Defiance

The idea of being on display for this unusual collection of bidders certainly turns you on, your stiff nipples straining beneath the fabric of your dress are a giveaway of that. You're not eager to become a ****. Deep down you're afraid maybe you could get used to that sort of life, but for now you have no intention of rewarding the harpy queen's trickery.

The queen seems to notice that you are not immediately complying with her demand to display yourself.

"Now!" she hisses. "Bare your body to them."

You smile at her and fold your arms over your breasts. Your shapely legs, your ass, and even the sides of your breasts are still exposed by the immodest costume. The queen screeches in outrage and you hear laughter from the bidders. Even the elf seems amused by your defiant stance.

"She is a willful one," the harpy queen declares, covering for your bad behavior. "Breaking her will be half of the enjoyment."

"I want a trained ****," declares the goblin. "Not some wild animal I cannot trust."

The harpy gestures to two guards standing on perches above the proceedings. You watch as the bird women spread their wings and glide gracefully down beside you. They are beautiful, but their smiles are cruel. They grab you roughly and shackle your wrists together. They loop the shackles over a hook attached to a pole. This leaves you dangling so only your toes are touching the ground. It is an uncomfortable position and you cannot even kick against floor to try to swing free. You dangle like a piece of meat, squirming ineffectively, your face contorted as if you are about to cry. Your discomfort prompts a chorus of cheering and laughter from the orcs.

The cheering builds in pitch and you crane your neck to see behind you. The queen has picked up a leather flail of some sort and is standing behind you. As you watch she lashes out, the knotted leather of the flail tearing through the thin fabric of your blouse and raising welts on your back. You cry out in pain and a roar of approval goes up from the crowd. You look out and you see even the elf woman is watching with intense interest.

The queen flails you again and again. You can feel a little blood spilled and trickling down your back and the pain is excrutiating, yet you feel aroused as well. You never knew you had such a masochistic streak. The blouse hangs in ribbons and the queen pushes the shoulder straps off your shoulders so that your breasts and tortured back are exposed. She turns you so they can see your quaking chest, your nipples hard and pink against the pale flesh of your tits. The queen pinches your nipples roughly and slides her hand up your throat. She roughly grabs you beneath the chin, finger and thumb talon almost breaking the skin on either side of your face.

"She is a fine specimen," the queen declares. "Spirited, yes, but good breeding stock, a good pleasure ****, and if need be, a good worker. She just needs to be taught some manners."

With that the queen releases your face and steps back. Before you can even turn your head you feel the sharp sting of the flail across your breasts. She does not whip you as hard there, but it is an agony on your sensitive flesh. Your breasts are streaked with welts when she has finished and tears of pain fall from your eyes.

"Enough!" bellows the bull-headed minotaur. "I'll not bid on a **** you reduce to meat."

"I'll bid on meat!" the orc counters and his comrades laugh.

The queen lowers the flail and with a sudden motion she runs a talon down your skirt, shredding the fabric so that it falls away, exposing your bare legs, blond-tufted cunt, and shapeley ass to the bidders. The minotaur snorts and you see his huge cock twitch. The orcs cheer. The goblin watching begins to fondle one of his slaves, bending her firm ass over his lap to stroke between the cheeks and down to her dripping slit.

"Let the bidding commence!" declares the queen.

Your flesh aches from the whipping. You look out at the rowdy gathering and wonder which of these bidders will become your master or mistress.