“Auction?” You ask.

Sarah nods. “Come along poppet,” She tugs your leash and leads you from the stairs into a dimly lit room. At one end sits a raised spotlighted Dias upon which stands a pretty Latino girl in a corset and heels, small breasts and rounded hips alluringly lit from above. She stands meekly, hopefully, offering herself up to the bidders. A collar matching yours adorns her neck and her leash is held by another employee of the establishment. A number of other collared and leashed submissives, male and female, are lined up for sale. You see the prospective purchasers inspecting them intimately.

You’d feel embarresed and exposed if you were in your regular male flesh, but heeled, sleeved, collared, leashed and nakedly female makes this situation doubly so. And surprisingly arousing. Before it had only been Mistress Sarah, an employee performing her duties. Now there were patrons. Many of them. Your shoulders pinned back by the armbinder sleeve out thrusts your small breasts dramatically. You try to turn but Sarah pulls you forward, sending through the crowd, hungry eyes on you. You can’t even use your hands to cover your hardening nipples or moistening and swelling crotch. Your fresh shaven mons means your female sex is front and centre, boldly presented to the masters and mistresses.

You sense a change of atmosphere in the room. Those present can perceive your uncertainty and hesitance. They know fresh meat, a foolishly entrapped cunt, when they see it. There is a sense of familiarity between the masters and slaves here. This scene you have entered has played out numerous times and grown old. You are something new. The dommes see potential new entertainment with an unknown but clearly reticent thrall. The subs eye you with mixed emotions. Coy interest, petty jealousy, sexual desire... you are the proverbial cat amongst the canaries. Or more aptly the canary amongst the cats.

You are led to the end of the auction line, your collar hitched to a rail beside the other subs. A small busty Indian girl with too many piercings to count eyes you from beneath dusky lashes, her hands are tied with coarse rope. “You’re new...” she observes as she leans in and licks your nipple. “I hope we get bought by the same buyer... you look yummy.”

The dommes continue to talk and your cheeks burn.