he? She saw her reflection in the window with her hands in the air examining the chain. For a moment it almost looked like she herself were on display in the window. She jumped back in horror and quickly put her hands down. "I'm an American; I'm a free American," she said to herself. "I'm just here for a stupid insurance procedure. And I will be back in my corner office by this afternoon." Chris looked at her reflection in the window. She was dressed smartly in an expensive pale blue suit. "A slave girl wouldn't be dressed like this!" she said to herself. The thought calmed her for a moment. She looked at herself again. "A slave girl would probably be wearing next to nothing...or nothing at all!" she thought. She shivered. Abdul had warned her that her exam would contain nudity. Was he just trying to scare her? He wouldn't really strip her, would he? He wouldn't strip her NAKED, would he? She had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. She decided to distract herself by reading the rest of the data sheets. OHWADA, SEBBA: Housewife.... LEIE, FRANCESCA: Student.... BUDAROFF, LEEDA: Clerk.... Then Chris saw something that made her blood run cold: MONDAY, CHRIS LOT NBR: 5748-383483-84489 NATIONALITY: USA OCCUPATION: OIL EXECUTIVE STATS: 5'7" 34-25-35 AGE: 33 STATUS: ENSLAVED TODAY VIRGIN: NO DESCRIPTION: BA STANFORD, MBA HARVARD, NO SLAVE TRAINING. NO MARKS OR TATTOOS. FLUENT IN ENGLISH AND ARABIC. SASSY, PROUD, UNTRAINED. It had to be a mistake! It was obviously just a stupid mistake. Since she was going to be assessed today, some pin-headed paper-pusher assumed that she would also be available for sale. It was a simple clerical procedure that Abdul would correct as soon as he returned. She looked at her "slot." She would be facing the picture window, visible to pedestrians on the street. As an MBA, she knew that you always put your best inventory in the window, to encourage walk-in traffic. She quickly tried to banish the thought from her mind. She wasn't inventory, damn it! It HAD to be a mistake! She looked at the door Abdul had gone through. She wanted to see him NOW, so that he could correct this awful gaffe as quickly as possible. The showroom suddenly started to feel very claustrophobic, and she wanted desperately to go elsewhere. She tried the door Abdul had used, but it was locked. So she crossed the room and went through the door in the opposite wall. The next room was more confusing than the first. There was a sink in the corner and variety of syringes and other medical instruments laid out on a large table in the center of the room. In one corner was a desk that had a stack of papers and a stapler on it. On the wall was a sign in Arabic. Roughly translated it said, "Virginity guaranteed!" But the central feature of the room was a series of six short black tables scattered around the room. They were too high to be desks, too short to be dressers. And then she noticed the shiny steel stirrups at the end of each table. She flinched and, once again, started to have that queasy feeling. She had seen exam rooms before, of course, and had been given pelvic exams. But the sight of six tables scattered casually around the room without so much as a curtain or blanket in sight left her stunned. A curtain would have been a trivial investment. It was almost as if this brightly lit room was DESIGNED to be as humiliating as possible. Chris decided that she didn't want to be in this room any longer, either. She went through the next door. The next room was even more curious. It looked like a wooden barn, with straw on the floor. In the center of the room was a sizeable forge. The room was empty, but the fire in the forge burned brightly. There was an anvil and a few boxes next to the forge. She looked in the boxes, expecting to see horseshoes. But the first box contained a series of steel pegs that looked like small railroad spikes. Why would someone build a miniature railroad in this desolate hellhole? Then she looked at the next box. It contained manacles! She put one around her wrist, and then slid in the small metal peg. It fit easily. She hurriedly slipped off the manacle and dropped the shackles and pegs into their boxes. She knew that, after the blacksmith did his job, the manacles wouldn't come off so easily. She winced and made her way through the next door. She was relieved to step out into the fresh air of a large courtyard after her trip through the chamber of horrors inside. The courtyard was almost filled with rows of cheap folding chairs. A brochure of some sort lay on each chair. There was bar in the back, flanked by wooden bleachers. Towards the front of the yard was a large wooden platform that looked like a stage. Such courtyards were not unusual in the Middle East, and she herself had had business presentations on stages just like the one she was facing now. It was rapidly turning into a very hot day, and she picked up one of the brochures and sat down on the chair, fanning herself with the pamphlet. Out of idle curiosity she turned it over and scanned the cover. Roughly translated, it read: WOMEN FOR SALE ALL NATIONALITIES, ALL PRICE RANGES PERFECT FOR HOME OR HAREM She opened up the brochure. It contained a list of names, lot numbers, and times. 12:00 PM VARSHAS, RAJEI 5748-383483-84487 MANDELLA, MARITA 5748-383483-84488 MONDAY, CHRIS 5748-383483-84489 Chris jumped out of her chair and ran towards the stage. This could mean only one thing. The platform was covered with sand. In one corner was coiled a long, black, snake-like thing. A whip! There was no doubt about it. She was staring at an auction block. But not just any block. If the brochure was right, it was the block where SHE was going to be auctioned off. It had to be a mistake! Right? She looked nervously at her diamond watch. It was almost 9:00 AM. "The time is FLYING by today!" she thought desperately. Her auction at noon was just a few hours away. Chris looked at the wooden steps fearfully. The platform was high, and the courtyard had plenty of seats. She knew that everyone would get a good look at the merchandise and trembled at the thought. Tentatively, she put one foot on the first step leading up to the block. But something stopped her. She stood frozen in fear. She couldn't do it. What disturbed her the most was the dampness she now felt between her legs. The block was horrifying, humiliating, and exciting, all at the same time. Suddenly a door flew open, and an old Arab woman in a chador came out, followed by two huge, bare-chested men armed with swords. They looked like something out of the Arabian Nights. "Inside, infidel!" the woman shrieked at Chris. Chris crossed the courtyard with as much aplomb as she could muster under the circumstances. "I need to speak with Abdul right away," she said, urgently. "There's been a mistake in this brochure." Najya slapped Chris hard across the face. "You speak when you are spoken to, Christian piglet!" The two guards grabbed Chris and propelled her into Najya's office. "Abdul he not back 'til after lunch," Najya said, curtly. "I am in charge! You do as I say, you not be hurt! This not America...you speak when spoken to!" She sat down at her desk and leisurely poured herself a glass of water. Chris was thirsty, but she knew better than to ask for a drink. The woman looked Chris up and down and smiled. Then her smile faded. "Strip! Everything off!" Chris swallowed hard. The moment she was dreading had come. Nervously she looked back at the two hulking thugs behind her. "In front of...THEM?" she said, in disbelief. "We move 1000 girls a month through here!" Najya responded. "Do not worry about them -- you are just one more American poossy!" Chris flinched at the term, but did start to remove her clothes. Najya smiled in triumph as Chris stripped naked before her desk. Most of her things were simply discarded, although Najya put the expensive watch and jewelry in her desk drawer. Soon Chris stood naked and humiliated in front of the sneering Arab woman. Najya told Chris to put her hands on top of her head. Then she slowly moved her finger in a circle, and Chris slowly turned around and around, subjecting herself to the old woman's humiliating appraisal. Najya stood up and ran her finger down between Chris's breasts all the way to her crotch. "You keep your poossy hair shaved," she said, appraisingly. "Americans are such WHORES!" "Let's get her on the table!" Najya said, addressing the guards. "We have much work to do and little time." The guards pushed Chris across the courtyard and into the exam room. Najya ordered her to "Mount the horse...feet in the stirrups!" and Chris scampered onto the exam table, exposing herself to the leering guards. She may have been "just another American poossy," but it was clear that the two guards were enjoying her humiliating experience enormously. As soon as Chris put her feet into the stirrups, Najya laughed, because she could tell that the blonde was wet and excited. Najya quickly snapped on a pair of surgical gloves and probed Chris's genitals with quiet expertise. If Chris hadn't been so wet, it would have been a painful probing indeed, because Najya was obviously not interested in her comfort. Chris turned her face away. Najya worked her fingers around the outer lips of the young woman's pussy, checking for imperfections or signs of disease. Then she spread it even wider, examining what she laughingly referred to as "the porker's pink meat" while Chris blushed crimson. Finally she stuck her index finger unceremoniously up Chris's butt hole. "You are tight, bitch...at least for now," Najya said, with a sneer. When Najya tossed her gloves into the garbage, Chris thought her exam was over. But Najya picked up a long black vibrator and put it on the naked woman's stomach. "I need to see how responsive you are," Najya explained, casually. "Pleasure yourself, you dirty little whore!" "No...you can't...not in front of THEM!" Chris said, pointing to the leering guards. "Yes, sure, in front of THEM!" Najya said mockingly. "Now you had better get to work making your filthy poosy nice and juicy, or I'll horsewhip ever' bit of skin off your pampered American ass!" On Najya's belt was a long, tattered whip, coiled and ready. Chris knew that the whipping was no idle threat, and picked up the vibrator. BZZZZZZZ! Najya smiled, relishing every second of the white woman's humiliation. She was going to enjoy taking this proud and sassy career woman down a peg or two. Reluctantly, Chris slowly began to work the vibrator in slow circles around her clit. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend she wasn't there, but Najya's commentary reminded her constantly of her position. "See how wet she is!" Najya said to the two guards. "American women think they are so special, with their money, and power, and fancy educations. But they are all just little whores, like this one here. If I had my way, I would strip every one of them as naked as Allah made them and march them straight to the busiest corner of the marketplace." "That's it, you cheap, stinking whore!" Najya said. "Get your steamy Yankee poosy nice and wet! The buyers looove you insatiable American whores!" She laughed, loudly. "At least little Miss Infidel here is going to know what it feels like to have her sweet little poossy shown off for the crowd. I'm looking forward to seeing the look on her face when we put her pampered white ass up on the block." Chris was only seconds away from orgasm when the vibrator switched off and a hand clutched her throat. "On your feet, American bimbo!" Najya said, as she dragged Chris towards the next room. "We have a business to run and can't stand around all day watching you jerk off!" Najya issued her new commands. "You must not touch yourself again, slut! I want you nice and juicy for the buyers! To keep yourself wet, rub your white thighs together. That will help relieve the pressure on that itchy little poossy!" Chris struggled as she was dragged towards the door of the barn. She knew a very bad day was just beginning. ****************************** Part 2 WHILE CHAINED NAKED AT THE MARKET, CHRIS MEETS SOME "FRIENDS" FROM THE OFFICE. BUT THEIR EXAMINATION IS NOTHING COMPARED TO THE HUMILIATION SHE FACES ON THE AUCTION BLOCK. The two guards roughly shoved Chris into the barn and forced her to kneel in front of the anvil. "I had to take away your expensive American jewelry, but we have some new ornaments for you," Najya said, sarcastically, fitting a manacle around Chris's right wrist. Chris tried to squirm away when she saw the blacksmith approach with a glowing steel peg. But the guards easily held her in place. The peg locked her new "bracelet" into place, and the blacksmith plunged her hand into a bucket of water. With ruthless efficiency, the guard quickly fixed manacles around her other wrist and each ankle. "Now we can chain you to your coffle and march you butt-naked right through town like you're just another slave girl," Najya said, with delight. "One look and ever'body will know what you are." She smiled down at Chris. "And the best part is that foreign white bitches like you get special ones of stainless steel -- because they AREN'T COMING OFF!" Chris knew that was true. Nothing short of another blacksmith could remove these irons. She was forced to lay her neck on the anvil so that her collaring could be completed. While she was bent over, Najya playfully stroked the cheeks of her bare bottom and teased her about the "delights" to come. Najya attached a short leash to Chris's brand new collar. "We still have a few minutes before your new masters arrive, little doggie bitch!" Najya said. "So we going to have to kennel you!" Najya walked Chris out the door of the barn, through the exam room, and back through the showroom. The street was filled with people now, and Chris felt herself blush hotly as her nakedness was casually paraded past the large glass window. Najya unlocked the door that Abdul had exited through, the door that Chris had found locked before. Chris almost fainted when she saw what was behind the door. The room had shelf after shelf of women in small dog cages. The smell was intense, but, unlike a real kennel, the women were silent as Chris was forced into her cage. Najya secured Chris's manacles to the front of the cage, and gave her some water...in a doggie bowl. It was a hot day, and Chris was thirsty. Her manacles were attached to the cage, so she stuck her face into her dog bowl and began to lap up the water with her tongue. A few hours ago she was a proud, independent, young American career woman. Now she was just a randy bitch left kenneled with her wet sex in the air, lapping water from her doggie dish. She had just finished her water when the guards came in and started taking women from the cages and leading them back to the showroom. When they came to get her, she allowed herself some degree of hope. Maybe Abdul had arrived in time to correct this horrible mistake! Instead of taking her to the office, however, the guards marched her to her proper position on the floor. They didn't have to bother with the handcuffs, but instead attached the chain to her manacles with a small padlock. Then they ran another short length of chain through the shackles on her ankles, hobbling her. Finally, they used the wall switch to raise the chain to which her wrists were attached until her toes barely touched the floor. She would therefore be constantly shifting her weight that morning in a vain effort to keep the pressure off her wrists, a little dance that would cause her to jiggle provocatively before the buyers. As Chris stood there, Najya posted an updated fact sheet, having added: FEEL THE WETNESS OF THE INSATIABLE AMERICAN WHORE! The worst part was that it was true. Despite her humiliation (or, more likely, because of it), the juices were still running down her legs. She could actually smell her own musky scent...which meant the buyers would be able to smell it too. The spot Najya had selected gave pedestrians a perfect view of the naked American woman. Most people ignored her, as if such sights were common. A few Muslim women stopped to curse her or make obscene hand gestures as she dangled helplessly in the window. A few stopped and smiled at her, letting her off with a leering smile or a wink. But many came in for a closer look. Chris noticed that Najya made sure the other slaves were handled only by genuine buyers and not by the merely curious. Chris, of course, was a different matter. Najya encouraged every man and woman in the showroom to handle Chris, to feel her breasts, and to finger her steamy "poossy." At one point Najya brought in an enormously obese Arab. From the conversation, Chris gathered that he was a local buyer for a brothel that catered to Western businessmen. He examined Chris quickly, but in more detail than the other buyers. Most of Chris' handlers concentrated on her breasts, pussy, and buttocks. But this more experienced buyer, while fondling these areas freely, also took the time to run his hands up and down her legs, check the bottoms of her feet, feel the texture of her hair, and check her teeth. Chris knew from his tone and way of handling her that he would be an uncompromising task masker, and she prayed that he wouldn't buy her. Somehow the thought of "entertaining" Western business executives, some of whom she undoubtedly knew, was also more humiliating than just losing herself in some anonymous harem. Then, just when she thought she had reached the maximum amount of degradation possible, three people that she knew walked in! They were three Arab boys who worked in the mailroom. The youngest of the three -- a geek virgin named Omar -- had just turned 18, and they were celebrating his birthday with his first trip to a slave market. When the boys saw her dangling helplessly in her chains, they were thunderstruck. In the office, she was an untouchable blonde ice queen, the very vision of unobtainable American beauty for the three young Arabs. But now she was spread out stark naked, with her musky juices running down her legs. How could this be? Chris quickly explained about her insurance exam and was about to order the boys to run and find Abdul, when Najya's riding crop exploded across her bottom with a sharp CRACK! "Silence, Christian wench!" Najya ordered. "It is not your place to make idle conversation with your betters." The boys smiled. It was great just seeing the haughty Chris Monday stripped bare naked in front of them. But seeing the woman who had always ordered them around so casually now forced to fall silent before them, her "betters," was unimaginably exciting for all of them. Far from rescuing her, Najya now encouraged the boys to "feel the quality of the merchandise." They needed little encouragement. "Squeeze her ripe American hooters! Like a Playboy bunny, no?" "Hoist her titties in your hands, feel their fullness. They bounce and shake nicely, don't they?" "Run your fingers down her stomach. Flat as a board!" Now feel her hot American poossy! You can smell it from here, can you not?" "Work your finger into her soft, wet crack! These American bimbos are always ready for action, are they not?" Najya turned Chris around so that her backside was facing the boys. Then she flipped the switch on the wall to lower Chris so that she could stand flat-footed. Chris was grateful to have the pressure off her wrists, but then Najya bent her over and spread her cheeks, allowing each of the horny boys to probe her rectum to their heart's content. "Now put your finger in her mouth and make her taste herself. Make her suck on your finger. I bet she would be good sucking on other things, too," Najya said, with a laugh. "I'm not supposed to do this, but, since this is your birthday, I would like to make you this offer," she said, quietly, as if discussing some conspiracy. "She needs to be given a test drive, much like a camel or a car, as part of her assessment. Since it is his birthday, I would like to give Omar the chance to do it in the small cubicle next door. Inshallah! I will even let all three of you mount this particular animal and charge you only a token fee." Najya paused and ran her riding crop menacingly across Chris's bare backside, warning her to cooperate. "What do you say, girl? You realize that you will owe these fine, strapping boys a great ] debt for helping you out, don't you? But you want their help, do you not?" Chris did desperately wanted their help...she wanted them to go get her husband to rescue her. The last thing she needed was to be fucked senseless on a cheap straw mat by three errand boys. But the caress of the crop told her she had no choice. "Yes, kind sirs, your assistance in assessing me would be most appreciated," she said, humbly, her head bowed. The boys were only too happy to grant the "fine American lady" this "great favor." The older two boys both wanted the "proud American bitch" to give them blowjobs, but Omar desperately wanted to lose his virginity inside her "poossy." So Chris was unceremoniously and rigorously fucked, and Najya watched the whole time, partly to make sure that she would be unable to plead for help, and partly just to gloat while she was put through this final humiliation. Najya's price was very reasonable indeed. All three boys were able to enjoy Chris for far less than the cost of a Big Mac! The boys enjoyed her thoroughly, teasing her that they could hardly wait to get back to work and tell their friends that they actually got to fuck "the stuck up Yankee goddess in the corner office." Najya smiled and toyed with her crop the entire time, warning Chris that she should take whatever the boys dished out and like it. Chris meekly complied. The only things worse than the fucking were the fact that she had three orgasms...and the fact that everyone knew it! She was surprised when Najya didn't return her to the showroom, but instead fastened her hands behind her back with a short chain and led her out into the now crowded courtyard. There, Chris was attached to a coffle of other naked women, some white, some dark. It was only when she looked to the stage at the front of the courtyard that this new development made sense. The auction had begun. HER auction! Up until this time, she had still secretly hoped that she might be rescued, that someone would arrive and correct the mistake, or that Najya would be satisfied that the despised Western bitch had been humbled enough in the window of the slave market. But now that last hope was crushed. She looked around to see if there was anyone who might help her. Although there were many buyers molesting her with their eyes, there wasn't a single friendly face. The three boys from the office stood in the back, still laughing as they ogled her naked charms. But it was clear from their jovial mood that rescuing her was the last thing on their minds. They had come to revel in her humiliation on the auction block. Abdul and Jack wouldn't be back until after lunch. And the program said that she was going to be auctioned at noon. She squinted at the sun. It was almost directly overhead. She knew there would be no rescue. There was a tug on her chain as she was unhooked from the coffle and led up the stairs to the block. Her time had come. With her hands manacled behind her back and her ankles still hobbled, she awkwardly mounted the ominous steps of the auction block. The auctioneer cracked his whip and ordered her to squat on the block with her legs spread wide, so that the buyers could see her "juiciness." She awkwardly squatted in that humiliating position while the auctioneer went on to explain the lofty educational status and haughty social station of the "American infidel bitch." "How delicious it would be to have such an accomplished representative of the Great Satan in your harem, yours to command, obedient, dancing for you, sucking you with those bright red American lips, tirelessly entertaining you...and your friends!" To demonstrate she was "a fit specimen," the auctioneer loosened the cracked hobble and commanded her to do jumping jacks and deep knee bends, while he pointed out her "big, bouncing boobies" and "dribbling gash." The comments from the audience, even more salacious, caused Chris's eyes to mist over. But she was still steaming wet! Finally, he ordered her to turn around, kneel down on the block, and spread her legs wide. He probed her rectum and pussy with the whip, exhibiting their tightness to the buyers. He even called on the three boys in the back for a testimonial as to the "pleasures to be found between her milky white thighs and in her slutty, salacious mouth." The boys eagerly called out their "ratings" of her recent performance, as her face burned crimson with humiliation. As the bidding started, the auctioneer took advantage of her exposed pussy facing the crowd to slowly masturbate her in front of the eager audience. As he had hoped, the sight of Chris wiggling her ass helplessly while having orgasm after orgasm on the block drove the bidders into a frenzy. She fetched an excellent price. She was finally led from the block, still weak in the afterglow of her many orgasms. Who had bought her? Then she saw the obscenely fat man grinning at her. "No!" Chris screamed in horror. "It couldn't be! Anyone but HIM!" Najya walked up, smiling. It was finally too much for Chris, and she felt light-headed. Her knees buckled, and she fainted, falling into blackness. ****************************** When she awoke, she was back in her hotel room, dressed in her Western clothes, with an ice pack on her head. Her husband and Abdul were standing over her. "At last you awake, my fine American Beauty rose! That bump on your head had us worried for a while," Abdul said, smiling as if nothing had happened. "What happened?" Chris said, dazed and confused. "The market...I was SOLD!" She tried to sit up, but her husband gently eased her back down on the bed as Abdul explained. "The regulations require that we establish 'a true market price' by putting you up for auction. Of course, we arranged it so that the final buyer, or the man you thought was your buyer, was actually in my employ. The auction had to look realistic, so naturally we could not reveal the deception to you. "Many buyers resent this procedure, because, in truth, their chance of buying you is only an illusion. No matter what they bid, the 'shill' will always outbid them. But those are the rules, and that explains your so-called 'sale' today." Abdul continued. "I apologize for the treatment from Najya. It was her idea to 'rent' you to those boys from your office. As you can imagine, I gave her quite a stern talking to. But, in fact, no real harm was done!" he said, breezily. "Najya is quite a scamp, isn't she?" "Oh, yes...she's QUITE...quite...." Chris said. "So, my processing is over?" "As far as I'm concerned. Your insurance papers are complete, and our business is done. Najya did suggest that we take you to a more central market, since she is convinced that, with more time and a larger pool of buyers to examine your charms, we could get a better price. Of course, the market she suggested is frequented by Westerners, including executives from your husband's place of business, so I told her the bids we had were sufficient." Chris looked at him. She considered. She fingered her collar and once again felt an unmistakable dampness between her legs. Quietly, she said, "Would this other market be open tomorrow?" Edited by C. Lakewood