Trading

Mark had been picturing it almost every day since he first discovered his new fetish. It was almost primally embedded into his mind. A woman on her knees, naked except a heavy iron collar and iron shackles. Her head bowed. Submissive. Gesturing towards her a tall man. And they were both standing on a wooden scaffold. Surrounding them, clothed men in seats drank, had their dicks sucked by other silent enslaved women, and bidded. She was being sold.

Why he couldn't stop thinking about it, Mark couldn't say. It wasn't just the idea of owning a woman, having her be yours. It wasn't just the pathetic sight of a slut wrought in iron. It was more then that. It was the changing of hands, from one man to another. There was something stirring about the affair being so...transactional.

It had been occupying a place of honor in his fantasies ever since an erotic story he had once read. It was just so visceral. But, what had started to scare him was how the fantasy was evolving. It must have happened for the first time a few days ago, and since then he hadn't been able to picture it any other day. See, the man on the stage? That was him. And the woman he was selling? She had long hed hair the bathed past her shoulders to her lower back. And every so often she would gaze up at him with nearly teary eyes. Eyes that asked "why?"

The he was selling in his dreams was his girlfriend. Jennifer.