The Auction

It was a crude and arcane tradition.

And being that it was, the woman did not make a habit of visiting the square on days when the caravan came to town. She was enlightened, she was progressive. She did not partake in the barbaric rituals that the rest of the town still rejoiced in with such fervor.

"Cruel," she would whisper to those with similar sympathies to her. But such sympathies were hard to come by and precious few would indulge her protests. They came in droves, emptying houses, shops, and gathering places. Some came to gawk at the spectacle. Some came to stare and indulge the basest of human appetites. Some came to jeer. Some came to bid.

The woman peered out her second story window at the collective gathering below. She could see the square completely from this vantage point—the neatly detailed storefronts that framed a well manicured public lawn. She witnessed the caged horse-drawn cart pull away from the rest of the caravan and park next to a shoddily built platform centered upon the lawn. A weathered looking man descended from the driver's bench, a large ring of heavy metal keys raising a cacophonous and merciless alarm to the three figures sitting within the barred coach now sitting just feet from the platform.

Squinting, the woman was just able to make out the silhouettes of three shadowy figures—a woman and two men, all no older than their early twenties. As the driver stuck a key in to the rusty lock and swung the creaking door open wide, the light of the sun illuminated the detail of each of his captives.

The lone female was most unique in her shock of flame red hair, wild and unkempt, which spiraled out in tight curls from her head and gave the curious impression that flames were dancing off her skin. Her skin was ivory, speckled with orange freckles cast haphazardly across her bandy legs, arms, and chest. A pair of emerald eyes clashed dramatically with her orange visage, adding to a feral presence that was intimidating even though her wrists were shackled in chains. The only clothing she was afforded were the remnants of what must have once been a brilliant ivory dress. But now it lay draped across her body in tatters.

A tempestuous personality was quickly revealed to match her wild appearance, for when the driver beckoned her from the caged car to the platform, she immediately protested, shouting inaudible words his direction. The torn remnants of a once proud gown, which heretofore had been carefully arranged in a feeble attempt at modesty, were yanked to the side by the arch of her back as she squirmed about. Her breasts burst out in to full view of the gathering crowd. The woman instinctively clutched her own chest as she saw the woman now lewdly displayed before the eyes of a hundred strangers. The same freckled pattern spattered across a pair of small but perfectly round breasts that rose and fell dramatically with each heaving breath. Each was capped by a small but fiercely erect nipple, undoubtedly hardened by the bitter wind blowing in from the sea.

Her futile attempts at freeing herself were quickly brought to an end when the firm, unflinching grip of her captor seized the back of the neck and motioned for her to ascend the platform steps. What was it about this man, the woman wondered from her bedroom window, that could so instantly silence so fierce a personality with nothing but the grip of his palm? She surveyed him appraisingly. He was undoubtedly at least twice as old as any of those he held captive. Dressed in fitted black garments that let others appreciate the power of his physique. He had a neat frock of salt and pepper hair clipped short around a stern, foreboding face. Dark brows framed even darker eyes that set deep within a face that might have been chiseled from stone. He might have been handsome once. Perhaps he was still, but the woman would not let herself entertain such thoughts about a vile man.

Now, the lone female captive had been positioned at the center of the platform, and the bidding began. She watched as the jailer shouted and pointed at different places in the crowd. Somebody must have heckled a comment, for the jailer clapped his belly and laughed heartily in to the air, many in the crowd guffawing in harmony. The captive girl's demeanor had changed. The woman could tell she was doing her best to blank out the crowd. She stood looking beyond the masses to the horizon—her head held high, her back straight and her stomach sucked in sharply, her erect nipples pointing out, the subject of many mesmerized stares from the bidders.

The bidding was fierce, and her captor was pleased. He knew that broken pride and wounded vanity were strong aphrodisiacs to many of his most loyal customers, and the girl did not disappoint. Eventually the auction slowed, two deep pocketed townsmen matching each other stride for stride. The woman did best to block out the bidding, but it bore on her like a countdown, and she knew that precious few seconds remained before she would have to submit. And then, the time expired. A triumphant shout emerged from the crowd. Seconds later, the bidder and the captor exchanged a quick round, capped off by the sound of silver upon gold, and she was escorted to the eager arms of the winner.

And the impresario beckoned the first of the male captors forth. There was a quality of his countenance that bore strong similarity to the woman that preceded him. He was unmistakably proud as he strode to the platform, hands and legs shackled in heavy chains. Shirtless, well defined muscles rippled across his broad chest. Coarse hair grazed across the area between his nipples, down along his hard abdomen, disappearing beneath the waist of his breeches. He did not make any effort to free himself from his chains, but flexed his muscles defiantly before the crowd. A few audible gasps burst forth from the awestruck crowd.

The woman could not deny that she too was impressed by the sheer power of this man's aura. He would certainly fetch a princely sum at the auction as well, just as the girl had. But as she surveyed him, her eyes drifted to the third man, and instantly felt dumbfounded. Her eyes quickly ran up and down this last figure. He was trembling—it was almost imperceptible from such a distance, but she was certain she could make out the faint quivers that ran through his body as he stood at the base of the platform, bashfully waiting his turn. Unlike the man before him, he was blond and quite fair. His face was chiseled with sharps edges and bore a slightly hawkish expression, but it was softened by a gentleness, an unmistakably tender look to his eyes and his sorrowful frown. His body was also taut, but lean and projecting a graceful quality. His arms, toned and slender. His chest and stomach flat, with only the slightest traces of soft blond body hair. He was afforded only a modest loin cloth, barely hanging from his narrow hips, which did little to hide the penis that hung beneath it.

She soaked in the softness of his body, the delicate lines of his skinny figure, the gentle face.

It couldn't be, she told herself. It was impossible. And yet, the boy was so familiar. So much like her. So much like he who had departed so many years ago. Surely he's too old, she assured herself. And yet, as she continued to stare at the third captive, he couldn't be but twenty or twenty-one...the right age.

And then, in the briefest of glances, their eyes met. He saw her peering down at him from so many yards away. Their eyes locked, and in that gaze was all the evidence that she needed. It was him. She had given up hope so long ago that he would ever be found, ever be returned to her loving arms. But here he was, it had to be him. The woman turned instantly on her heel and raced down to the square.

By the time she arrived, the auction for the second captive had concluded, and the third captive was being led up to the auction platform. His thin frame slumped some from the weight of his shackles, and he looked to his sides in vain, hoping that some rescuer might materialize before him. He looked back up to the window that faced the square, to the woman with those familiar eyes, but she was nowhere to be seen. He heaved a great sad sigh, and felt the grip of the captor on his hip, urging him to face the crowd.

Emboldened by the meekishness of his posture, the crowd began to jeer. The woman surveyed the crowd and noticed the eager expressions on many of their faces. Apparently they too had noticed the intangible aura of sexuality that surrounded the third captive. The bidding had begun, quite competitively. Several of the gawkers, those who had come simply to stare but who never intended to actually bid, were now visibly rubbing themselves over their breeches. A few had gone so far as to expose themselves and freely masturbate as they watched the shivering, exposed figure stand before them. Such uncouth traditions, the woman thought.

"Let's see a little more of what we're bidding on! Looks like this one might be hiding something!" Somebody from the crowd had shouted, and with a laugh and a sinister wink, the jailer gripped the side of the captive's loin cloth, gave it a swift yank, and ripped it from his body. The woman let out an audible gasp, as did many of the other spectators. Despite her disapproval of the proceedings, the woman could not help but survey his body. A thick, heavy looking penis hung between his bandy legs. Examining it, the woman concluded that while large, it could not be huge...seven perhaps eight inches at most. And yet, it looked so disproportionate on his youthful frame that the effect was surprising. She watched his cock rise involuntarily in the brisk air—a smooth shaft with ever so slight a curve, a perfectly circumcised mushroom tip, and a thatch of soft blond pubic hair neatly surrounding the base. The resemblance in his cock was undeniable. Yes, it was him.

The bidding continued, and another shouted. "How's he trained, this one?" Many laughed at the question, but all were curious. The jailer returned their smiles and beckoned the second of the captors back on to the platform. He proudly obeyed, and upon returning to the center of the platform, the jailer yanked his breeches down with a quick yank. A huge, pulsing cock was revealed from beneath the fabric, rising from soft to fully erect in mere seconds upon exposure. With another quick jerk of his hand he had the third captive on his knees before the second. And without any further instruction, the smaller young man engulfed the penis in his mouth, sucking with trained skill and enthusiasm so well played that it was difficult to discern just how authentic it was. The crowd cheered as the smaller man gripped the cock expertly with each hand and continued to work the upper half with his mouth. Within one minute, the larger man gave a stern grunt, flexed his hips, and instantly began to spurt streams of thick white liquid across the smaller one's face, who merely submitted obediently to the semen covering his expression.

The woman's heart was fluttering so quickly that she failed to notice when the bidding resume, and was almost too late. But just when one particularly arrogant man thought that he had bested all comers, she called out a sum so high she knew no others would be able to match it. But it was worth every penny. At last he had returned. He needed to be rescued, and he was hers once more, as it always should have been.

Having paid the captor, she led him hand in hand back to her home, and for the duration of the short walk, they had not spoken. She had helped him to clean the semen from his face and hugged him warmly in greeting. She had even assisted him in replacing the loin cloth off his still throbbing, erect penis, with limited success. Though mostly covered, the cloth was simply too small to cover a full erection, and his circumcised tip still lewdly protruded from the top of the loin. He looked all too used to the minuscule adornment being his only attire.

In an awkward silence, she studied his expression. Did he even remember her? It had been so many years ago that they were departed. Was that a knowing in his thick, nearly impenetrable look? Her heart raced as she at last locked the door to her entry room behind them, and they stood, facing each other, appraising one another. The trauma of his capture must have left him hesitant to speak, for he seemed utterly unwilling to open his mouth. And she shed a tear for him—the humiliation, the torment that he must have endured. She longed to comfort him, to warm him, to take him away from the vileness he had been an unwilling participant in.

And simultaneously, despite her own pangs of guilt, another feeling welled up from within her—she was his. She had purchased him, and he knew what it meant to be owned. She was his—she could possess him in any way she wished. The thought enthralled her.

"You won't be needing this any longer, you're safe now" she whispered to him, and with her warm touch, she reached forward and tugged at his loin cloth gently. The flimsy fabric dropped to the floor instantly, and he stepped out of it, his thick, disproportionate cock still hard and flexing between his legs in front of her. He shuttered and twisted his legs inward in a coquettish manner, but made no effort to cover his penis. He knew his place. She reached forward and caressed the tip of his circumcised head, watching it flex involuntarily to her touch. The urge to comfort him was overwhelming, and she succumbed—she could not deny herself any longer.

With an equally deft flick of her wrist she untied the string on her top, and her heavy breasts fell out before him. Large, round, with a slight maternal sag that only served to make them more welcoming. Dark nipples contrasted to fairer skin, each standing as erect as his penis. She beckoned him forward, and with a whimper and a sob, he moved forward and latched his mouth on to her nipple. The whimpering increased rather than subsided, and her whole body writhed in ecstasy as he eagerly devoured the abundance from her breast.

She hesitated for just a moment, but quickly gave in and wrapped her firm, warm grip around his cock and began to tug in rhythm to his sucking. He instantly began to thrust his penis in to the grip of her hand, as if the response were trained...perhaps it was. She could tell that he was beginning to feel safe. And yet, she still wrestled with the incongruity of her thoughts. She wanted to protect him, to make him feel safe. But at the same time, she longed for him to know that she was his, that she had made the purchase, and that he belonged. Gradually her hand descended from his penis, between his legs, and she noticed that he spread them apart obediently as her fingers began to explore. She quickly found it, that tight little pucker that constituted the most private part of his anatomy.

She positioned her fingertip at the center and pressed, surprised to find that it slid in easily. He let out an adorable little squeal that made her blush with delight and she pushed in deeper, letting him feel the full length of her finger. His lips clamped down on her nipple more eagerly and he began to suckle in rhythm with her penetrations. His penis flexed even more intensely, the veins bulging out from his shaft. She responded by burying her finger more deeply in to his anus, gently but steadily slipping it in and out. She felt his muscles tense around her, and with a heavy grunt, he erupted...streams of semen ejaculating from his engorged penis, landing across his abdomen. He grunted again and streamed out harder, gushing across her full breasts and, to her amazement, up across his face and hers. Reaching for a clean cloth, she wiped down his stomach and her breasts, as well as her face. But she paused for a moment and took in the sight of him laying there with his own cum splashed across his youthful expression. She allowed herself to acknowledge that she rather liked the look of him that way.

He was safe and protected in her arms, and he would remain that way. But that would not stop her from letting him know that he was hers, as he was before, and as he always should be. He was home.