Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 I tried to find out what had happened to her.  By the time I reached Miami
I already had her personal details, contact details and more.  Her name was
Halla Pulika Wright.  Only recently graduated from a doctoral degree in
African American History, she was rated as one of the rising stars in the
so-called Equality Movement, radical abolitionists who were trying to gain
traction in Washington.  This Negress herself had presented one of her
position papers before congress already as well as presenting to groups
such as the NAACP and NOW.  It was about time the uppity bitch was brought
down a peg or two and the more I read the more I hoped she had been
captured by a rogue slave trader.  Of course, that would make her
enslavement illegal and her buyer would have to be careful, but it would be
worth it to break her.

   When I reached my Miami office I began to reach out to my contacts. 
Over the next three hours I talked to other slavers, regular and elite
customers, even my friends in government and law.  Bafflingly, nobody
seemed to have heard anything.  Then, at 4:45, already on the verge of
running late for the auction, I called the offices of Judge Warren Handley,
one of the foremost "quick trial" judges in the state and was simply told
that her fate would be made public at 6:30pm.  I smiled at that as it told
me all I wanted to know.  As part of wooing the South back to the fold, an
amendment had been passed that meant criminal blacks in the South could be
processed and turned into slaves just as soon as a white jury could be
called to find them guilty.  Of course, it wasn't phrased that way, laws
never are, but that was the effect.  It's constitutionality had been
challenged, but never successfully.  Now it wasn't unheard of for a black
who committed a crime to be enslaved within three days.  It could only be
that the Negress had committed some offence and the date of her trial would
be announced as a special news bulletin at 6:30 given the high profile
nature of the situation.  Since that coincided with the end of the auction
I had no doubt it would be shown on the jumbotron that magnified the action
on the auction room stage.  It would be a delightful end to the afternoon.

   It was 5:20 when I finally made it to John Meredith's Slave Market and
Auction House for the evening sale.  Meredith's main auction hall was a
large building, more akin to an opera house than any normal market hall. 
Slaves were brought forward on the stage to be displayed and everything
that happened was displayed, magnified many times over, on the jumbotron,
the giant television display screen hanging over the stage.  Out in the
audience, each seat was fitted with bidding control buttons so people could
place silent bids, though it was not at all unheard of for popular lots
especially to have bidders yell out what they had bid and heckle one
another, giving an atmosphere not entirely unlike a sporting arena.  It was
always fun to watch slaves respond to such treatment.  I was already twenty
minutes late for the start and for most the doors were barred.  However,
given I had long since bought a private booth at Meredith's, I was allowed
in and quietly made my way to the private seating.

   The other thing being late meant was that I had not so far had a chance
to assess the lots on sale.  I looked over the auction brochure to see what
lots were coming up.  So far, I had missed only standard slave lots: a
small group of Negro labourers, three individual prostitutes, a jezebel of
just 16, fully trained and ready to be owned, and more.  There were about
four other lots of American-ancestry slaves to be sold, including the twin
sisters currently being exhibited on stage.  Then, at the back of the book,
were five special lots - African-ancestry slaves.  Officially it meant that
as long as records had been kept the slaves had not resulted from a white
person breeding with a slave.  Unofficially, that was because they had
recently illegally been imported from Africa.

   The North Atlantic slave trade had long been all but killed off by the
British and French, but there were still a few men and women willing to
face the dangers of the route in order to bring a little truly dark meat to
the country.  The Royal Navy and Royal Air Force kept a tight reign on the
trade, but those few slaves who managed to slip through the net brought all
involved great wealth.  The auction houses bought them for over a hundred
thousand.  They were always bought by traders such as I who could train
them without destroying their history and fetched hundreds of thousands at
auction.  Then we sold them on, once trained, to elite collectors for
millions.  It was these lots I had come for.

   My eyes perused the document, slowly digesting the information contained
within.  There were three of the five African lots that interested me.  The
first was a young woman whose pictures showed a certain defiance in her
posture.  At a guess she had been born high in one of the tribes over there
and "African Princess" was a label that always attracted a lot of
attention. The next was a mandingo, a buck Negro with a cock that fully fit
the description of blacks being hugely built.  Once he was trained to serve
a mistress, he would be a prize.  The last was a vision of beauty who was
weeping on every shot in her description.  It said she was a virgin, but
that I could not know.  However, she did have the look of innocence
betrayed and if I could get her to keep that through training I'd make a
lot of money off her.  The rest of the lots, American or African, I was
uninterested in.

   By the time the first African Ancestry auction arrived I had more
properly assessed my opposition.  Four of the private boxes were occupied
tonight, including mine.  Martha Feingold of Executive Possessions was in
the building, which was bad news as her company dealt exclusively with
special trades such as the African ones.  The Kingston twins, Clive and
Carlton, were also present.  They were less of a concern to me as they had
been heavily bidding on the American Ancestry lots, although I suspected
their strong ties to the porn industry would make both the Mandingo and the
shy girl tempting purchases.  Finally, Robert Wilson of Wilson and
Hardcastle's Slave Training School was present.  It was rare for the Texas
boys to travel all the way over here and I wondered just what had attracted
one of them.  I guessed I would soon find out.  Down below, the lesser
traders were either settling in to watch we more profitable companies do
battle or were slowly wending their way out of the auditorium to assess
their fortunes from the day.

   Suddenly the auctioneer's gavel banging on lectern before him announced
the next lot.  The first to be brought on stage was the tall, athletic,
proud looking woman I had thought may be a tribal princess.  She was bound
with a chain between her feet and her arms secured behind her back and just
as naked as any other slave brought for sale at the auction house.  Yet
despite her stride being slightly limited by the shackles she was still
able to walk proudly, all but outpacing her jailers.  She walked to the
front and centre of the stage and looked out over the audience.  Her legs
were parted as much as much as the chain would allow and she thrust her
breasts forward more than her bindings forced her to do.  Then, before the
auctioneer could speak she herself addressed the audience.

   "I know your American ways," she said.  "For now I am slave and there
are just a few ways to escape that fate.  Fighting is not one so I will
obey any command given by any master or mistress I am sold to.  I am 25
years old.  I am no a virgin but my husband in Africa was never unhappy
with my skills.  I know oral and normal sex but do not know anal but I will
not fight an owner on that."

   For a moment she curled her lips back and bared her teeth, magnified on
the jumbotron.  I wondered why she would snarl until she spoke again.

   "As you can see I have good teeth.  I am healthy and fit and I have
birthed one child already so I am fertile.  Buy me!"

   The audience erupted into laughter.  I had to admit, I had never seen a
performance like it before.  She was trying to make herself appealing.  She
was also right that there were only a few routes out of slavery, well,
aside from death.  One involved a person enslaved for a crime having their
charge overturned, which not only never happened but also was inapplicable.
The rest were based on the owner deciding to free the slave, either to be
their wife or husband or due to a growing respect and friendship.  Such
things occurred, though they were very rare, and evidently this woman not
only knew of it but was banking on it.

   This was no tribal princess.  For her to have so detailed a knowledge of
our laws she must be a woman from an African city or even an educated
woman. Unfortunately for her, the very things she was doing to make herself
more saleable only made her look less authentically "African." A huge part
of the draw in an African slave was "taming the wild beast," breaking an
African of his or her traditions and teaching them to be a good American
slave.  This would be largely denied to her master or mistress unless she
could first be taught to fake being a tribeswoman.

   "Yes, well," said the auctioneer.  "Shall we start the bidding at
$200,000 for such a beautiful and skilled slave?"

   "Wait a moment," called out Clive Kingston, his voice broadcast over the
speaker system as with any interruption from the private boxes.  "We hear
she has these skills, but she hasn't proven it!  You know we ain't just
gonna believe it, Mike!"

   The auctioneer grinned.  "You are of course right, Mr.  Hardcastle," he
said as he drew down the zip on his fly and fished out his cock, a cock
most of us had seen used to test slaves many times already.  "Since you're
so keen to boast, girl, get over here and show these good folks you know
how to suck cock."

   She surprised us all by saying, "Yes, master," and immediately walking
over to drop to her knees before the man.  She looked up at him with a
well-faked expression of devotion, her lips parted just slightly as if she
was panting in lust.  Her hand reached for the flaccid but still good-sized
cock before her and her fingers enfolded its length.  She slowly began to
work her hand up and down, continuing to gaze into his eyes as she licked
her lips.  If it was not for her African accent she would have seemed for
all the world like an American bred porn star.  Her lips moved seductively
closer to the auctioneer's shaft until the warm breath on its glans aroused
him to full erection, then she reached out with her tongue and teased the
tip along his cock's eye and around its head.

   The auctioneer made no attempt to guide her, instead seeing exactly what
she would do if left to work out the best way of pleasing him herself.  She
leaned forwards and drew the head of his cock into her mouth, sucking it's
swollen end eagerly as she ran her hand up and down the shaft a moment
later her head ducked lower, moving inch by inch till her face was buried
in his fly.  She took her free hand and reached to cup his balls, gently
squeezing them as she sucked her way back up his length.  From the crowd
various whoops and hollers and lascivious insults showed how entertaining
she was being, but if she was embarrassed or ashamed she didn't let it show
as she began to move on him with a steady rhythm.

   After a few minutes it became obvious to those who knew him that The
auctioneer was nearing climax.  Suddenly Clive Kingston called out again.

   "So how is she, Mike?" He asked.

   The auctioneer pushed the woman away from his cock and tucked himself
away, pulling up his zip with difficulty.  "Mostly eager," he said.  "She
can deep-throat but can't hold my cock there and you saw how little
attention she paid to my balls.  Her master will find her a willing student
but still have plenty of reason to beat her for being too stupid to give a
good blow job."

   Before him, the woman gasped.  She was slumped on the floor where he had
shoved her and looked distressed that even her best oral work wouldn't save
her.  Of course, we knew he was bluffing.  If Clive hadn't interrupted then
we'd have witnessed how well she swallowed cum too.

   "Ok, ladies and gentlemen, we have a unique opportunity here.  This
little Jezebel is an educated African bitch eager to please but lacking
skill.  Just think of the fun a good white master can have beating that
uppity teaching from her poor nappy head and beating her into shape as his
sex toy.  Let's start the bidding at 250,000."

   There was silence around the hall.  Lacking what were assumed to be
African traits there would be a vastly reduced client base for her resale.
I could think of one or two people who would actually enjoy thrashing her
till she learned to be a proper Negress and then further to reshape her as
a slave, but I certainly wasn't willing to pay a large amount for her since
I was relatively certain there'd be no competition.

   "Let's say $200,000 then."

   Again there was silence.  I savoured the feeling of knowing I was going
to win an African slave for a small bid."

   "150,000?"

   "I'll give you $100,000, Mike," I said.

   "I'd barely clear a profit at that!" he objected.

   "Look around, Mike," I said.  "Nobody else is bidding.  You bought a
dud."

   "Fine," he said.  "We'll start the bidding at $100,000."

   There was no response.  Nobody else was willing to bid on this slave. 
From what I'd seen it was what I expected.  This would be cheap.

   "I think you mean we'll end the bidding there, Mike," I said.

   He looked crestfallen.  This was his business, and while he was not
losing money on this sale, or at least not much if any, he would not be
profiting either.  I'd made similar mistakes in the past myself,
overestimating the value of individual slaves.  It was a mistake to learn
from, and one that was likely to repeat at times throughout any lengthy
career dealing with the slave trade.  Then again, he made plenty of a
profit from other sales, so I hardly felt sorry for him.

   He looked about the salesroom out of those of us who were willing and
able to bid on the expensive, illegal African slaves.  "Anybody?" He paused
before deciding to relent.  "Fine, sold to Mr Jonathan Matheson for
$100,000."

   I beamed broadly at my purchase.  I wasn't entirely sure what I would do
with her but a cheap African was still a cheap African.  There would be
someone who wanted her.  Besides, I could have fun moulding her first. 
Sometimes you had to be willing to work slave into the raw material you
usually worked with before then turning her or him into the finished
product you wanted to sell.

   I paid little attention to the next two sales.  It was the two lots I
had no interest in.  What it did show me was that there would be limited
competition for the final two slaves I wanted.  It seemed the other major
buyers were not interested in bidding so much today.  That, of course,
worked to my advantage.  I sat and waited as another African slave was
brought out.

   The fourth of the African lots was the male, a large man well over six
feet tall and with a beautifully muscular frame.  It was not unknown for
slaves to be led out in chains sufficient to hobble them.  Some refused to
accept their place on the action block, even when led there by a man
holding a cattle prod and knowing full-well there was no chance of escape.
It was rare to see someone trussed like this man though.  His arms were
bound behind him in bondage sleeves that secured his whole lower arms
together.  His legs were secured with a chain that gave him no more than
two feet of movement.  Even his mouth was held open with a Jennings gag as
if he might try biting someone when all other means of attack were denied
him.  It looked so overdone that many might have assumed it was just an
attempt to play on his imposing size.  Yet As I had studied the days
auction news I had learned that in the pens he had actually managed to
injure a guard and so it was obvious to me this was no deception.  Even
now, closely guarded and aware of the pain that could be inflicted on him
at will, his eyes had a look of simmering rage.  He was obviously capable
of controlling himself, but if he chose not to then he was dangerous.  And
therein lay his value.

   The auctioneer gave him an appraising, admiring look as the man was made
to stand before him, then addressed the audience.  "You've all heard what
happened with this brute earlier," he said.  "If any of you have the
slightest concern about your ability to tame a savage like this then please
remain out of the bidding.  However, for those few, those skilled and
patient few who can form him into the slave he was born to be imagine the
future payback on your investment.  This beast, once trained, would be the
ideal Mandingo slave for any woman.  Even focussing on their typical use
you can see that even limp his cock is bigger than many when hard, but take
him out on the streets and she would have an animal protecting her that
could rip any hound apart barehanded.  Nobody would dare touch a lady
walking this fine creature behind her.  So, let's open the bidding at..."

   "$300,000," I said before he could even name an opening price.

   "310,"

   "350."

   "380."

   "$400,000."

   The bidding was brisk, although the increments rapidly went down.  By
$500,000, there were only me and Martha Feingold still bidding and by
$645,000, I secure my second slave.  I smiled, content that although today
was turning out expensive I would net a great profit when it was time to
sell.

   Finally, was the young Jezebel.  She was led on stage almost entirely
unshackled, the man guiding her with a cattle prod quite sufficient to
ensure good behaviour.  She was obviously young, at a guess barely over 16
or 17.  She was short, and in fact very beautiful.  She had a head of
tightly kinky "African" hair and her hips and breasts looked made for
bearing and raising children, future generations of slaves for her eventual
owner.  She was already completed cowed, crying profusely as she staggered
across the stage towards the auctioneer.  I doubt there was a man in the
room without an erection.

   "And here," said the auctioneer, "Is a slave any man would profit from
owning!  Such innocence ready for defiling.  Think about how she could
serve her master, as his personal Jezebel as well as breeding stock for his
slaves.  We can promise you, this one is untouched.  She even has her
hymen..  For that reason, we will be unable to use our stage to demonstrate
her skills.  Of course, being innocent she has no skills yet.  That, my
friends, is for you to teach and what fun you will have doing so, yes?  Who
will start the bidding at $300,000?"

   Wilson immediately open the bidding, Feingold took it took $400,000, and
one of the Kingstons took it for 450.  I sat back, knowing this was going
to be relatively expensive.  Even young slaves from Africa were rarely so
innocent.  Yes, some cried, but this girl was terrified beyond measure. 
She held her hand out pleading for mercy, surely knowing there would be no.
She was a picture of erotic horror.  Soon, the bidding was $570,000. 
Wilson was the last to bid and as the auctioneer looked for further updates
I finally entered at $600,000.

   "Getting greedy?" asked Wilson.

   "Just good business purchases, my friend," I replied.

   "620," said Wilson.

   "630," I said

   "640."

   "650," I said, quite prepared to go higher.

   There was a pause as Wilson considered whether to continue.  The
auctioneer called for final bids.  I held my breath and waited.

   "No," said Wilson.  "Too rich for my blood for this one.  I guess I'm
done for the day."

   After looking around and calling for final bids once more, the
auctioneer brought down his gavel signalling that I had won my third slave.
I was pleased, very pleased.  It had proven to be a highly productive day.
No doubt the others would also be happy with their purchases, but I had
secured the best.  I looked forward to beginning work on them, especially
the Mandingo.  He was going to be tough, but in the end well worth it.

   "Well, ladies and gentlemen," said the auctioneer.  "It's 6;30 and that
brings us to the end of the scheduled lots for today.  However, we have one
more special addition to the schedule."

   A cry suddenly rose from just off stage.  "Let me go, you bastards!  You
can't do this to me!  I'm a free citizen of the aaaaarrrgghhhh!!!"

   I knew at once everyone was holding their breath just as much as I was.
That voice...  Unmistakable.  Suddenly I knew what had happened to the
Negress who had been protesting against the slave trade.  Here she was,
about to be sold at auction.  I wondered how they had achieved it.  What
had happened, and how had she ended up here.  She was pushed onto the
stage, two of the auction guards holding her shoulders.  She had ropes
tightly binding her arms behind her back and wrapped around her breasts. 
They would hold her effectively, but they were arranged in a way so as to
be erotic rather than just restrictive.  She was screaming, snarling,
cursing.  When she was brought to stand before the auctioneer, he hold his
arm back and slapped her as hard as he could across the cheek.  The blow
was enough to split her lip and draw blood, but for the man holding her she
would have crashed to the floor.  That stunned her to silence.

   "You all know this bitch," he said.  "This is Halla Pulika Wright,
formerly a free woman of the North now brought down to the level where she
belongs.  She came to the county today and was arrested by one of our
sheriffs following a serious traffic violation where she sped up to 200
miles an hour along the freeway and rammed a cruiser.  She has already
stood trial, and been converted to a slave.  Now who will open the bidding
on this whore at..."

   "$500,000," my voice was barely a whisper and the auctioneer could
hardly hear it as a cut his statement dead.

   "$600,000," Said Wilson.

   "$700,000.

   "$800,000," said Wilson again.

   It was going to be between the two of us.  This, I suddenly realised,
was the whole reason the Texan was here.  He knew she was going to be sold,
which meant he had to know about her arrest long before it even happened to
know to journey from Texas.  The whole arrest then had been a farce.  She
had been set up to be taken and paid the ultimate price for her arrogance.
I grinned at the thought of how much work must have gone into capturing the
sexy Negress before us.  I didn't care how much I spent.  As I looked at
her I knew I had to have her.  I wasn't even interested in selling her on.
There it was just something about taking one of the foremost voices of the
antislavery movement and making her serve me in every way possible.  She
was mine, and no rival would get in my way.

   "$1 million," I said.

   The auction hall was deadly silent, everyone watching the battle between
Wilson and I.

   "$1,100,000," said Wilson.

   $"1,200,000," I said staring daggers at him.

   "$1,500,000," he said.  He was grinning like a madman, enjoying
challenging.  Still, he was rich, but not in my league.

   "$2 million," I said.  No slave had ever been sold at auction for such a
price.  I was prepared to go higher.

   "$2,500,000," he said.

   I looked at him.  He might go even higher, but the more he went on the
angrier his own business partner would be.  I was going to take a major
loss here, but any ridiculous amount I bid would be something I would have
to answer to nobody else about.  For all his pride and determination, I
knew Wilson would be reaching his limits.  Still, there was no need to push
it further.

   "Mr Wilson," I said.  "We could do this all day, and bankrupt one
another.  It's only us two interested in this bitch.  Let me propose a
deal. I am going to bid $2,600,000 to beat your last bid.  If you are
willing to do the gentlemanly thing and back out I will give you the other
three slaves I just purchased free of charge."

   That was an offer nobody could have expected.  It was also an offer
Wilson couldn't refuse.  I could see he wanted to push me further, but the
sheer business sense of what I was offering stopped him.  I could see his
mind working as he struggled to speak, conflicting drives making it
difficult.  Finally, he relented.

   "$2,600,000 and three prime slaves, Matheson?" He said.  "Well, that's
has to be the most stupid bid in history, but I can't deny the merits of it
from my perspective.  You have a deal."

   I placed the bid.  The auctioneer looked around, knowing that nobody
would outbid $2.6 million for one slave.  A moment later, the gavel came
down and I owned a woman I'd been obsessing about all day.  I couldn't
breathe.  I wanted her more than I ever wanted another woman in my life. 
Even as she stood there knowing what the future held she looked proud,
arrogant, defiant.  It was all I could do not to run down and fuck her
right on the stage.  That might have been legal, but it would have lacked
finesse.

   Slowly, time returned to the world.  I felt my breath begin again and my
heart pounding in my chest.  I would have her taken to my limousine.  There
was no way I was going to wait to get home to use her.  She was going to
begin learning her place within the hour.