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Sold! By Cassandra Morgan Beauty fades. Colors wash away. Passion ebbs. It is but a matter of time. Dreams die. Energy fades. Skies darken. You get used to life, until that which was exciting becomes routine. It is even so for those of us who refuse to live ordinary lives. There was a time when dressing like a maid was all that mattered in my world, when cleaning and cooking were highlights to my day. There was a time when the sound of my Mistress' raised voice thrilled me and frightened me and put my soul on edge. And now, it's Tuesday. Tomorrow, it will be Wednesday. And so forth. No one anticipates getting older, more settled. No one thinks that yesterday's kink will become today's reality. I no longer get a thrill out of my submissiveness to iron Mistress' clothes; I do it because, well, she needs her damned clothes. I do it because it's my job. I wear a uniform because it is my place to wear a uniform. It is no longer for the sexual thrill of dressing up. It's drab and it ordinary. Life was like that, too. We never went to dinner anymore. Or to a movie, even. I worked, and she saw friends of her social standing. She told me what to do, and I did it. Oh, for the longest time, it was magic. Mistress Ginger and I married in college, filled with love and lust and curiosity and energy and exploration. We could not keep our hands off each other. We had sex on our second date, and on our third. On our fourth, we broke a bed slat, and as we lie there on the lopsided mattress laughing, I fell in love. Ginger and Bobby had become a couple. For years, that was enough. Then came the playtime years. We thought we were the only couple who ever experimented. We had extra partners. We tried bondage. We even did pony play. But, at heart, we were just rubes playing roles. None of it really became part of us. Until we saw the sissies dance. It was at Flavor's, an alternative nightclub on the North side of Cincinnati. We had stopped in, and they were everywhere. Sissies. In pink and yellow and peach and lavender and white and polka dots. They were dancing, and they were singing, and they were, well, flouncing. At once, it was funny and erotic and hypnotizing. They were like tropical birds in flight, soft and sweet and tantalizing. "Damn," Ginger said. "Yes," I said. "Damn." "They're pretty," Ginger said. "They're silly," I said. "Yes," she said. "Aren't they?" And she rubbed my forearm. Oh, you know what happened. The usual. Ginger went from touching me to dragging her panties across my penis to telling me how pretty I could be if I would become her sissy. And I resisted, because guys are supposed to resist, but soon enough, I was wearing panties and a bra. From there, it was just a matter of time until I was one of the sissies dancing, shaking her ass at the Mistresses and Masters in the room. At first, it was Friday night. Then it was the weekend. Then it was whenever I was home. When Allied Industries closed its IT department, I became a full-time maid. It was a constant hard-on, if you want to know the truth. If I were to die tomorrow, those precious first steps when I was becoming a sissy for Mistress Ginger would be the most precious of my life. Learning about femininity, about submissiveness, doused a fire that was burning in my soul. I didn't ease into the pool; I jumped in. I let the water envelop me. I reveled when our friends expressed shock or outrage. I was in deep. I was in for life. And, yes, that's what it became. I'm sure straight couples run out of things to talk about. I'm sure sex becomes occasional, and great nights turn into merely good ones. Life has a way of taking the rises out of our Roller-Coasters. We didn't plan to get set in our ways. We just did. The late nights of smoking weed and listening to rock and roll became background music and an early dinner. The extra people we invited into the bedroom turned out to be cable repairmen who were here to fix the television. Steak and champagne dinners became pizza and Diet Dr. Pepper. It wasn't bad. It was just life. Maybe that's why, on one particular morning, when Ginger entered the kitchen and I poured her coffee, we merely grunted in each other's direction. "Morning, Mistress Ginger," I said. "Morning, Bonnie," Mistress said. "Sleep okay?" "Not really. Cramp in my leg." "Well, you always wanted to have cramps." "No, Mistress," I said, picking up an old argument. "I said I'd suffer cramps if I got to be a real woman." "The Reds won,? Mistress said. ?Finally.? ?I don?t keep. up with football,? I said. ?It?s baseball, ninny,? Mistress said. ?Oh. That?s the sport where they kiss their bats?? ?They don?t kiss them, Bonnie,? Mistress said. ?They use them to hit the ball.? ?Sounds painful.? ?You?re funny. Now, Bonnie. What do you have to do today?? ?Same old shit,? I said. ?It?s laundry day. I need to get to the store. We?re out of milk. I thought I?d buy pork chops.? ?Can you drop some clothes at the cleaner's?? she asked. ?Of course I can. What?s with you today.? ?Oh we have to get ready for the Anderson trial. And I?m having lunch with Margie if I have time.? ?That sounds like fun. Going to Rubino?s?? ?Yeah.? ?Have a shrimp for me.? ?I will. I?ve got to run, Bonnie. Can you straighten out the fridge if you get time? I think we have some cheese there from last month.? ?Eww. I?ll get it.? She went to work. I went to work, too. It all felt like yesterday. * * That night, I came back from my errands with my arms loaded with packages. I looked over, and Mistress Ginger was reading the newspaper and sipping a light beer. I was a little downcast that she didn't help with the groceries. ?Good evening, Mistress,? I said. ?Oh. You?re home. Hi, Bonnie,? she said. She went back to reading. I was going to ask her about her lunch with Margie, but she had her nose in the business section, so I just started to put things away. She sipped her beer. I started dinner. Burgers would be fast, I thought. I should grill them. She put down her paper. ?Nice dress,? Mistress said. ?You look good in blue.? ?Thank you, ma?am,? I said. ?How long now, Bonnie?? ?Seven years ma?am,? I said. ?And seven years before that.? ?Damn. Time for seven year two itches.? ?You?ve scratched plenty,? I said. ?With all kinds of partners.? ?Ah, yes. The good old days. Back when we were frisky. You liked to watch, remember.? ?I remember.? ?You liked to play, too. The guys always loved their sissy boy. You were a pincushion in the early days.? I blushed. ?Well, it was exciting.? ?Would you like to get some of that excitement back, Bonnie?? ?How? The bars? A fetish club?? ?I was reading something over the weekend.? ?What were you reading, Mistress?? ?Okay. It?s just an idea. Don?t freak.? ?Mistress. You?re in charge. We?ll do what you want to do.? ?You sure?? ?Come on. Tell me.? She exhaled. She looked me in the eye. ?I want to sell you,? she said. * * ?Sell me? Sell me? Like I was a sack of potatoes? Like I was a used car?? ?I knew you?d freak.? ?Freak? Of course I?m going to freak. You want to sell me like a fucking slave.? ?Well, kind of. But it usually isn?t permanent.? ?What?? ?Well, as I understand it, it works like this. You start the bidding for your slave for $1500 for the weekend. Or $2500 for a week. Or $10,000 for a month. Hell, if some rich boy takes a liking to you, you can double that.? ?Jesus, Ginger.? ?That?s Mistress Ginger. Don?t make me spank? ?I thought Lincoln ended slavery.? ?Yeah, but not kinky slavery. Some owners sell their slaves for $100,000 for a year. They even have a $1,000,000 price tag that?s forever, but I?ve never heard of anyone paying a million.? ?You cannot be serious. I?m not going to be sold. I?ll run away.? ?Right. Like in Uncle Tom?s Cabin. And then we set the dogs out to retrieve our property. It could be fun.? ?It sounds horrible.? ?You want the know the funny thing? The slave doesn?t get to know how long she?s being sold for. No one tells her. So in her mind, she could be with her new owner for a weekend, or for a year, or for the rest of her life. Can you imagine the mental torture that would be?? I could. ?How can you even think of this? Mistress?? ?Because we?re so fucking vanilla I could retch. I thought about taking one of your fingers, but that seemed a little harsh.? ?My fingers?? ?Well, you are my slave.? ?You keep saying that. I?m your maid. I?m not your slave.? ?You say potato, I say Tater Tots,? Mistress said. ?Then just put me in fucking shackles. Make me work in the fields. I?ll sing Old Man River.? ?We don?t have fields,? ?That?s not the point. You don?t own me.? ?Leslie Gore said that.? ?What? Who?? ?The old girl singer. Leslie Gore. She sang ?It?s My Party,? too. So you can cry if you want to.? ?This is absurd. Talk to me when you?re making sense.? ?Bonnie, Bonnie, Bonnie,? Mistress Ginger said. ?Tell you what. Try it once. I?ll say you?re for sale for the weekend only. See how you like it.? ?Men would buy me? Like I was a hooker?? ?Well, rent you. Maybe men. Maybe women. You never know. But it?s not like you?re a hooker. Hookers don?t clean. They don?t obey every whim. They don?t belong to you. To me, baby, it?s a way to up the ante in this dominant-submissive relationship. You?d have to believe I?d bring you home. You have to trust me. And there is the whole sex angle.? ?Sex?? ?Well, an owner isn?t going to pay that much money and not taste the souffl?, you know. But you?ve given blowjobs before. And you don?t have cherries falling out of your ass.? ?But that?s human trafficking. That?s prostitution. That?s criminal.? ?And that?s the rush for us. You ever drive 85? That?s against the law. You ever throw trash on the street? That?s against the law. Ever run a yellow light? Ever fire up a joint? Ever drink and drive? Honey, we break laws all the time. ? ?Mistress, please no. I?ll wear my cage if you want. I?ll wear my butt plug. You can peg me. Just don?t make me a slave.? ?I think you have a bad attitude about being in shackles,? she said. ?I may have to put some on you before I put you up for sale. I looked at her, dumbfounded that she would say that. A bad attitude about being in shackles? A slave? An owner? Shit. I was going to be marked down. * * * Off all the debates in the history of humanity, a sissy has never out- argued a determined Mistress. I didn?t win the debate between Mistress Ginger and I. When we were first married, I wanted a Camaro, and she wanted a Jeep. We bought the Jeep. I wanted to live near the UC campus; she wanted to live on the North Side. We lived on the North Side. Mistress Ginger always got her way. From putting me into dresses, to getting my hormone pills, to buying my chastity belt, Ginger could out- debate a senator. I had no chance. And so it, two Saturdays later, I stood in the restroom of the Hyatt Regency with 8-9 others like me. Some wore little girls? princess dresses. Two wore wedding dresses. A few of us, myself included, wore maid?s uniforms. One sissy wore a pink bikini. The Auction was about to begin. I was going to be sold. Every fiber of my being thought this was wrong. I had been a good sissy for Mistress Ginger, and a good husband before that. How she could put me on a block, and let strangers bid for the right to fuck me in the ass, was beyond belief. ?Damn, you??re a fine looking slave,? Mistress Ginger fussed over me. ?Sally Hemings had nothing on you. You?re going to fetch a pretty price no matter how long you?re sold for.? ?Ma?am? I thought you were going to limit it to a weekend.? ?Well, don?t worry your pretty little head about it. You?ll probably go for a weekend. But if it?s longer, that means the buyer is richer. You?ll be happy either way.? ?But what if they sell me forever?? ?Then I?ll be a millionaire! Won?t that be great?? ?Mistress...I?m your husband.? ?Yeah, some people in Hollywood collect those. I?m sure I?ll find another one. Hell, I might sell him, too. Now put out your hands.? I extended them, and I was shocked when she put a pair of handcuffs on them. Heavy iron. Big handcuffs. ?These are mainly for affect, Bonnie,? Mrs. Ginger said. ?We know you won?t run. You remember what happened to Kunta Kinte?? ?Ma?am?? ?They cut his foot off. Don?t make me do that to you, bitch.? I lowered my eyes. ?No, ma?am,? I said. ?Now, let?s put your collar on and attach your leash. Do I need a leg shackle for you, Bonnie? Do you promise to be good.? ?Where could I go, ma?am?? Tears were filling my eyes. ?Oh, don?t blubber. You know we were heading toward divorce as it was. This way, we both get a little excitement, and we both get new lovers, and one of us gets money in the bank. What could be better?? She tugged on my collar. She led me out to a stage, where I stood at the left end beside the other girls. They were giggling and talking. I smelled alcohol. Some of these bimbos seem to think they were playing a game. I stood there in my pink maid?s uniform and pink heels. My hair cascaded to my shoulders. A man stopped in front of me and ran his thumb over my teeth. ?Can she clean?? he asked Mistress Ginger. ?She?s Mrs. Clean,? Mistress said. The man laughed. ?Is she dick broke?? ?Yes. She?s completely bisexual.? ?Fuck that. I want to know if she?ll blow me. I don?t care if she?s with women.? Mistress nodded. The man reached out and squeezed my left breast. It had been real for years now. I winced as he squeezed. ?How is she on spankings?? ?She?s compliant. I haven?t beaten her that much.? ?Why the hell not? She?s a fucking slave.? ?My fault. I?m a softie.? ?Not me. She?ll learn to fear the name of Wayne Hightower.? I looked at him. I was scared already. * * * A man in a tux read the rules. There was a minimum price for a weekend, or a week, or a month, or however long an owner wanted to keep a slave. If someone agreed to $2500 for a weekend, then the bidding began. If anyone wanted her more than that, he could raise the stakes. I was on the left side of the stage, a chain running through each set of handcuffs. It was mainly for show, I thought. There was an eroticism to the image of slave girls in front of the bidders. A girl named Mary Anne went first. A black man in the back raised his placard for the opening bid. I knew him by sight. He was Donnell Woodson, a defensive back for the Bengals. Even celebrities had found their way to our group. Mary Anne turned and wiggled her ass. Dumb bitch. She was acting as if she was at the strip club, and the customers were throwing dollar bills into the air. To her, this was a show. Someone raised the bid. Someone else re-raised. We were the sissies, so we never got to know the total or the time allotted. It was dehumanizing. We were chattel, worth no more than a cow at auction. When one of us was sold, we were led away from their Masters or their Mistresses, sometimes crying and screaming while they were busy accepted congratulations. They were making money. Big money. And we were walking toward a darkened future where no one knew what awaited them. Finally, I stood alone on the stage, my lips drawn tight. I glared toward Mistress Ginger, who blew me a kiss. The crowd tittered. ?Okay, our last bid of the night is this fine wench. She?s a little older than some of the girls you?ve seen before now, but she makes up for it with her secret sex techniques. What?s the old line? She could suck paint off of a car fender. She could suck a golf ball through a garden hose. She has had all her shots, and she has a valid passport if any of you visitors to our country want to take her home.? The crowd was slow to react. Wayne Hightower shook his head and walked away. Finally, a fat guy raised his card. I had made the minimum. A gray haired man raised his placard. Then an Asian man. There were several more bids, and I was led away. I didn?t see Mistress Ginger. I was led backstage. The gray-haired man was waiting. ?Hello,? he said. ?I?m Lawrence Riggins. It seems I?m your new owner.? ?No one can own another human being.? ?Tell me about it while you?re wearing those handcuffs, girlie. You?re mine. If you don?t want to be beaten, you?ll be good.? A large man with a hard face grabbed my collar. He never spoke. He never smiled. And I nearly wet myself as I looked at him. ?This is Serge,? Mr. Riggins said. ?Serge will be your bodyguard. If you run, he will hurt you.? ?I...I won?t run,? I said. ?Don?t even want to try him? He isn?t so tough. There was one guy in the KGB who could beat him in a fair fight. But Serge isn?t always fair.? I lowered my eyes. ?Now, I think we should go home. I took one of those blue pills earlier, and it, um, has my attention. Serge, if you?ll get the van?? Serge looked at me. Then he disappeared. ?I?m afraid my townhouse is a mess, Bonnie,? Mr. Riggins said. ?I really will need you to b. a maid for me. Then...well, we?ll see how those pills work, won?t we?? I glared at him. He tugged on my leash and led me down a dark corridor. Outside, there was a white child-snatcher van. Serge threw me in the back. ?Time to go home, Bonnie.? I lay there, scared, alone. Is this what slavery was like? Would I be beaten? Starved? Raped??? And would Mistress Ginger even care? * * When I got out of the van, and entered his townhouse, he shoved me toward the living room. I slumped onto the floor, next to the couch, and cowered there. ?Are you afraid of me, maid Bonnie?? he asked. He turned to Serge. ?She is afraid of me, the sissy.? ?She has a right to be afraid,? Serge said in a broken accent. ?She doesn?t know us. She doesn?t know where she is or if she will return. We are dangerous men, are we not?? ?I have the death sentence in 12 systems,? Mr. Riggins said. He saw the fear in my eyes. ?It is a line from Star Wars. Forgive me,? he said. ?Are you going to hurt me?? ?Maybe. When it goes into your ass, it might sting.? ?What? Oh. I see.? ?But first, you will straighten up, yes? When men live together, there is food on the walls. You will clean it, and then we will make with the sex. Is that acceptable?? I nodded. ?You?re ...the owner,? I said. ?Yes, I am. You will be my good pet, will you not? You will come when I call?? ?If you wish it, Master.? ?Oh, Master. I like that, Serge. Don?t you think she is cute?? ?Yes. She is older than the girl you had last week. Of course, that wasn?t quite a girl, either.? Mr. Riggins smiled at me. ?I like the ladyboys,? he said. ?They are more feminine, I think. They work harder at it. If you spend time in Asia, you develop a taste for them.? I stood. I exhaled. And I began to pick ups the newspapers around the apartment. I emptied the ash trays. ?Do you have a vacuum cleaner?? I asked. Serge opened the hall closet. There was a vacuum inside. I calmed down as I cleaned. Serge sounded Russian. Mr. Riggins was, what, British? They had a dangerous air about them, but they had been kind to me. I decided not to bring up the way they carried themselves and just do my job as normal. I was cleaning the kitchen when I felt Mr. Riggins behind me. He reached down and kissed me lightly on the shoulder. I stopped cleaning. He ran his hands over my sides. He turned me and kissed me on the lips. I had known this was coming, of course. A man doesn?t pay big money for a maid and not expect favors. But Mr. Riggins lips were soft, and his chest was hard. ?What do you Americans call oral sex?? he asked. ?A glow job?? ?A blow job,? I grinned. ?Should I show you.? I sank to my knees. He owned me. I couldn?t quite wrap my head around that. But he was a sweet man. I liked him. And, once he was in my mouth, I liked him a lot. It had been years since I had been with a man, but I guess my dick technology was still up to date. I used a lot of tongue, and I kissed it like it contained his soul. With many men, the dick does. It is a wonder of nature, a hard-soft, sweet-tart, tube of sperm, and I went after it as if I wanted Mistress Ginger to get her money?s worth. Afterward, we lay together, and he played with my ass. ?Give me a minute, Bonnie. I?m not as young as I once was.? ?Who is?? I asked. ?Serge,? he said. ?Serge never gets older.? ?Serge scares me,? I said. ?Do not let him. He is the most loyal soldier I ever have met. If I give you to him, he will protect you forever. He looks hard, but inside, he is soft.? ?You might give me to him?? ?Serge doesn?t admit it, but he is flesh and blood. He likes ladyboys, too.? ?Mr. Riggins, how long am I here?? ?You know I cannot divulge that. Just know that you are mine, and I will take care of you until you are back with your Mistress. If that day comes.? ?She doesn?t want me,? I said. ?She is a wise businesswoman,? Mr. Riggins said. ?Do not have a cold heart towards her.? ?You are hard again, Mr. Riggins. This is no time to talk about my former owner.? ?No It is time for you to bite the pillow, my slave.? ?Mr. Riggins? I?m happy you purchased me.? ?Me, too, my maid. Me too.? * * On Friday, we touched each other the way first-time lovers do. He was tender, and sweet. I would definitely like a weekend with him. On Saturday, he was more demanding. Hungry, eager. I liked that even better. A week would be good. On Sunday, he was familiar. We were beginning to know each others? bodies. I no longer felt like a prostitute with him. I felt like someone he cared about. A month would be about right. On Sunday evening, after we ate, he walked over and kissed my hand. ?What is the term in your football?? he asked. ?A Hand-on?? ?A hand-off?? ?Yes. I am going to hand you off, sweet lady.? ?I?m being sub-let?? ?No, my dear. But my body is older now, and weaker. And Serge seems enamored of you. I think you two should have an evening to get to know each other.? ?As you command, my Master.? ?No, cherie. Don?t think of me as your Master. Think of me as an aging man who wishes to share a jeweI with a trusted assistant. Serge is young where I am old. He is strong where I am weak.? ?But I?m yours.? ?Yes. You are, aren?t you? So will you do this?? ?If you tell me you want me to.? ?I wish it,? he said. ? We lay there naked, my legs in between his, his arms around me. At the moment, I didn?t care that I was his slave. * * The next night, I was wearing a long black dress from Mr. Riggins' collection (he kept them in the spare room). Room service had delivered dinner on a silver cart. Serge entered the room. He smiled. ?How are you, lady Bonnie?? he asked. ?I?m fine, Serge. You can leave your gun on the nightstand if you want.? ?You amuse me. You think I need a gun?? ?I think you carry one most of the time.? ?It is but a small thing,? he said. ?That way, I don?t have to stab anyone.? ?Wine?? ?I like blended whiskey. Crown Royal.? ?I?ve had that. It?s nice.? ?Then drink with me.? We talked quietly over dinner. About how Mr. Riggins had saved his life when he worked for the KGB. About how he had come to work for Mr. Riggins. About how no one was quite sure of Mr. Riggins' real first name. About how Serge had grown up in the cold north of Russia. About how he wanted to be a tennis player as a youth, but his shots were more accurate with a handgun. ?You?re a very scary man,? I said. ?Not for you,? he said. ?Do not be afraid of me.? He leaned in and kissed me then, the rough kiss of a man who lives by violence. ?Dinner can wait,? he said. He picked me up, and he carried me to the bed. He unzipped me, and I let my dress fall. He pulled off his shirt. There were scars on his back. There was one on his right bicep. There was a pucker mark on his shoulder. ?What is that?? I asked, touching the mark on his shoulder. ?Old bullet wound,? he said. ?James Bond shot me. As it turns out he only had a license to wound.? I giggled. I kissed his scar. He ran his hands through my hair, then pushed me downward. I was more than willing. I liked giving head. I could control a man for an hour as I gave him head, backing off, attacking, manipulating. Serge threw his head back. He muttered something in Russian under his breath. I swabbed the knob, as they say, and took the shaft deeply into my mouth. To tell you the truth, the sex was a little rougher than the sex with Mr. Riggins, but I didn?t mind. I like being manhandled. I like having my hair pulled gently, and having my man turn me when he thought I was ready to be pegged. He kissed my cock. I had never had that happen before, but it was a sweet indicator that he would do anything for me. As I would for him. It?s odd. Growing up, I heard monster stories about the Russians, and I saw movies where they were emotionless and cold. But Serge was a love bunny. He kept kissing my breasts. He kept fingering my ass. We lay together for several minutes after sex. Then he surprised me by leaving our bed. He pulled his boxers on, then his pants. ?Baby?? I said. ?What?s wrong?? ?It is time for you to go,? he said. ?I don?t want to go anywhere,? I said. ?Time for you to go back to your owner. Our time is up.? ?What if I want to stay?? ?It is impossible. There are signed contracts. On Monday morning, you are to be returned to Mistress Ginger.? ?She sold me, Serge. I want to be with you.? ?You must go,? he said. We dressed, me in my original maid?s uniform, and proceeded to the parking lot. The white van awaited. It got better gas mileage than I would have thought. * * ?Hello, maid,? Mistress Ginger greeted me over breakfast the next morning. ?How was slavery?? ?It .. it was better than I expected.? ?See. Your Mistress takes care of you, doesn?t she?? ?You didn?t, though. You had no idea who those men were, no idea if they would hurt me. You made me a prostitute.? ?And yet, you survived. Now make the damned breakfast before I get pissed.? She seemed...bigger, stronger, meaner. There was an indifference to Mistress Ginger before, but now there was a coldness. I felt as if I had lost status. I had gone from being her husband to her maid and now her slave. ?Are you ready for your next owner, Bonnie?? ?Next owner?? ?Surely, you didn?t think we?d stop after one sale, did you? There is money to be made, There is adventure to be enjoyed. You?ll get better at sex with guys, you?ll see. You?ll grow to enjoy being cuffed and collared.? ?Can we wait until the weekend?? ?I don?t think so They have another auction on Wednesday. You know, I made $3300 on you last time. Maybe I can get more this time. It?ll help pay for all those panties you go through.? I glared at her. She had changed. I was just a business deal to her now. ?You?re got two days, Bonnie. You should get the laundry done before you go.? Two days later, we were back at the Hyatt. Once again, I was handcuffed on the stage while some...used car salesman... tried to jack up the bidding once it was my turn. There were only four girls this week. The other three seemed drugged out of their gourds. ?She gives the best head in seven states,? he said. ?She has her own boobs! You won?t regret it.? A man in overalls raised his placard. The price was met. Then a black man in a blue suit. Then a man in a uniform ? a pilot I think. Then a. young man who could have been a actor or a singer in a band. And then she was bidding. A woman? Really? Most of the bidders in these places had been men. But a willowy brunette with her hair pulled back severely was bidding, and the men seemed to fade into the background. I was hers. Who knew for how long? Ginger looked at me as she collected her fees. She shook her head. The woman walked up to me. ?Hello,? she said. ?My name is Mistress Daisy. Nice to own you.? ?Yes ma?am,? I said. ?Do you think you?ve gotten off easy, slave?? she said. ?I assure you, you have not. I always return my slaves with a scar or two.? ?Ma?am?? ?You said that. Now stop your jabbering and follow me. I?m in the black Lincoln.? I followed her through the lobby as heads turned. I got into the back seat of her car, and I rode in silence, looking at the night. We drove through a gated community and into a circular driveway. She parked the car, and then she opened the back door. I got out and looked at the massive house. There would be a lot for me to clean here. I followed her through the door. The house was impressive on the inside, too. I gawked at my surroundings. ?Your room is downstairs, by the laundry,? Mistress Daisy said. ?I will have some cheese and a glass of wine before retiring. Move now, slave.? I scurried to the kitchen. I looked in her refrigerator. There was an open bottle of Merlot. There was a hunk of Stilton cheese. I put them on a plate and rushed back to her. ?Who said I wanted Merlot?? she said, shaking her head. ?And I prefer brie instead of that foul Stilton. That?ll be three whacks. You might as well get used to it.? Three whacks? She didn?t tell me what cheese to get, or what wine, I was supposed to read the mind of a stranger? ?Bonnie, I?m a strict Mistress,? she said. ?But I?ll make you sharp. You?ll be a better maid after your time with me.? ?And how much time is that, Mistress Daisy?? ?Ah, that?s the key question, isn?t it? And I?m not saying. It could be a month. It could be a year. Hell, it could be a lifetime. You should be happy. Your old Mistress just saw you as cash on the barrel. You were a prize dog to her. Nothing more.? I lowered my eyes. I knew that much of what Mistress Daisy was saying about Mistress Ginger was true. But I had married her. I had recited vows. I had to believe that somewhere deep inside, she still cared for me. Didn?t she? Yes, Mistress Daisy spanked me that night. It was light, and it was brief. But it was the mental aspect of being punished that affected me. ?You will learn,? Mistress Daisy said. ?I will teach you to clean properly, to conduct yourself like a proper servant. I?m very good at training.? I nodded. I felt helpless as I went to my room. It was small. And on the bed, there was the outfit of an Indian squaw. ?You?ll wear that,? Mistress Daisy said. ?You?re Pocahontas, I like to liven things up with my maids.? ?Yes, Ma?am.? ?Now, I want you to wear this plug in your rear and this cage on your front. I will control what you feel and how you feel it.? ?A plug, ma?am?? ?Oh, just wait until I stick my dildo in your booty, Bonnie. I like to peg my girls.? ?Oh.? ?You?ll get to like it. And you?ll get to like licking me. You sissy boys are the best at that.? She widened her legs. She nodded at me. I sank to the floor. I kissed her vagina. It was soaking wet. She pushed my face forward. It was okay. Frankly, I missed Serge, but a slave follows commands and, like it or not, I was her property. I licked upward into the dampness. She sighed. She laid back, and I had my dinner. It tasted a little like tuna. * * The next morning, I arose, and there in the chair in my room was the uniform of a flight attendant, little hat and all. Mrs. Daisy walked into my room as I was dressing. ?Fly me to the moon?? she said, giggling. ?Anywhere, my lady.? ?Bonnie, how long have you been submissive?? ?Seven years, ma?am. Seven years since Mistress Ginger turned me.? ?Hmm. Seven years ago, I was in college. I was an English major.? ?You seem to have made a lot of money, ma?am,? I said. ?Oh, that? That?s called being born into the right family. I was the only child of wealthy parents. It wasn?t like I earned it.? ?I see.? ?Oh, probably not. I like pushing people around, Bonnie. It?s called privilege. It breaks up the boredom. You know, like you sissy boys? She walked up to me. She cupped my ass. ?Bonnie? Would you like a vagina? I like vaginas.? ?I?m happy with my anatomy, ma?am,? I said. ?Well, let?s think about it. Just think of it: Your own pussy. You could drag a painted fingernail across it. You could let a cock inside of it. You?d be complete.? ?I?m fine, ma?am.? ?Fine. Keep your little dick if you want. See if you can find it when it's under lock and key. By the way, I?ve put some clothes out. Change for the afternoon, won?t you?? I walked over to my room. There on the bed was a Little Bo Peep outfit. I sighed. My new owner had a serious kink. And so it went. Sexually, she loved to peg me, or to have me lick her in front of the TV, or eating dinner, or taking a shower. Then she had me wear the uniforms: Supergirl, Scarlett O?Hara, a nurse. I lost track of time.Wednesday bled into Thursday, which morphed into Friday. It was clear I was hers for longer than a weekend. Saturday became Sunday, which turned into Monday. One morning, I woke, and Mistress Daisy was sitting on the edge of my bed. She had a scalpel, and she was nudging my penis with it, as if she was about to slice it off. Look, it?s little, and it?s shriveled, and there isn?t much need for the cage anymore. But it?s a part of me, a way I identify myself, and I didn?t want to lose it to a temporary owner. Mistress Daisy looked at me and smiled. ?Are you ready?? she said softly. ?Do you want a love tunnel?? ?Ma?am. Please. No.? ?It?ll be quick. There will be a little bleeding, but you?ll live. And you?ll be a woman.? ?Ma?am. Don?t.? ?I did my husband, you know,? she said, a faraway look in her eyes. ?The bastard bled to death. It was everything I could do to make it look like he did it himself.? ?Ma?am. I think I should go.? ?Tomorrow,? she said. ?My time is up tomorrow. You go back.? ?I do?? ?Yeah. Today is our last day of the week. I put out a dress for you.? ?Yes, ma?am.? I went to my room. There, on the bed, was a white wedding dress with a veil. ?See, Bonnie. I would marry you. Why don?t you become a woman for me?? ?Mistress Daisy, I already have a wife.? ?Does she let you lick her asshole?? ?Not...not always,? I said. ?Well, isn?t that a pile of shit?? Later that evening, Mistress Daisy took me to our farewell dinner. I was still wearing the Wedding Dress, and other customers kept toasting us and buying us drinks. It was a nice ending to an awful week. And then I looked across the room. And lifting his glass to me was Serge. * * My third owner was named Loren. He went by the name of Lauren. I couldn't figure out what Lauren wanted with me. He was flamboyantly gay, and he didn?t keep it a secret. There are macho guys who are gay, firefighters and cowboys and army soldiers. Then there is Lauren, who looked like the bastard son of Siegfried and Roy. He was born in a glitter palace, one assumed, and he never strayed far from home. But he bought me, and he took me home, and he pointed me toward the kitchen. Look, I had slept with men, too. I didn?t hold it against Lauren. If that?s what floated his boat, I was fine with it. And gay men needed their houses cleaned, too.I was glad to finally get to a point where I could follow my chosen occupation. So, in my red maid?s uniform, I began to tidy up. To tell the truth, it didn?t need a lot of tidying. He was a neat freak. ?Bonnie? Can we talk?? Lauren finally said. ?Of course we can, Lauren,? I said. ?I need some help,? he said. ?That?s why I bought you.? ?Help?? ?I need you to make me look like a woman.? I smiled. ?Why do you want to look like a woman?? I asked. ?I own a club. A trans club. I have different women dance for me, and well, I want to be one of them. Is that crazy?? ?Of course not, Lauren. You see what I wear.? ?I never have dressed in women?s clothing,? he said. ?Well, a couple of times, in my bedroom. But I never let anyone see me. I was scared. I?m effeminate enough without going all girlie.? ?Maybe you were meant to be all girlie,? I said. ?Do you think so? Would you help me?? ?I?ll be glad to, Lauren. I think you?d like it.? ?Oh, I know I would. When do we start?? ?How about now, Lauren? Why don?t you take a bath, and we?ll get you shaved, and then we?ll find some clothes for you.? ?Bonnie? I?m already shaved.? ?Well, isn't that precious? Then we start simple. Panties and bra. Do you own any?? ?My dancers do. I, uh, brought some stuff home.? ?Then let?s get started.? ?Bitch?? ?Excuse me?? ?Can you call me a bitch?? ?Um, sure, Lauren. Now get your fat ass into the panties, bitch.? ?Ooooh. Thank you, Bonnie.? It was a different stripe of ownership. Lauren was hiring me as a guide, as a mentor, to his own feminine desires. Hell, that worked. I had spent so much time being scared with my previous owners that being someone?s big sister appealed to me. I did Lauren?s makeup, and I put her in a long red gown that she had brought home with her. She squealed in delight. She kept turning, causing her skirt to sway against her legs. She was every 14-year old transvestite, in love with what she saw in the mirror and felt around her body. She was getting a late start, but she was committed to it already. We went to a trans bar that night, and we had fruity drinks and looked at gorgeous men. One in particular, Owen, kept dancing with Lauren, and I was sure he was going to follow her home. He didn?t, though. He left with another girl, Marie, and Lauren was crestfallen. But I asked her to dance, and she sort of fit in my arms. We clung to each other, swaying softly, and nothing seemed to matter but each other. ?Bonnie? Does your dick still work?? ?Not very often, Lauren,? I said. ?I could make it work?? She said. ?I?m sure you?d try,? I said. ?Bonnie. Do you have a dick in your nightstand?? I laughed. ?Maybe,? I said. She looked at me. She kissed me softly. ?I need someone,? she said. ?You need a shrink,? I said. ?Hey! I do own you, Bonnie. Behave!? ?Yes. Yes, you do.? ?Then we?re going to go home, and we?re going to put on our nightgowns, and we?re going to make love to each other. As your owner, I command it.? I smiled at her. I loved being ordered to do something I want to do anyway. We left the bar, walking hand in hand down a darkened street. I didn?t say anything, but I thought I recognized a white van parked there. And so we ended up in bed, rubbing our silk nightgowns against each other, caressing each other through our lingerie. Lauren twisted on the bed until our crotches were in front of each other?s faces. I stroked him gently. I kissed his panties. Then we were in a 69, loving, touching, feeling. ?Let?s take it slow,? I whispered. ?Slow, hell. I?ve only got a week!? Which is how I found out about my next length of duty. * * Mistress Ginger was making a lot of money off of me. It didn?t seem to making her happy. She sold me to a goofy looking teenager-looking brat from Malibu, California. He liked to show off his money ... and beat his maids with a belt. She sold me to a fat guy from Chicago who had his own personal maid, Sadie. He just wanted to see us play with each other. He sold me to a guy who called himself the Toy Master. He was into kink, from chastity belts to plugs to dildos to collars to shackles. He sold me to a pair of brothers from Reno. They went into things together...including their slaves. She sold me to a black woman from New York who was into water sports. She sold me to a football player from New York, who liked for both of us to dress in Jets? uniforms and fool around. And all during this activity, Mistress Ginger was short-tempered, terse. She snapped out her commands in biting tones. ?Is Mistress angry with me?? I finally asked. ?Why should I be angry? You?re sleeping with fools all over the country?? she said. ?Mistress, that isn?t my choice. You keep selling me.? ?Yeah? Well, I?m giving me away, so it?s only fair.? ?What do you, ma?am?? ?You know what I mean. I?m fucking Travis from the club. He has a real dick, and he likes to be on top like a real man.? ?You?re having an affair?? ?Well, I?m not getting as much as you are, slut-whore.? ?I...I can?t believe it.? ?Believe it, bitch. I need someone I can be seen with in public. Not someone I fucking own like she was a dog. Not a fucking domestic!? I was crying now. It was the kill shot, the one that drove me to my knees. I was willing to be subservient to her, but I expected to keep a bit of dignity from the deal. She obviously didn?t think she owed me that. ?Stop sniveling, sissy,? she snarled. ?It?s been a long time since we made each other happy. You work here. That? s all. I am the Mistress. I am your Goddess.? I stared at her. We had been together a long time. But there was a streak of cruelty in her that I did not recognize. Her power had brought out a degree of ruthlessness. I looked around. I saw the sofa, the television, the dining room table. They were all her possessions. Now, I was no different from any of them. I was her property, stamped and registered. There was no back, and there was no way out. For a moment, I thought about running. Just disappearing and showing up in a small town in nowhere. But I didn?t seriously consider it. I was afraid Mistress Ginger would find me. And, yes I was afraid she wouldn?t. Whatever value I still had was here. Yes, I would continue to be sold. And sometimes, the new owners were better than the old one. * * * His name was Abraham, and he didn?t take any prisoners. He was African, from Chad, a tall, gloomy sort of man with snake eyes. He had just bought me. Again, I had no idea of how long I belonged to him. ?You white sissies all like the black man,? he said, laughing. ?I like all men,? I said. ?You bought me, remember?? ?Silence,? he said, in a tone that suggested he was used to everyone obeying what ever he said. I was quiet. ?You like being a slave?? he finally asked me. ?Not particularly,? I said. ?There is a lack of control that is frightening. I hate being property.? ?I hate agreeing to pay big money,? he said. ?But I did.? ?So how did you get to the States?? I asked. ?Oh, I?m just visiting. I don't live here.? ?Oh. But they sold me to you?? ?Yes. You will be a fine addition to my harem.? ?Oh. Did you buy me long term.? ?I bought you permanently,? he said. ?You paid a million dollars?? ?Not quite,? he said. ?I agreed to pay a million dollars. But your Mistress Ginger will never see a dime of it.? ?You?re...not going to pay?? ?Of course not. I am Abraham. I claim you.? ?I...I don?t think that?s how it works.? ?It does now. You will come back to Chad with me, and you will be my slave. Tell me: do you like black dick?? I screamed. He laughed, and he nodded at one of the soldiers in the car. He reached around and put a handkerchief to my mouth. And the darkness came. * * I woke up in a strange room, feeling an oppressive heat. I shook the cobwebs from my eyes. ?Ah, you are awake,? a black woman named Tanique said. ?Welcome to N?Djamena.? ?What?? ?It is the capital of Chad. We are a poor country, the poorest of the poor, but our dignitaries can still buy slaves.? ?Please. Let me go.? ?Alas, we cannot. Abraham did not have the funds in the bank to pay for you. But you will not be worth the bothering. You are just a slave. They will forget you soon enough.? ?They won?t. Mistress Ginger will rescue me.? ?Yes. I once thought I would be rescued, too. But here I am. I, too, am a slave, sister. But I do not have a penis like you. You will be a treasure of the desert.? Shit. Shit, shit. I was away from home. No one knew me. I was a slave. I was in trouble. ?Come now. We must prepare you for your wedding. You will be the seventh wife of Abraham. That is a lucky number. You are most fortunate.? ?Don?t....don?t Muslims hate homosexuality?? ?Only on the surface. We have many men who who like boy-girls. Commoners face three years in prison. But who will check to see what sex Abraham?s new wife is? No one.? ?I?ll tell.? ?You will be beaten in the square. Abraham will tell everyone that you tricked him into marrying you. Most will believe him. He has six other wives, after all.? The curtain draped over the door opened. Abraham walked inside. Two soldiers walked alongside him. ?Hello, my bride,? Abraham said. ?Are you preparing for your wedding?? ?What do want? What will make you stop?? ?What I want is you, my princess. I want a white wife who is used to serving. I want a wife who will please me in the bedroom and work in the vineyards.? He grabbed me by the wrist. He forced me to my knees. He dropped his trousers. He stood in front of me, bold and proud, his penis inches from my face. ?Kiss my asp,? he said. I tried to pull away. He grabbed me by my neck. He slapped my face with his cock, left, right, left. It was. hard as it struck me. ?You will kiss it,? he said. And I did. Hell, what?s another penis on the highway of life? It was inevitable that I suck his cock, and so I did. I dragged my lips across the head, then licked the shaft. I fondled his balls, and I bobbed my head. Finally, I felt him come in my mouth. I stared at the floor. ?You will get me wine,? he said. ?Master,? Tanique said. ?We have no more wine.? ?What? Did this bitch drink my wine?? I felt something heavy hit my face. Then I felt his boots into my ribs. ?Never drink my wine,? he roared. Ah, I had not drunk his wine. But in his rage, he was searching for victims, and a lowly wife was convenient. I covered my head. I scrambled backward. He raised his massive fist ... ... and he fell over dead. His soldiers slumped to the floor, too. I looked at them, disbelieving. I looked at Tanique, who was looking at the doorway. A man stood there in silhouette. Serge! ?Come quickly, Bonita,? he said. ?We must, how you say, hit the trail?? I scrambled to my feet. He ducked out of the doorway. An battered old Jeep was parked outside. Serge climbed into the driver?s seat and pulled away toward the desert, curious eyes following him. He had always been there, he explained. He was there when Mistress Daisy had threatened me; he almost shot her before Mr. Riggins restrained him. He was there when I was with Lauren. And he was there when Abraham kidnapped me. We drove until we reached the Libyan border. From there, it was a quick jaunt to Morocco, and then we flew into Rome. ?What do you want?? Serge said. ?Excuse me?? ?WIth your life. What do you want?? ?I want...freedom,? I said. ?Above all, I want freedom.? ?Then I should not return you to Mistress Ginger. She will only sell you again. And again and again.? I nodded. ?I understand. Can you get a. message to her and tell her I?m okay?? ?It is not wise,? Serge said. ?Better to have been abducted by an evil man from Chad. Better to vanish into the air.? ?Serge...can I stay with you?? ?I would like that. I have a home in Berlin. We can stay there. No one will look for us there.? ?Serge. Thank you.? He looked at me and smiled. ?You are mine now,? he said. I laid my head on his shoulder. ?Yes,? I said. ?I belong to you.? Copyright (c) 2019 Cassandra Morgan