TRACY LOSES HER PURSE by Joe Doe AN HOMAGE TO KATIE SMITH'S INTREPID HEROINE. THIS TIME SHE LOSES HER PURSE (AND EVERYTHING ELSE) ON A TRIP OVERSEAS. I have followed Katie's lead and made Tracy a blonde, though I'm not altogether happy with that. I've always imagined Tracy as a brunette, played by Keira Knightley, with her best prim-and-proper, Pride-and-Prejudice accent. Casting suggestions, anyone? Meanwhile, speaking of Pride and Prejudice.... ****************************** Part 1: Victorian England John Chambers was in a chipper mood. The other two young women in his rail car were very pretty, and it was obvious that they enjoyed chatting with him as much as he was enjoying their company. They were a bit older than him -– Victoria was 20, and her sister Juliet was 22. However, John looked quite sophisticated in his tweed jacket and regimental tie, and he knew neither one of them realized that he was only 19. He had served briefly in the army, but, when his father had died, he had returned home to settle the estate. It was then that, over his strong objections, his stepmother (not wanting to be bothered with John day-to-day), had hired Miss Tracy Smith to be his tutor and governess until he could join his uncle with his regiment abroad later that summer. John had protested that he was far too old for a governess, but his stepmother, who had never liked him, controlled the purse strings, and that was that. It had been the summer from hell. Tracy insisted on his "resuming his studies" and treated him like a schoolboy, to the point of insisting that he wear a childish school uniform, complete with cap and short pants. And then there was the cane, which Miss Smith used with relish, for the tiniest infraction. It would be nearly a two hour journey before they reached the embarkation port of Southampton to begin the long journey overseas to reunite with his uncle, and, for the first time since he had learned that Miss Tracy Smith would be his chaperone on the journey, John was actually happy. With any luck the little prig would miss her train. His hopes were dashed as the doors to the compartment flew open, and an infuriated Tracy Smith entered like an angry black cloud. "John Chambers!" she screeched. "What is the meaning of this? Why aren't you in uniform? That counts as a tardy, young man!" The two other women looked at John in astonishment. John turned to his chaperone, hoping to appeal to reason. "I've graduated, Miss, and I'm traveling. I didn't see any reason to...." "You are still in my charge, and you will wear your school uniform for the duration of the journey. Or should I have you fetch the cane, sir?" she asked archly. Even to John, who despised her, Tracy Smith, 24, was pretty. Indeed, if she hadn't been wearing such a severe scowl, and if she had let her blonde hair down from the tight bun and allowed it to fall around her shoulders, the young Victorian lady would actually have been quite beautiful. But, in that moment, she looked like the very devil to John. He clenched his teeth and retreated to the cramped lavatory to don his school uniform, carefully selected by Tracy herself. White shirt and striped tie, a blazer with the school logo, matching cap, white knee socks, and tight short pants. It made him feel quite childish, which was precisely Tracy's intent. Standing nearly six feet, John was nearly six inches taller than Tracey, and she knew that she could keep control only if she constantly reminded him that she was the adult, and he was her student. John's worst fears were realized when he returned to the rail car in the humiliating uniform, and Victoria and Juliet burst into peals of laughter. "So do you REALLY cane him, Miss Smith?" Victoria asked eagerly. "Oh, yes, definitely. Mostly, I cane him for being tardy," she patronized. "Like most little boys, John simply can't keep on schedule. But earlier this week, I caught the little rascal pleasuring himself. Disgusting! I gave him six of the best, right across his naughty bare botty." "Bare?" Victoria asked, with a smile that made John regret his birth. "Bare naked?" "Oh, yes, quite bare. There is never anything between his bottom and my cane. I need to see his stripes to form the correct crisscross pattern on his backside. Besides, naughty boys need to have their underpants pulled down, no matter their age, so they learn to mind their betters. Would you like to see the cane?" The two young women, tittering like schoolgirls, responded that they'd simply LOVE to see the instrument with which the strapping young man was disciplined. To his horror, John was ordered to fetch the dreaded cane out of Miss Smith's bag. He sat quietly, blushing crimson as Miss Smith bent the dreaded instrument of correction into a half circle to demonstrate its flexibility, while describing in great detail how John wept during his punishments, and begged for mercy, and promised to be a good little boy. The tiny compartment was too small for a proper demonstration, so John was punished for his imaginary "tardiness" in the dining car, on the bare, with the two giggling harpies and several other passengers watching. He had to sit on his stripes for the rest of the rail journey, seething as Tracy and the tittering young women discussed both proven techniques and exciting new notions for keeping him firmly under Tracy's feminine thumb. There were no such space constraints on the Vessel, though, and on three separate occasions during the trip Miss Smith obliged John to drop both his shorts and underpants and bend over for a bare bottom caning on deck in front of the other amused passengers. Word quickly spread throughout the ship about the shy and diffident young man in the school uniform and his strict and uncompromising governess, and John found himself spending as much time alone as possible, so as to avoid the whispers, amused smirks, and wry asides of his fellow passengers. Everyone was relieved to reach Alexandria, none more so than John. His uncle, Col. Chambers, was not waiting for them at the dock, but had sent an officer to retrieve Miss Smith and his thoroughly humbled and chastened nephew from the ship. When he saw his nephew and Miss Smith standing before him in the parlor, he was shocked. He didn't ask questions, or indeed hear a word Miss Smith said, excepting her offhanded remark that she was "most pleased that the British army was helping to Convert these heathen." Col. Chambers frowned. Although Tracy was merely carrying the prejudices of her class, the Colonel was always careful to avoid needless conflict by respecting the religious beliefs of the locals. As an experienced military man, he could tell by the way John stared at his shoes with head down while Tracy chattered on like a magpie, that all of the dreadful reports he had heard about Tracy Smith were true. "I thought school was over," the Colonel said, surveying John's clothes with dismay. "It is, but I felt that keeping him in school uniform allowed me to maintain firmer control," Tracy explained. "If anyone should understand the power of a uniform, Colonel, it's you." Tracy changed subjects and began rattling on prissily about the clumsy servants on the voyage and how "First Class on that boat hardly deserves the name." Three minutes and 1000 words later, Col. Chambers cut her off. "You are a kind and patient woman, Miss Smith, and I can only imagine the suffering you endured. No separate spoon for the dessert, indeed! Savage! Unspeakable!" "We are traveling to Khartoum on the hour," he continued, checking his pocket watch. "This will give you a chance to accompany John on the final part of his journey to the base where he has been assigned, and see a bit of the country before you return to England. There will be a substantial bonus in it for you, if you can indulge me for a while longer." At the mention of the word "bonus" Tracy's ears actually twitched, and Col. Chambers smiled. "If you should like to freshen up, an officer will conduct you to the Governor's mansion, where I am staying, just across the street from the train station. I do hope you will find the accommodations at the mansion satisfactory. My maid, Jane, can show you the bath." At the mention of the word "bath" the prudish Tracy blushed slightly, but she readily accepted the Colonel's invitation. She felt a bit like a child as the Colonel ordered her to "hurry...spit-spat!" But she was so grateful for the chance to freshen up that she dutifully hurried along. As soon as the door closed Col. Chambers turned into his nephew. "You have five minutes to get out of that ridiculous costume and into your regimentals, young man. You are a subaltern, after all. And stop staring at your shoes. That's no way for an officer to behave. Change immediately...and then we can have a talk about our friend, Miss Smith." ****************************** Tracy was surprised to learn that "Jane" was an anglicized form of "Jamila" and that the maid who attended her was, well, rather swarthy. It was quite embarrassing for Tracy to undress in front of someone whose skin color was so much darker than her own, a matter that wasn't helped by the way Jamila stared at what she called "the golden fleece" between Tracy's legs, as blondes were apparently quite rare in this area. Not wishing to be made a show of, Tracy declined Jamila's eager attempts to bathe her, and brusquely ordered her from the room. The conflict between maid and mistress resumed a few minutes later when Jamila returned carrying, not fresh clothes from her trunk -- or the clothes she had just taken off -- but a schoolgirl's uniform! Tracy demanded that she be brought her own clothes, but Jamila cheerfully informed her that her baggage was still on board ship, and her other clothes had already been sent away to the wash. "These are the clothes the Colonel wants you to wear for the journey, Miss Smith. He was quite insistent on it. Now get dressed, or you will miss your train and be quite stranded here." Tracy was infuriated and screamed herself hoarse, even using several unpleasant racial terms that no proper Victorian lady should know. But Jamila simply laughed, and left the room. Desperate not to miss the train and be stranded in Lower Egypt at the mercy of some local savage like Jamila, Tracy donned the uniform. She declined to put on the blazer, tie, or cap, but, to her dismay, the smiling Jamila followed her with the discarded items as she stormed out of the mansion and crossed the street to confront the Colonel in the station, where they would take the train to a point where a boat was waiting to take them deep into the Sudan. Col. Chambers was in the main part of the station, surrounded by officers as they examined a map on the table. But in her present state, dressed in a white school uniform blouse and skirt that didn't even cover her knees, white socks, and black button shoes, Tracy was in a mood to make war, not discuss it. "What is the meaning of this?" Tracy demanded, interrupting Colonel Chambers mid-sentence. "I demand that you bring me my clothes, immediately!" "Your clothes are still on the vessel, Miss Smith. This is a military installation here, and we travel quite...bare." On the word "bare" Col. Chambers smiled and glanced at Tracy's lovely exposed legs, causing several of the officers to chuckle obsequiously at their commanding officer's wit. Tracy, to quote Queen Victoria, was not amused. "I have no intention of traveling ANYWHERE dressed like...." "MISS SMITH!" the Colonel thundered. "This is a foreign country, much different than England. You are a young, unmarried lady. I can't very well have you parading about the country with no male guardian responsible for you. Women who travel through the East in that manner are considered little better than concubines, or worse." Tracy didn't know what was worse than being a concubine, but it hardly mattered. "I don't see how a school uniform...." "The area we are traveling to is not firmly under British control. Our government has a protectorate arrangement with the locals, and as such we try our best to respect their laws and customs, especially in regards non-military matters. These people are not used to seeing young professional women flitting about, unattached and unaccountable. A school uniform instantly identifies your rank and your identity as my charge, subject to my control. Which you are, I might add, for the duration of your stay here. I believe it was you who pointed out the power of a uniform to establish proper roles and relationships." "My luggage...." "Your blasted baggage is on the blasted ship! How many times must I say that? It will meet us at our destination. However, there is one item that appears to have fallen out of your bag." Tracy felt an inexplicable shiver run down her spine as one of the smiling junior officers handed Col. Chambers the cane Tracy had used with such undisguised relish on the trip. She treasured her cane and considered it an indispensable tool of her profession. However, dressed as she was, watching the Colonel tap it meaningfully against his palm filled her with a sense of dread. "Now, you will allow Jamila to put you into your tie, blazer, and hat, and you WILL take your place on the train, young lady," the Colonel said. "And I will be in to deal with you shortly." "I will not!" Tracy shrilled, punctuating her words with a petulant stamp of her foot. Dressed as she was, the action made her appear even more childish, and she clenched her fists in frustration as she noticed the officers and several of the other passengers in the terminal smiling at her. "Yes, you will!" Col. Chambers commanded. To Tracy's shock, the Colonel grabbed her by the wrist, and within seconds she found herself bent over the table. She tried to rise, but with two male officers holding her wrists down, and another holding her by the back of the neck, and yet another with his hand on her back, all she could do was kick her legs in futility as the spectators laughed. Then two officers grabbed her by the ankles and thus ended even that much rebellion. "Lt. Chambers, will you do the honors?" Col. Chambers asked. The officer holding her neck graciously allowed her to turn her head sufficiently to witness the ceremonial presentation of the cane, which was presented to the young officer as if it were his dress sword. To her horror, she saw that the officer charged with her discipline was none other than John Chambers, her former student. "No, please, not John!" she pleaded. "You can't let him cane me! Please, anyone but him!" "He is to be addressed as "Lieutenant Chambers, or 'Sir,' by the likes of you, young lady," Col. Chambers said sternly. "After all, if anyone appreciates respecting a uniform, it's you. You may begin, John." Tracy shivered as John gave the cane a few playful practice SWISHES through the air before rubbing it slowly against her uniform skirt. "When she caned me, Colonel, she always did it on my bare arse," John pointed out helpfully. "She said she needed to see my stripes to know where to crisscross the welts. And naughty boys need to have their underpants pulled down, no matter their age, so they learn to mind their betters." "Well, I imagine the same principle also applies to naughty female bottoms," the Colonel nodded. "Still, we do have quite a few spectators." Tracy became acutely aware of the dozens of eyes peering at her, most of them inside the station, others peering through the enormous windows. It seemed every passenger on the train was watching, but it was the fascinated eyes of the locals that bothered her the most. "Please, not on the bare!" she pleaded, sounding more like a schoolgirl than she intended. "Not in front of all of these dirty monkeys!" The Colonel's face tightened. Although not entirely free from prejudice, during his time overseas he had come to befriend a number of the locals, many of whom had skin far darker than Jamila's. Miss Smith, like most young women of her station, obviously cared more for class than character. Perhaps it was time to teach her a lesson? He weighed the prospect of a public punishment thoughtfully as he surveyed the eager spectators in the room, some of whom were actually licking their lips. (Others were adjusting their trousers. Although he would have liked to have caned her in front of all the locals, she was still a white woman, and as such he could simply not justify it in his own mind. "Well, we do have quite a large audience," he said thoughtfully. "Perhaps a more private venue...." "I never got it in private," John replied, his voice seething with pent up resentment. "Miss Smith caned me on the deck of the ship, with everyone watching, and in the First Class lounge, and in front of the captain at dinner. Her ladyship always said 'Justice must be seen to be done.'" "Really?" the Colonel said. "Well, that changes things. Very well, since Miss Smith is a professional educator, and I just a soldier, I will accede to her wishes in the matter. A baker's dozen, Lieutenant, on the bare!" Having her bottom laid bare in front of a room filled with strangers was most decidedly NOT Tracy's wish, a point she tried to explain as the two grinning officers behind her raised her skirt and pulled her white school knickers down to her knees. This left Tracy's bottom shamefully bare to all the whites, browns, and blacks standing behind her, a matter made worse when they quickly lashed her ankles to the legs of the chair, spreading her blonde sex wide for everyone to see. Tracy's "golden fleece" was quite the attraction, and for several moments she was forced to endure both the admiration of Her Majesty's troops and the amazed comments from the natives as her lightly downed purse was unveiled. However the room fell silent as John tapped the cane across Tracy's quivering cheeks, reminding everyone (especially Tracy) of the business at hand. "I've never actually caned anyone before, Miss," John said, in a mocking imitation of the submissive tone he always used when addressing his teacher. I'll do my best, however, and try to make you proud of me." Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! John did his best, indeed! The strokes fell one after another, in perfectly spaced succession. Although he had never wielded a cane before, Tracy's tutelage had taught him well, and he knew precisely how to time the strokes, and separate the distance, and cross the welts for maximum agony. As he caned her, Jamila, grinning broadly, began arranging Tracy's blonde locks into two girlish braids, pausing to smile down at her and occasionally dab away a tear as Tracy promised to be good, and to mind her betters, and to respect John's uniform, and to wear her own school uniform with pride. John's workmanship was exceptional. Twenty minutes later Tracy, now dressed properly in her tie, blazer, and cap, sat in the crowded passenger car, trying to ignore the amused chatter and knowing smirks from her fellow passengers as she squirmed in agony in her train seat. John had skillfully skinned both the tops of her thighs, her sit-down spot, and all the places naughty boys and girls try to shift their weight to when trying to avoid the agony of sitting on their welts. Tracy could see into the officers' car, where John was enjoying a cigar as his fellow officers congratulated him on his exemplary work in decorating Tracy's "lovely bare arse!" Tracy's humiliation at the station had caused the army to delay the train's departure by almost a full five minutes, and the engineer laid on extra steam to make up the difference. If this caused Tracy additional agony as she bumped up and down on her welts, what of it? She was a naughty schoolgirl now, and naughty girls had to learn their lessons. ****************************** Part 2: The Sudan But Tracy most emphatically did NOT learn her lesson. When the train stopped to let the Colonel's party board the north-bound steamer, she had no opportunity to bolt, but, at Khartoum, she spotted her trunks waiting on the dock. She rudely shoved her way past the adults and made a beeline for her adult clothes, in a manner that might remind one of a spoiled, greedy child knocking over the tree on Christmas morning in a rush to get her presents. She hurried to the ladies' loo and quickly changed her clothes (or as quickly as she could, given the condition of her bottom). She left the hated, humiliating uniform in the trash bin, confident that she would never need it again. By the time Col. Chambers and John got off the boat, she had already bought her ticket for the return trip and was waiting on the dock. "You shouldn't dress that way here, Miss Smith," the Colonel advised. "Women in this area are not allowed to travel unless they are under a man's protection." "I don't need your protection," Tracy said huffily. "It is you two who will need protection, upon my return to England, when I report your assault upon my person to the proper authorities!" "Quite," the Colonel responded evenly. "Since you do not require my aid, I shall take my leave and wish you well." The Colonel betrayed no emotion, but John's knowing smile made Tracy uneasy. The Colonel spoke to a policeman before leaving the dock, and Tracy found herself alone. She had just finished supervising a couple of lascars loading her luggage onto the south-bound steamer when the policeman to whom the Colonel had spoken walked over and arrested her. ****************************** Tracy did not speak the local language, but the judge, who spoke much better English than the rest of the court, tried to explain. Tracy, as a female traveling alone, was required to carry a travel permit. Accordingly, she had asked the arresting officers to inform the Colonel, who had then requested Tracy's purse (taken from her at her arrest) so that her particulars could be copied onto appropriate form. "The document has been prepared, and you are free to go, as soon as you pay your jail fee." "My jail fee?" Tracy squeaked. "Yes, we charge a small fee for each day you spend in jail. It will be less than a penny in your English money. Unfortunately, the Colonel has your purse, so you cannot pay. Ordinarily we would sell your baggage at the magistrate's auction on Friday, and use the proceeds to pay your fine, but it is on its way down river. One hopes your friend, the Colonel, will return with your purse by Friday, or we will have to auction the one possession you have left." "My clothes?" Tracy asked nervously. "Of course not!" the Judge said, deeply offended. "Would we strip an Englishwoman of her clothes, and leave her naked? There is no market for your type of clothes here, anyway, but even if we sold them as rags, how would you go home? No, no, no. On Friday, if the fine is not paid, we will sell you." "You'll sell me? You mean…as a slave?" "Yes, precisely, my dear. How quickly you learn. You will bring a fine price on the block." "But you just can't...auction me." "Of course I cannot," he agreed. Slave auctions are handled in the slave market. A slave trader will sell you, and the proceeds will go to pay your fine." At this the magistrate gave Tracy his most becoming smile. "Any excess, of course, will go to the court, as my compensation for having to deal with this trifle." A penny was indeed a trifle, but.... "Please, you can't sell me at auction! Not for a penny!" "By Friday, it will be two pence," the magistrate explained. "But don't worry. I have talked to the Colonel, and he assures me that your purse will be returned in time. He has put one of his brightest young officers in charge of the matter -- his own nephew, Lt. John Chambers. The lieutenant asked me to assure you that he will try ever so hard not to be tardy." At the mention of the keyword "tardy," Tracy's spirits sank. How many times had she caned John's backside for a trivial or even an imaginary lateness? But John was the teacher now, and it was Tracy who would be taught the lesson. She spent two of the longest days of her life staring out the window of her cell, straining her eyes at every stranger who approached, trying desperately to wish her former student onto the street below, purse in hand. But John did not come. On Friday morning, Tracy watched as the whistling magistrate prepared the form that declared her slavery, and heated the wax for the official seal to validate the document. At the last moment, however, the magistrate paused dramatically and addressed the onlookers. "Once this document is sealed, this young woman will be a slave, henceforth and forevermore. Before I take that irrevocable step, I must ask, can any of you spare a coin to save this girl from her sorry fate?" Tracy turned beseechingly to the smiling men that surrounded her. One man claimed that he had no change. Another protested that, while he had many coins, he always made a habit of emptying his pockets and throwing coins to the children on his way home, and a coin spent on Tracy might mean that a child would have to go without a treat. The slave trader charged with her custody shrugged and pointed out that he would spend coin enough on her, preparing her for the auction block. Tracy fell to her knees and begged, promising to do ANYTHING for a coin. But the men laughed, and agreed that her final scandalous offer as a freewoman merely proved that she was, in fact, fit only for the collar. Tracy felt dizzy as she watched the magistrate emboss the document and seal her fate. Tracy Smith was a slave! During her incarceration, the Judge had made a show of treating her well, but that now abruptly ended. In short order she was dragged outside, where she was stripped stark naked, and chained to four other ill-fated local women whose unfortunate encounters with the law had earned them their slavery. The cuffs around her wrists were connected to a chain that ran from the collar around her neck to the shackles on her ankles, and she was helpless to do anything but squirm as the magistrate ran his finger down her flat tummy and over her golden triangle. "It bothers you that my skin is dark, does it not? I knew many blonde women like you when I was in England. But I, as a lowly servant, had no chance of ever seeing one naked, let alone fondling her." Tracy winced as his insinuating finger worked its way between her legs and began stroking her sex. "Folk wisdom says that blondes are stupid, but your friend John tells me you are a teacher, and you seem quite intelligent to me. Still, I am glad that you were foolish enough to lose your purse, so that the purse between your legs is all that you have left to sell." With that he bade Tracy well, punctuating his farewell with a playful swat on her bare bottom to hurry the hapless, blushing prisoner along to the slave market...and the auction block. A coffle of naked slave girls was not an unusual site in Khartoum, but Tracy's blondeness and bare skin drew a great deal of unwanted attention. She wanted desperately to cover herself as the men and women on the street whistled and hooted at her, but, with her hands chained, all she could do was blush. The magistrate smiled as he went back into the station and examined Tracy's clothes. The necklace and cross, which had been rudely taken from her when she had been stripped for market, appeared to be solid gold, and he had no doubt it would bring an excellent price. She would have no use for it now. The little slut was only a slave, and she would be learn the religion of her masters. ****************************** The large, open-air slave market was crowded, but Tracy was not hard to find. Good marketing knew no borders, and the slave dealers had placed her on a large raised platform near the center of the square, high enough for others to watch as various buyers put the blushing blonde beauty through her paces. It was a privileged location, and Tracy found herself surrounded by stalls displaying the finest in carpets, silver, pottery, leather goods, and several prize-winning cows, camels, and goats. Standing amidst sheep and goats was particularly humiliating for Tracy. Like her, they were displayed on platforms covered in sand, to allow for "accidents." Tracy, like the other animals, was fettered to bolts in the platform. At night, she and the other livestock were watered together at the same trough, fed together, and bathed together. She would watch as the goats were stroked and fondled by the buyers, and occasionally unchained so that they could be made to run. In turn, the animals watched as the two-legged beast with the blonde hair was made to bend and bow for the entertainment of the buyers. Was it her imagination, or were those camels actually laughing? The buyers were demanding, and she spent much of the day squatting, spreading, and even peeing on command. Occasionally she was unchained, and made to run across the market to fetch a stick in her mouth. Many of the buyers seemed to enjoy making her nipples hard, although much of their attention was naturally focused between her legs. The men enjoyed fondling her until she began to drip, and, on several occasions, they carried this cruel humiliation to its ultimate end and actually made her cum. They were careful, however. She lost count of how many buyers had, ever-so-gently, verified her virginity. ****************************** By the time John arrived, the attention surrounding Tracy had died down somewhat, as the teacher-turned-slave-girl had been groped and fondled by the general public for nearly two weeks. There was no hurry. Abdul would not sell Tracy until the welts on her bottom had healed, a process further delayed when Tracy's initial refusal to cooperate with her captors had forced her owner to add several lash marks of his own. No matter; Tracy slept each night with her bottom soaking in a special solution of the slave trader's own invention. The liquid was quite irritating, and caused her to squirm and itch, but that was of no concern. She was an animal now, a possession, and the important thing was that her sweet alabaster buttocks appear perfect and unblemished when it was presented to the buyers on the block. On rare occasions Tracy was given a short white robe to wear, as a practice for when the auctioneer would strip her on the block. The theory was that it would be more exciting for the buyers to see her charms first hidden, then revealed. Of course, who hadn't seen her charms by this point she couldn't fathom, but the wisdom of the ages was in the practice, and, in any case, she was in no position to argue. As fate would have it, she was wearing precisely that robe when John approached her auction platform. He was an imposing sight in his regimentals, and Tracy swallowed as the crowd parted so that he could make his way through. She frowned as he sheepishly held up her precious leather purse. "I brought your purse, Miss Smith," he said, in a mocking imitation of his meekest schoolboy voice. "I'm dreadfully sorry if I'm tardy. I have your two pence, if it's not to late." It was too late, and both of them knew it. At the jail the magistrate assured his anxious prisoner that John had been clearly informed that her chance to pay her fine was a limited time offer, and that once the court declared her a slave any chance of escaping the auction block would "vanish, like the desert wind." Now John stood before her, holding her purse. It contained several pounds, but they were quite to her now. Slave girls had no need of purses, as it was quite impossible for them to legally own anything. Tracy shuddered as she felt the auctioneer who had been training her touch her on her shoulder. "Would you like to examine the merchandise, sir?" "Well, I AM on a shopping trip," John chuckled. "No harm in taking a little look." There was great harm, Tracy felt, to her dignity alone, if nothing else. John began to examine her as one might any other animal at a market -- checking her teeth and gums, running his fingers through her silky blonde hair, and checking the insides of her ears and nostrils for signs of disease. It was a humiliating examination, made all the worse by the fact that she seemed certain that the goat a few yards away was smiling at her. But the auctioneer was not satisfied. "One must get a FEEL for the merchandise," he said, urging John on. "Only a fool buys a slave clothed." "Unhand that woman, good sir! She is, after all, a British subject. I demand her immediate release, or I shall bring my Uncle's cannon to bear, and level this market to the ground!" That was what Tracy heard, in her mind. What she heard in her ears was John's laughter, followed by, "Well, I'm certainly no fool. Show me her titties." The auctioneer slipped the robe over Tracy's shoulders, baring her to the waist. John smiled as her bare breasts bobbed into view. The unveiling was followed by a tap of the auctioneers whip upon her bottom, which was the command for her to squat before him, so that her prospective master could feel the goods. Although she wanted to resist the command with every fiber of her being, Tracy dutifully squatted. She knew better than to resist as John took her breasts in his hands and fondled them, evaluating their shape, weight, and consistency. "Rather tiny apples, but they're pleasant enough to squeeze," he concluded, looking directly into his former teacher's mortified eyes. Is she as round below as above?" Two taps on her shoulder signaled Tracy to stand, but the command was given for a reason she dreaded. Her robe was removed, and she squatted before her former pupil, with her fettered hands on her head and her legs spread. John smiled. His haughty teacher was naked and ready for his examination, like any other animal in the market. He used his fingers to brush sawdust from Tracy's toes. He rubbed the tiny grains between his fingers thoughtfully, before looking into her eyes with a pitiless and knowing smile. The bareness of her feet, the sawdust clinging to her toes, and the bleating of the sheep and cows around her underscored her legal status as mere livestock. She was an animal to be bought and sold, and it was clear to her that John was going to take his time and relish every aspect of her degradation. Tracy's squatting position allowed John to look directly at the lips of her lightly haired sex. He had seen it at the station, of course, but not from this angle. Plus there had been work to do then, as he had been preoccupied with laying on each stroke for maximum effect. Now he was free to shop and took his time, examining her loveliness in detail. She flinched as he reached out and ran his fingertips through her delicate blonde curls, but the menacing touch of the auctioneer's whip steadied her as John worked his fingers between her legs and gently stroked her sex. "Does she juice easily?" he asked, his tone casual, as if asking about the amount of milk produced by one of the nearby goats. "See for yourself," the auctioneer said, punctuating his command with a sharp CRACK of the whip! Tracy, clearly terrified by the sound of the whip, instantly flipped onto all fours, lowered her head, spread her legs, and raised her bottom in the air. She felt utterly mortified to be exposed this way before John. Her sole comfort was that, with her nose in the sand, she didn't have to look into John's eyes as he began his leisurely exploration of her exposed sex. "As you can see, the marks on her bottom have almost faded," the auctioneer said. "It won't be long before she's ready for the block." Although she was trying to remain still, the mention of her upcoming auction caused her to shudder and move her bottom slightly from side to side in a way that John found most becoming. On the block, she knew, she would be forced to smile, and frown, and dance, and spread herself open in ways she had never imagined possible. She would be humiliated, yes, but it was important for the audience to see that, as well. Her prospective masters would want to see every aspect of the personality that they would soon own, body and soul. Tracy flinched as John playfully fingered the barely visible traces of the stripes he had so cruelly applied to her bottom a few short weeks ago. "As you can see, she was obviously trained by a master," the auctioneer insinuated, not realizing that it was John himself who had designed the lovely crisscross pattern. John smiled. "I tried to make the design look like my family crest," he said, "Does her price include her smith fee?" The auctioneer assured John that it did. The term puzzled Tracy. Was there more money due because of her last name? But that thought vanished as John's finger delicately touched the lips of her sex. "I hope you don't mind if I start slowly, Miss," John said, once again assuming the voice of a submissive schoolboy. "But I don't get to spend much time with girls. My teacher is very strict with me, and she doesn't like it when I talk to other women. A right prissy one she is, too. All the boys say she's a bitch, but my uncle says she's just frustrated...and needs a man to give her gooey honey-pot a little rub from time to time." And John did just that. To Tracy's dismay, she warmed up quickly under his touch. Soon, her little bud was popping out from under its sheath, and John began to circle it meaningfully with his thumb. "Don't worry about the auction, Miss. The Colonel and I will both be there, right in the front row, and we'll bid on you. Of course that also means we'll have to watch, while you bend and squat and spread and show the buyers what you're worth. Humiliating, I know. Dreadfully sorry about that, but it can't be helped, I'm afraid." John turned to the auctioneer and complimented him on the "quality of his merchandise," noting the "smoothness," "tightness," and "pleasant odor" of the female flesh quivering between his fingers. "She juices quite nicely," he observed. "I imagine a randy little strumpet like this will fetch quite a price." "Indeed she will, sir" the man replied. "There are several brothels that would pay handsomely to have a flaxen-haired slut in the front window to attract business." John laughed out loud. "Yes, I imagine a honey pot like this would draw quite a swarm. If anyone beats us at the auction, I hope it is a brothel," he said casually, as if discussing the weather. "Then I could put more than my fingers into this tight little hole. I wouldn't mind sampling her behind, either. I imagine she's tight as a tick back there," he said, punctuating his interest with several light taps of his finger on Tracy's anus, which cringed in panic at the threatened invasion. The auctioneer snickered at Tracy's obvious distress. "See? She's winking at you! Yes, this one would squeal like a stuck pig when you drove it into her, but she'd be velvety tight and warm and soft. Snappy as rubber and smooth as chocolate!" "There aren't many muscles on her," John said critically. "Not much good for farm work or digging." "Not now," the auctioneer admitted. "I imagine at first whoever buys her will give her bedroom slippers rather than work shoes. But, in time, the little lazy little slut will be put to work, and she'll learn to drag a plow and tend the other animals." "Can she read?" John asked, his thumb moving closer to her button as he felt her passion rise. "She looks quite stupid to me." "Who wants a slave who can read?" the man countered. Whoever buys her will be interested in conversation. Her mouth was made for other uses." "Would I be able to use her...that way, in a brothel?" John asked, continuing to rub the increasingly excited Tracy. The auctioneer laughed. "You could use her however you wished, sir." That did it! Despite her efforts to resist, Tracy climaxed, her sex trembling and quivering like jelly in John's meaty hand. Tracy had known nothing but shame since she arrived in this strange land, but cumming on John's hand like a randy bitch in heat was the most mortifying moment of her life. The salt from her tears ran into her mouth even as she felt her hindquarters quiver with pleasure. John commanded Tracy to face him, and she complied, once again squatting before him. He dried his hand in the sawdust and then wiped off the sawdust in Tracy's hair. "Well, it seems you won't be need this after all," he said, taking the money out of her purse. "I'll use this to bid on you. It's not much, but if someone else buys you perhaps I can rent a chance to bugger that tight little piggy hole of yours." Tracy's bottom hole puckered up at the thought. She looked up sadly as John patted her on the head, in a manner that reminded her of a master leaving a favorite dog. "There, there," he said, brushing away her tears. "Soon the welts on your bottom will fade completely, and your smooth white arse will be auctioned from this block. Display yourself properly, and do what the auctioneer tells you, and perhaps you will find a master kinder than yourself, who will whip you only when necessary." He walked on to the next stall, content to consign her wet, soggy pussy to the vagaries of the open air market. Tracy blushed as she watched him inspect a cow's teeth in a manner not dissimilar to the way he had examined her. As she knelt in the sawdust amidst the other livestock, she listened closely as he casually discussed the animal's fitness for farm work and whether branding was included in the animal's price. The merchant assured him that it was, for it customary for animals to bear their master's brand. Her buttocks clenched at this revelation, as she realized at last what the "smith fee" was. Branding was included in HER price, if her master wished to mark her. John moved onto the next stall, and Tracy's interest focused on the blacksmith across the square, who was preparing a newly purchased cow for precisely such a branding. Watching the cow MOOO! As the brand was driven home, Tracy actually bit her own tongue and clutched her bottom in helpless anticipation of the scorching indignity that awaited her. Tracy's attention was re-focused as a man and his wife moved toward her, and the examination of the goods for sale in her stall began anew. The woman was drawn to Tracy's fine leather purse, which John had casually added to a collection of purses and bags that were hanging from several pegs adjacent to her. Her husband, meanwhile, decided instead to examine the silky purse of the juicy blonde slut who was kneeling before him. The whip CRACKED, and Tracy dutifully spun around and lifted her bottom into the air, spreading her legs wide as she offered her soggy wet purse up for yet another buyer's thorough and intimate inspection. THE END Edited by C. Lakewood