Sold... (Closed to SalesGirlAnna and Tuomas)

[SalesGirlAnna]

Annabelle Morris was 29 years old, a very sucessfull business woman, and bored with her life.

Annabelle grew up in a Upper Middle Class family. She was an only child and her parents loved her very much. She was friends with just about everyone in school and very popular. She got very good grades in school and was able to get a full scolorship to Harvard. She graduated from the busness school when she was 22 and now 7 years later she was Vice President of Sales for a large mulit-national corporation. She had a great apartment, a great job, everything she could want... But, there was something missing...

She had a fetish that no one else knew about... She loved the BDSM lifestyle... she would read BDSM stories, look at videos and pictures just about every night when she got home. She dreamed of being someones sex slave... One night she was checking out the BDSM Message Boards and she saw an ad for club that wanted volunteers to be sold into sex slavery for rich people. She contacted the people who posted the ad, meet with the people and deiced that she wanted to spend the rest of her life as a sex slave.

In order to become a sex slave, she had to quit her job, break all of her ties to her old life, sold everything she owned, except for a couple of suits, and gave all of the money to the people. She had to give them the money because she had to pay for her own room and board. If the money ran out, before she was sold, she would then be sold at an auction, because it was too expensive to keep the slaves around.

When She became a slave, she was given her own private room with one wall that was plexigass so the potental buyers could see the slaves. The owners liked to show what the slaves use to be before they sold themselves into slavery, so every day she had to put on a business suit and walk around her room for potential buyers. She was very intelegent and was hoping her new master would value having a smart slave and not just a sex object.

Today she was wearing a blue blazer, a matching skirt that goes a bit past her knees, a white blouse, white stockings, 2" black Mary Jane pumps, pearl necklace and earrings. She had long red hair that reached down to the top of her butt that was in a French braid. She was 5' 7" 110lbs. 34B

 

[Tuomas]

Although his face remained completely expressionless, Damian couldn't help voicing his thoughts in his own head: "¡Coño!" In times of stress or excitement he often reverted to his mother's language, though she'd never taught him words like that. She was prim and proper, from a long aristocratic heritage; unlike his father, a labourer from London's Docklands. Four hundred years Spain and Britain had fought bloody wars and betrayals, and here was Damian, conceived of such an unholy union: the rough physique, the brilliant azure eyes of his Albian father; the dark hair and chiseled features of his Castillian mother.

At thirty two, he was quiet and unassuming. "A boca cerrada no caen moscas", his mother had told him; but he preferred the, albeit, more American, "Speak softly and carry a big stick." Being good at business, especially one like export, meant being good at handling information, and selling it at the best price. Which is why he loved doing business with grandiose, self-absorbed, know-it-alls.

So his face remained deadpan as he walked slowly along the plexiglass windows, glancing into their interiors. He held his hands behind his back, like a bored man on a country walk. His suit hung about him lazily, conveying he hadn't bothered to take it off after work. Other patrons bumped passed him, and he was ignored by the harried ushers.

Not that he blamed them; there were certainly quite a lot of people here, mostly men of course, gazing lustfully at the women behind the plastic barriers. Most of them couldn't afford the treasures there, but came to gaze anyway; it was a good show. The possibility of owning a slave was so enticing to people. Damian Holmes de la Peña's mind whirred, a long habit that he hardly noticed any more. There was an entrance fee, how many stalls? How many visitors per hour, per day... the overhead was negligible. This place was turning in quite a profit, despite the select clientele. The recession clearly hadn't stifled people's libido's, although probably there were more lookers and less buyers.

But, what was such a calculating, emotionless man doing in such a place? He despised those who bought for buying's sake; and a slave certainly wasn't something you could show off to society for prestige, like a car or a mansion. He stopped a couple of feet away from a window, staring at the girl beyond, as she pressed herself lasciviously against pane, trying to entice the man standing in front of her. He was practically drooling; though he tried to strike a nonchalant pose, his hands in his pockets, Damian could clearly see he was stroking a bugle in his pants. He felt sorry for the girl; the man's jacket was one season out of fashion, his shoes showed wear around the heel and his hair was fresh-cut. Probably a financial executive, laid off a year ago and spending some of his last savings to come here to recapture a sense of his old rich self. He wouldn't be buying.

That was just what brought Damian here. Oh, yes, he was enticed and even aroused by some of the girls. But the play between them and the buyers; how men treated those to whom they owed no accountability; the drive behind the slaves. That fascinated him, even aroused him. Not that he wanted sex; that was easy to buy. No, he wanted the woman. Unfortunately, too many of the slaves here came for sex, like the woman performing for the man surreptitiously masturbating in the hallway.

Disappointed he turned away, and glanced into the room next to him. And stopped. Although the furnishings were the same in each room, somehow this woman's pose made this look like an office. An efficient business environment, were things got done. He stared at her long red hair, and a sudden vision of it flowing free over coverlets, chafed by passion rushed through his mind. He understood the man behind him a little more. He raised his hand, sort of a silly greeting. He'd never bought a slave before, never even showed interest. He looked around, but the salesmen weren't around. He looked up at the sign over the room, and then down at the woman.

"Annabelle," he said.

 

[SalesGirlAnna]

Annabelle sat in her room. She had been there for a few weeks now. And, no one was intrested in her, she was starting to get worried. She knew that if she wasn't sold in a few more days her money would be gone and then she'd have to be sold at auction. She didn't want to be sold like that.

As she sat there, she looked up and saw a man, wearing a nice suit, he waved at her. She put her best smile on and walked up to the glass wall of her room.

 

[Tuomas]

Damian watched as the woman approached. She was beautiful, but he didn't particularly care about that. It was the smile. So many women who got into business thought they had to act like men to be successful. To a degree, they did; but so often they ended up sacrificing their own selves for a social ideal. He didn't know a single thing about her, but that must be the allure. Like the elusive meaning of art, a woman's beauty was her mystery. And her smile was announcing a very strong mystery.

When Annabelle was close by, Damian realized she musn't have heard him, or she would probably have said something. He glanced around, was there a communicator, a notice board? He had to know more about the woman.

"You," he said, grabbing a passing salesman by the shoulder and turning him towards the plexiglass. "I'm interested in her. How do I get her details?"

The usher looked up at him sceptically; Damian had been there a few times before, and the workers had come to accept he wouldn't buy. "You make a deposit, and you can have her in one of the show rooms." He pointed at the end of the hall, then didn't manage to hide the surprise when Damian produced his credit card. "Errr, right, I'll have her come along right away, sir." The potential for a commission changed his attitude. "Can I get you something while you wait, a cup of coffee or-"

But Damian was already striding away. The room was fairly simple and to the point. Almost like in a car dealership. An armchair facing a short piano bench, at table, two chairs. Pen and paper, and a coffee table placed next to the armchair. The bench or stool was placed just far enough from the chair to make whoever sitting on it raise their voice to be heard. A subtle psychological trick to make whoever sat there feel ... inspected.

The showman came back with the card, receipt and a broad smile. Damian checked that a percentage had already been deducted from his account for "tips". If he was going to be tipping someone, he'd bloody well get some food, so ordered a cup of coffee while he waited. Why did the salesman insist on a glass of champagne?

 

[SalesGirlAnna]

One of the handlers brought Annabelle into the show room. She smiled when she saw it was the man who was looking at her earlier. She sat down on the bench and crossed her legs, "Hello, I'm Annabelle..."

 

[Tuomas]

Very professional, mused Damian. He looked her up and down, taking in her hair, face, shoulders, and stopped when he got to the legs poking from under her skirt. He didn't want those visions crowding his mind.

"Hello, Annabelle," he said. He always preferred to listen rather than talk. He continued dryly, "I'm thinking of purchasing you." He paused a second to register her reaction and continued. "I'm not particularly interested in a sex slave, though seeing you are such an attractive women, we'll have sex often. I'm interested in you as a thinking person. Essentially, I want to break you down and find out what makes you tick. Especially the high-powered executive you used to be." Seeing the way she sat, his suspicions about her corporate origins were clear in her crossed legs and uninviting stance. "I want an intelligent, diligent, but most importantly, caring and generous woman. Do you think you will be able to satisfy me?"

 

[SalesGirlAnna]

Annabelle listened as he explaned what he wanted in a sex slave. And it sounded good to her, she wouldn't be just a sex slave but he wanted her for her mind too and that made her smile, "Oh yes, Sir. I will defantly be able to satisfy what you are looking for. As, I'm sure you know I graduated from Harvard. I was Vice President of Sales for my company. And, I get along with everyone. I knew just about every person under me in the Sales department and their familes. and I donated quite a bit of money to different charities over the years."

 

[Tuomas]

Quite a résumé, thought Damian. Of course, that she felt the need to recite her titles showed a certain lack of self-confidence, but he would have plenty of time to psychoanalyze her later.

"Harvard, eh?" he commented, "I took a diploma course at the Kennedy School. I always liked Cambridge, though I prefer the original." He mused a second, tapping a finger absently on the chair arm. "Excellent. You have solid intellectual credentials." How did one actually go about buying here? Was it like a restaurant and you asked for a waiter? He was just about to rise and find someone when a much more senior, but remarkably similar, usher/salesman, whatever it was these people who had the slaves on sale were called, bustled in. Damian caught a distinct whiff of a used-cars salesman, or maybe it was a political candidate.

The man was just under Damian's height, with a neat cut beard, and wore one of those suits that pretended to be more expensive than it was.

"Mr, de la Peña!" the man announced himself, offering an effusive handshake, "a pleasure to meet, you. I'm Jerry, Jerry Hall and I'm here to help you with anything you need."

He checked my credit card, thought Damian. "It's Holmes, actually." He hated having to correct the anglophones with his name. "So, I'm interested. What can you tell me about this one." Annabelle, he thought. We'll have to change that.

The bearded man beamed. He was probably a little older than Damian. "It's a good thing you asked. You couldn't have picked a better slave in the whole place." Jerry strode to stand next to the woman, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Why, if I were to buy something here, she would be my first choice. She's really obedient, knows how to please and is as sexy as hell. She can do all kinds of things in bed, can't you, darling?" He smiled down at her, for the benefit of the customer, but his eyes were icy.

 

[SalesGirlAnna]

Annabelle turned her head when she saw the door open and saw Mr. Hall walked in. She didn't like him, he creeped her out. She had a good feeling that if she wasn't sold soon. He would end up buying her at the auction for his own personal collection. A shutter when through her body at that thought.

Annabelle looked up at Mr. Hall, as he campaiged for her to Damian, "Oh yes, Sir. I can do just about anything you want... But, I should let you know that I'm not really into any sort of S & M. That stuff doesn't turn me on. But I'm up for just about anything else."

 

[Tuomas]

Something possessive welled up in Damian when Jerry put his hand on Annabelle; he didn't like the man, and he didn't like him touching his things. And that he hadn't even bought her yet. He addressed the woman.

"I don't like pain; we feel pain to tell us that something's wrong. I don't want to buy something and find out that it's wrong."

Before Annabelle could answer, Jerry cut in, "Wow, that's deep. You'll certainly appreciate a smart woman like this. Tell you what," he stepped closer to Damian and lowered his voice conspiratorially, "I like you, and she's perfect for a smart guy like you. So, I'll shave off a couple thousand dollars, just for you."

Damian looked at the man with a new light: creepy, but he did know how to stroke a man's ego. The salesman draped his arm over the potential client. "Isn't she lovely?" he mused. Damian, on the other hand, was having second thoughts. It wasn't the girl; it was Jerry's sales pitch. He was clearly playing to his customer's ego, and Holmes was worried that maybe after all this time, his own sense of self-worth was betraying him. Was he doing this, having someone to order around, just to feel good about himself? Nah, he thought. If that were the case, he wouldn't care she was smart.

Jerry Hall, sensed the hesitation in his client, but his experience told him it was for another reason. "Hey," he interjected, "why don't you have a little demonstration, hunh? I know you'll buy her anyway, so why not a free look under the hood, eh?" To Annabelle he said much more aggressively, "Take off your top, let him have a look at your tits."

Damian narrowed his eyes at the salesman, and was about to say no. Then changed his mind; he was a businessman after all. He cranked up a hesitant expression and plastered it thickly on his face.

"Well, OK, but she's not really getting me off, you know?" He affected a languid drawl in his voice, going for the playboy air that must be common in places like this. A purposeful gleam appeared in Jerry's eyes, and he rounded on Annabelle, "you'd better show your new master some more of you; you wouldn't want to disappoint him!" His eyes flashed "auction" towards her.

 

[SalesGirlAnna]

Annabelle was willing to do anything to get away from Jerry. He was nothing more than a used woman salesman. So she nodded at Jerry, she stood up and slowly unbuttoned her blazer, revealing her white blouse. Once it was off she set it on the stool. Moments later, her blouse joined it and her bra soon after. She sood there topless, arms at her side, showing him her 34B Breasts and quarter-sized nipples.

 

[Tuomas]

Damian continued to gaze. She really was quite attractive. Wouldn't this pesky man get his hand off his shoulder, already?

"Nice, hunh?" effused Jerry. "All natural, too." At the lack of responsiveness from the client, Jerry turned back to the woman. "Come here, show my friend what you've got to offer."

 

[SalesGirlAnna]

Annabelle walked over to Damian to let her feel her breasts. She looked at Damian in the eyes as if she were pleading to him, "Please, sir... Buy me... take me away from this man..."

 

[Tuomas]

Instinctively, Damian's hands rose and took the woman's breast in his hand. Yes, quite lovely, he mused to himself, and he massaged it lightly in his hand. But, take me away from this man? Damian glanced at the salesman.

"Hehe," Jerry said. "Wonderful tits, eh?" He was probably itching to have a go at them himself. The sadistic side of Damian welled up a second and he turned back to the girl.

"Well, you are doing an excellent job selling yourself, a credit to your title." Then he dropped her breast. "What about the rest of you? How would you sell the rest of your body?" He was acutely aware of Jerry breathing rather heavily nearby. Good.

 

[SalesGirlAnna]

Annabelle bit her lip as she reached down and unfastend the small buckles of her shoes. She slipped them off and then unzipped her skirt. She slid it down her legs revealing her garter belt, bikini cut panties, and white stockings. She removed the garterbelt and stockings, making sure not to get a run in the stockings. Then she slid the panties down her legs to reveal the patch of red pussy hair just above her pussy lips.