Thursday, 1 February 2007

Slaves, Some More...

It is something intriguing about the fantasy of being a slave, being someone's property. In my romantic mind I tend to think about strange exotic places for my slavery. I am captured in some remote and fantastic place and there to be enslaved. It is a warm place so there is nothing strange in that I am kept naked or only scantily clad most of the time. And the sensation of degradation is overwhelming. Especially when you are sold.


The public auction of slaves is common in my fantasy and often have I stepped out on the platform, the stage, only to be sold to the highest bidder. A great crowd has gathered to enjoy the display and selling of the slaves. I walk out on the platform in front of that crowd who may see me and bid on me. It is a great stage and all eyes are on me. They can see all of me, how I move, how I breathe and how scared I am. I am already naked or maybe the seller strips me, there on the stage, in front of everyone. Then they can see every tiny movement of my body, every breath I take, every shiver in my frame.


Still I am vain, still I want them to like me, to find me exquisite, beautiful, attractive and lovely. I want to be sold for a high price, showing that I am, indeed, valuable. Nothing of the money that is paid for me is given to me. I am given nothing. I am only property and I can't own anything. I have been taken, my freedom stolen and my captors get the money from their theft. Still my vanity wants me to be a valuable slave.


My emotions are mixed as I stand there, naked, on the platform, the crowd bidding for to own my body, my person. I am humiliated, ashamed and scared, but at the same time there is a stirring within me, a tingling in my body that tells me about the other kind of sensations that threaten to overwhelm me. I want them to look at me, I want them to desire me and I want them to overwhelm me.


That is the essence of my slave fantasy.


5 comments:

sideriteguy said...

I would like to see you write more about this topic. There is a long history of slavery and you could set your stories from ancient times, the middle ages to the present. You could be sold by the Romans, to a sultan, or abducted by aliens and sold into intergalactic slavery

Adding the slave’s point of view to a slavery story would be very interesting. I bet other readers would enjoy it too.

JohnA said...

I am as intrigued by this fantasy as you are. I particularly enjoyed your vanity while being displayed and your wish for a high bid to own you. Perhaps you deserve a high price, not only because of your beauty, but because it has been stipulated that you are to be punished by your new master.

Janice said...

Thank you both for your nice comments. I am sure I will return to the slave theme again. I am pleased that you liked my take on it. In fact I have written the beginning of a long story about a slave girl. Maybe I should put it in my blog.

janice

Simon Kade said...

I love that thought of the girl's feelings on the stage. Mortified, frightened...yet a portion of the vanity she enjoyed when she was free surfacing. Despite the hopelessness of her situation she views the other girls for sale and wonders if her wares will be the most desired.

Great post.

manorlord said...

Here is another story-template we share.

But of course I am the buyer, slightly bored, browsing the torchlit stalls.

There, on the dais, you stand. I look into your eyes, and you look straight back, your eyes widening a little. Is thiws an invitation, or even an appraisal? I take it for a challenge.

The bidding is spirited. The merchant bids you lean down, so that your small breasts show to best advantage. He turns you, still leaning over. Perhaps because you are too slow (but you are not, of course), perhaps for fun or because he sees an evil glint in my eye, he cuts you sharply with a switch. I see your eyes water, an adorable sight, one I would see at my pleasure, in private...

So of course I pay what I must. The sum is considerable. As I take possession, I whisper, hot breath in your ear, that you had beter be worth it worth every golden eagle I paid for you. I accuse you of being a witch. In truth, like all sirens, you are magic.

Will your magic work on me? Will you even choose to exercise it? For you know that I will never admit that you are worth the price, and I will extract the payment in many, many ways, in secret, and at leisure...