Parts 1-2 first appeared, unedited, in the "Story/Plot Ideas" 
section of Katie Smith's "Tracey Stories Archive," on 30 January 
2012.  




                   TRACY IN THE SLAVE MARKET

                              by

                           Joe Doe



Prologue (by C. Lakewood)

The Pacific island of Pendennis (since 1758 known variously as 
Admiralty Island, St. Denis, Isle de Fraternité, and Pendennis) 
has spent over 200 years as the property of France or Great 
Britain.  Since 1848, it has been British, and, for some time, 
its primary importance was as the only coaling station within 
almost 1000 nautical miles.  By the time oil had replaced coal, 
the island had become important for other reasons: a unique 
variety of superfine cotton, vast deposits of guano, and, most 
recently, a seemingly inexhaustible supply of "unobtanium-class" 
rare-earths.  As a result of this leverage, the island has been 
able to quietly maintain an exemption for its flourishing slave 
market, despite British laws to the contrary.  

Young John Chambers has recently inherited a sizeable plantation 
on the island from his great-uncle, Bedford Chambers.  John has 
arrived from Hampshire, together with his ex-teacher, Tracy Smith 
(on whom the young man has had a schoolboy crush for years).  
Tracy hopes to work a handsome profit from the trip.  She claims 
to be researching and writing a sober, scholarly article on the 
slave market for a respectable academic journal -- but is really 
planning to produce a sensational exposé too lurid even for Fleet 
Street. 

Lucy Lewes, a lawyer and resident of Pendennis, is executrix 
of Great-uncle Bedford's will and has been drafted by Tracy 
("she-who-is-to-be-obeyed") as a guide and dog robber. 

		******************************  
Part 1
        
The young, prematurely balding clerk barely looked at Tracy as 
he filled in her information.  "Now, let's see...you want to be 
auctioned subject to confirmation?"

Tracy, a little hesitant, looked to Lucy, all the while trying not 
to let on to John that she was in over her head and had studied 
auction terminology far less than she should have.  "Mustn't let 
the student know teacher hasn't done her homework," Tracy thought.

Fortunately for Tracy, desperate for an answer, Lucy flashed her a 
quick, almost imperceptible nod.

"Yes, definitely," Tracy explained.  "I don't want to actually BE 
sold, you know.  I just want to go through the process.  I want 
to specify a huge required bid, so I won't actually be sold."

"It's called a reserve," the clerk said.  "Top grade 'fancy girls' 
go for about £15,000."

"Miss Smith is worth much more than that," John protested earnestly.

Tracy smiled.  As headmistress, she had done a wonderful job of 
making sure that 18-year-old John's exposure to women had been 
minimal during his time at the academy, and it was quite obvious 
he had a schoolboy "pash" for his headmistress, despite (and 
perhaps because of) her fondness for using the cane.

She shifted slightly in her chair as Lucy appraised her with a 
critical, knowing eye.  "She's very pretty, but she's totally 
untrained.  I'm not sure if you'd get TOP dollar for her, but, 
well...."

"Put in a minimum sales price of £300,000," Tracy said irritably, 
making a mental note to keep Lucy's own lack of "training" in mind 
at her next performance review.  "Since the bidders don't see the 
minimum price anyway, we might as well make it as high as possible, 
just to make sure there are no...unfortunate accidents."

Lucy protested that this record-setting price was "absurd," while 
John, sweet and love-struck as ever, assured his teacher that she 
was worth every penny.  Lucy's objection overruled, the clerk 
entered the number and moved on to the next question.

"The property will be sold as-is?" the clerk asked.  Tracy flushed 
a bit, then nodded.

"So you'd like a preview period, then?" he asked, typing.

Tracy, unsure, again looked to Lucy.  Lucy, stung at being 
overruled, maintained a poker face and answered Tracy's 
unspoken query with an absolutely blank look.

"Yes, that's what I want, a preview," Tracy said, piecing it 
together.  "A long preview....  I'd like to see as much as 
possible."

She ignored Lucy's mischievous giggle as the clerk searched the 
schedule.

"I can book you into Lot 1347, on Saturday.  The preview period 
will give you time to learn your paces."

Tracy looked at the man, confused.  Saturday was four days from 
now.  Was she going to have to come back this weekend?

"Paces," the man repeated.  Exasperated by Tracy's ignorance, the 
man turned to John.  "Paces, my boy.  You'll get a better price 
for her."

John, unembarrassed by his ignorance, turned to Lucy.  "What are 
paces, miss?" he asked pleasantly.

"They'll show Miss Smith how to behave on the block, so she doesn't 
make a fool of herself," Lucy said, shooting Tracy a snarky look.  
"Inexperienced girls panic when they hear the auctioneer chanting, 
and feel the sand between their toes, and see the eager expressions 
on the faces of the bidders.  Miss Smith might well lose her water."

John giggled.  Tracy, highly annoyed, spoke to the clerk directly.  
"Yes, I want to do that.  I'd like to understand as much of the 
process as possible.  I want to learn my paces, and whatever else 
I can, so I can write about this subject properly for an academic 
journal."

"Would you like Identification Assurance?" the clerk asked.  "It's 
only £5."

Tracy looked perplexed, but this time Lucy jumped in to rescue her. 
"With Identification Assurance the auction house offers a guarantee 
that the girl will be properly tracked, and that the right girl 
will be sold at the right price."

John seemed troubled.  "£5 is a lot of money," he said.  "I don't 
think I have...."

"I'll pay it, John," Tracy said, pulling a crisp £5 note out of 
her purse and handing it to the clerk.  Shooting Lucy a glance, 
she re-issued her maxim: "No accidents."

"Would you like some of the extras with that, miss?" the clerk 
said.  "We offer...."

"I don't need any extras, young man," Tracy replied, adopting the 
tone she used with her students.  "£5 is quite sufficient."

"It will be a bit more than that, miss," the clerk said.  "This 
will be a 'no sale fee' auction."

"Why should I have to pay a sale fee?" Tracy asked, befuddled.

"You don't," Lucy said.  "That's just to keep the reserve status, 
but you don't have to pay that until the day of the auction."  
She looked at the clerk.  "Are you trying to cheat us?"

Picking up on Lucy's cue, Tracy pounced.  "If you're trying to 
cheat me, maybe I should go elsewhere...or perhaps I should 
report you."

"No need for that, miss," the clerk said.  "As the lady observed, 
we can deal with that later."

He spread several completed forms on the desk top.  "Now, if you 
and the lad would be so kind as to sign these papers...."

Tracy and John signed, Lucy witnessed, and, in less than 30 
seconds, Tracy's faux slavery was notarized and stamped. 

"So...do I own her?" John asked, his voice trembling.

"Down, son," the clerk said, laughing.  "You have a right of 
registration, which allows you to put her up for auction," 
he explained.  "She will be a slave for the next few days, 
for all intents and purposes, and will be put up for sale 
the same as the rest, but her slavery will be reversible, at 
least until she acquires an owner, and the sale is final."

"Which will never happen," Tracy added, shooting Lucy a fierce 
look.  "You know, maybe we should make it £3 million."

"Too late for that now," the clerk said. "The papers have been 
signed and sealed.  We need to get you outside, young lady, 
with the other...uh...the other young ladies."

Tracy, John, and Lucy followed the clerk outside.  As Lucy and John 
watched, the clerk directed Tracy into a fenced-in area where she 
joined two dozen other women destined to be processed into the 
slave market.  Some were young and pretty, some older, but all 
looked scared out of their wits, a condition that did little to 
alleviate Tracy's growing sense of dread.

She winced slightly at the click of the padlock as the gate locked 
behind her.  She stuck her fingers through the mesh of the chain 
link fence forming her kennel, and she nervously eyed the mass of 
barb wire over her head.  But John's attention was already focused 
opposite, at the exit leading to the first stage of Tracy's 
"processing."

He watched, mouth agape, as a dozen women of varied skin colors 
stripped themselves entirely naked, put their clothes and other 
possessions into cardboard boxes, and scampered into a large, 
open-air shower.

"They can wash goats and pigs there, too, when they're not washing 
slaves," Lucy observed coolly.  "You want to get the girls clean 
before they're marked, to lower the risk of infection."

"Marked?" John asked, certain that he had heard wrong.

"Yes, marked, with a branding iron," Lucy said matter-of-factly.  
"It's part of Identification Assurance.  They stencil the girl's 
registration number on her inside lower lip, like you would with 
a puppy.  Branding is included, to the owner's specification.  You 
can put a symbol on her backside, or your initials, if you prefer.  
Any preference, John?"

John looked past the showers to the branding barn, where a dozen 
irons were already resting in the huge, smoking brazier.

"You mean they're really going to brand her?" John asked.

"Oh, yes...however you want," Lucy said.  "Your call, entirely.  
Of course, they could just tattoo your initials on, but that's 
more work and is one of those 'extras' that Tracy didn't want 
to pay for.  I think we should respect her wishes, don't you?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess so," John said.

"Quite right.  Now we should pick out a brand, so it's ready when 
she gets out of the shower.  It's like pulling off a bandaid...it's 
easier if you do it fast, without a lot of discussion."

"But I can't believe they're really going to brand her."

"She must think it's worth it," Lucy said.  "After all, why else 
would she sign up for Identity Assurance?  It's not like Tracy's 
the sort of girl who wouldn't research everything.  A right Clever 
Clara, she is."

		******************************

Part 2 

John and Lucy strolled over to the branding barn.  John was 
reluctant to mark Tracy's "perfect" bottom, but, after some 
prodding, he agreed to have his initials -- "JC" -- branded 
in cursive script between Tracy's bottom cheeks.  The mark 
would thus be visible whenever she bent over and touched her 
toes.

"Not to worry!" Lucy said brightly.  "They will put some salve on 
it.  It'll make it hurt worse, but help it heal faster.  And, if I 
don't miss my guess, little Tracy's brand will get a lot of fresh 
air, because she's going to be spending much of the preview period 
bent over, with her bottom cheeks spread."

"I don't understand, miss," he said, confused.  "What will Tracy be 
previewing?"

Lucy laughed.  "Oh, no, John.  In auction lingo 'preview' refers to 
the period where the prospective bidders get to literally 'feel the 
goods.'  I'll take you over later, when she's on display, and let 
you, too, get a 'feel' for the situation."

By this time, Tracy had already failed to convince the man with the 
cattle prod that delousing her was "quite unnecessary," since she 
had bathed that morning, and the scent of her Coco Mademoiselle 
perfume would be far more alluring than the harsh disinfectants 
used to delouse the livestock.

		******************************

The auctioneer's assistant, a cruel thug of a man, responded by 
lifting up Tracy's chin with the prod and sneering, "A right proper 
English lady, are we?  Well, you're going to strip down butt-naked 
with the rest of 'em, and scrub down out there in the open, where 
the buyers can get a look."

It was true enough.  For, as Tracy undressed and put her belongings 
into a crate, she was acutely aware of the men on the other side of 
the fence, hooting and whistling as she and other girls performed 
their humiliating command performance strip tease.

By the time John and Lucy were ready to exit the barn, Tracy was 
down to her lacy pink bra and panties, stopping dead when she saw 
John gaping at her.

John was staring, stunned at his teacher's loveliness.  Lucy's 
attention, however, was focused on Tracy's purse, which was 
resting comfortably in the crude property box that now held 
her jewelry and most of her clothes.

Lucy reflected momentarily on the importance of the presence 
or absence of a lowly hyphen.  (A salutary lesson for the 
grammatically feeble.) 

Tracy had been told it was a "no sale fee auction," which she had 
interpreted to mean that "no sale-fee" needed to be paid.  Lucy 
knew it meant a "no-sale fee" that must be paid if an item on 
reserve -- in this case, Tracy -- was not sold ("no-sale") 
because the bidding didn't meet the outlandish reserve price 
that she had set on herself.

If the "no-sale" fee was not on file by the time the bidding was 
complete, the "reserve" auction would become an "absolute" auction, 
and the sale would be FINAL, whatever the price.

Lucy smiled.  The fee was only a pittance, but how would Tracy pay 
it when she was naked in the showroom, and her purse was boxed up, 
awaiting final disposal pending her sale?



Edited by C. Lakewood