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Auctioning Misty
"Are you nervous darling?"
Nervous didn't even begin to describe the feelings I was having. I
was the next to be presented. The "girl" in front of me was a stunner with a
mass of red curls and the bidding was hot and furious. I could see my little
bouquet of flowers trembling in my cuffed hands.
"Debi do I really have to do this?" I pleaded, my newly shaved voice-
box making my plea sound like a little girl's.
"We've discussed this already Misty. The money I'll make will pay
back the alterations we made and turn me quite a hefty profit. I just regret we
didn't have enough to get you the operation. But perhaps someone in the
audience will see enough potential"
"Please couldn't you just-" I couldn't bring myself to say the word.
"Sell you privately?"
"We've been all through that Misty. This way is best. Once the
bidding starts there's no telling how high it can go. Now I want to see you
smiling. I paid good money for those caps. And keep that pretty little chin
up. That's better. Stop crying."
"I can't help it Debi. I'm going to miss you."
"And I'm going to miss you Misty but you knew it was going to
come to this sooner or later."
My girlfriend was right. Even though I didn't want to admit it. I knew
from the moment she discovered that I was a cross-dresser our life together
was never going to be the same. At first I figured she would be just mad or
disgusted but her acceptance had surprised me. When she started helping me
pick out clothes and taught me how to properly do my make-up I was in
heaven. But it didn't end there. She wanted me to start on hormonal therapy
and although it interfered somewhat with out sex life she said it didn't
matter. She liked the way I was starting to look and she never like
penetration anyway. She preferred me to be oral and liked thinking of me as
her lesbian lover.
I didn't even protest when she started taking over all the "masculine"
roles in our relationships. She made all the money decisions as well as
decided where we would eat, what movies we'd see, what parties we
attended. At home, I began doing all the household chores and when she got
promoted at work she had me quit my own entry-level job and get part-time
work in the hair salon she frequented. I helped clean up the place and
sometimes gave shampoos. By now my appearance was becoming more and
more feminine. My hair was down to my shoulders and she had her gay
salon friends dye it golden blonde and cut it in a rather feminine style. I
didn't object. I suppose the hormones helped make my mind more amenable
to the physical changes that were occurring in my body.
The cosmetic surgery came next. She had my nose fixed so that it was
now tiny, pert, and upturned. My naturally high cheekbones were enhanced
by collagen injections and my lips were similarly injected to give them a full,
pouty look. I always had a weak chin but now it seemed to go perfectly with
the rest of my "new" face. One weekend Debi informed me we were driving
across the border into Mexico where there was a clinic that would give me
breast implants. At this point I could no longer really pass for a guy and
there was a part of me that really did want all the changes she was
introducing. The surgery went well. I was given c-cup breasts. They looked
completely natural. I was amazed and fascinated by them and could hardly
stop playing with them. Debi was pleased and amused.
She didn't tell me about the voice box shaving until after I recovered
from the surgery. I couldn't talk above a whisper for a couple of weeks and
when I did this totally different femme voice came out. It was really strange.
At first I kind of freaked out a little, but Debi calmed me down, pointing out
that my old voice just didn't fit my new body. I realized that she was right
and soon I grew used to my voice. I don't even remember what I used to
sound like anymore.
It was after we returned from Mexico that Debi began "reconfiguring"
my sexual orientation. It's true I no longer penetrated her. The hormones
themselves made that all but impossible. I satisfied her strictly orally. But
now she began to instruct me on how to satisfy men as well as women. She
didn't say that was what she was doing, but I found myself practicing licking
and sucking cucumbers and dildos. She taught me how to keep myself clean
down there-"douching" she called it-and had me get on all fours as she
trained me to relax my sphincter and accept penetration. Sometimes she
would use a strap-on, double-ended dildo on me and bring herself to orgasm
that way. But somehow I guess I must have known deep down what was
coming next. I didn't object. She must have been right when she said I really
wanted it all along.
I was shown off to her other girlfriends-at this point there was no
hiding my feminized state. They enjoyed having me serve them and seeing
my breasts and "feminized" penis. They liked to listen to me chatter on about
fashion, romance novels, celebrity gossip, and soap operas which was about
all of the outside world I was permitted access to. When the conversation
switched to more serious topics I was asked to leave the room.
I dressed in female clothes all the time now. I was about the same size
as Debi so we shared clothes while she built up a wardrobe of my own. I
wore tight hobble skirts and platform sandals, sundresses and flats, and
mini-dresses and stiletto heels. At home she liked me to wear short-shorts, a
cut off girlie t-shirt, and wedge-heeled sandals. I did my housework and did
the shopping in these outfits. By now I was going to the salon with her all
the time and everyone had begun treating me like a girl. They did my hair, my
nails, and waxed what little hair was left on my body. It all seemed so
natural. Afterwards we went to a small cafe in the mall and ate the salad bar.
Debi had taken to calling me Misty by now and it had gotten so that anytime
any mail arrived at the house bearing my old name it took me a while to
recognize who it was addressed to.
Debi began working later and later at the office and I started having
suspicions that she was seeing someone else. I tried hard to keep my fears to
myself but finally one night over dinner I blurted out my darkest suspicions.
Debi didn't try to deny it at all. To my shock, she freely admitted that she
was seeing a man at work to whom she was deeply attracted. In fact, she was
waiting for me to bring the matter up. She was beginning to thing that the
hormones were making me rather dim-witted. When I began to cry, she
showed no sign of understanding why I would be upset. I tried through my
sobbing to explain as best I could, but her only answer was that she needed a
man and I no longer fit the bill. I stared down at the orange culottes and
halter top I was wearing, my bare feet with painted toenails, my smooth
tanned legs. It was impossible to argue with her. She was right. I was no
longer a man.
It was shortly after that evening that Debi brought up the subject of
the auction. She informed me how much she had spent to bring my
transformation to the point it was now. She had fulfilled my lifelong dream
of becoming a woman-almost. Now it was time to get on with her life. She
figured she could sell me to someone who wanted a girl like me. She knew
of a place where auctions were regularly held. I wept and begged her to keep
me, but she said she had no use for me anymore. She had had enjoyed our
lesbian sex but she wasn't a lesbian and she had fallen head-over-heels in
love with her new boyfriend. It would be best for all of us, she argued, if I
would allow myself to be auctioned off. Otherwise, she would just have to
break up with me and let me fend for myself on the street.
Needless to say I was stunned and in a state of shock. I could hardly
believe that Debi would do this to me. Still, there was a part of me that knew
it would come to something like this all along. When Debi told me the date of
the auction I accepted the news with a sad resignation. Now, standing in the
wings as the "girl" in front of me was sold I realized it was my turn. Debi
made sure the sticker with my number was fixed securely to my left upper
thigh. Then she kissed me lightly on the cheek, patted my fanny, and told me
to do her proud as my named was called.
"Lot number 26, Misty."
I hesitated, my heart missing a beat, and Debi gently pushed me
forward. I looked back and she smiled and winked, mouthing the words "I
love you" as I took the stage. I could feel my knees trembling as I tried to
balance on the five-inch-high gold stiletto strap sandals I was wearing. All
that covered me was a gold lame string bikini that left little to the
imagination. My blonde hair was layered and loosely curled and hung down
to the small of my back. My finger and toe-nails were painted with gold
glitter polish and my tanned skinned was also loosely sprinkled with tiny bits
of glitter confetti. The handcuffs around my wrists were just for show.
Obviously I wasn't going anywhere. They were to further illustrate my
submissive nature. I held my bouquet of flowers tightly and stared down
towards the floor as the auctioneer began to read off my "vital statistics."
"Misty is 5 feet 7 inches tall, one hundred and twenty-two pounds.
She has been measured at 36-24-36. She is extremely submissive and has
been living exclusively as a girl for the past eighteen months. She was
transformed by her former girlfriend and is well-mannered, eager-to-please,
and extremely docile. She would make the perfect housewife and bed
companion to either a male or female owner."
Male owner , I heard. I had no idea
"Please turn around Misty so our customers can see what they are
getting."
I turned around numbly in my high-heels. It was true I had seen some
men in the audience beyond the lights before I dropped my eyes in
embarrassment but I only assumed they were there with their wives or
girlfriends. I didn't think they were there to actually bid. Maybe Debi wasn't
so far off the mark. Maybe the hormones had affected my mind.
How stupid could I be?
"Shall we start the bidding at one-hundred-thousand?" I heard the
auctioneer call out.
One hundred thousand!
The idea that someone would pay twenty thousand dollars for me was
incomprehensible. Still I couldn't help but feel a jolt of excitement go
through me.
What was wrong with me.
"Turn back around Misty and face the audience again," I heard the
auctioneer say. I obeyed as quickly as my bound wrists and high-heels would
allow. Both were throwing off my balance a little.
"One hundred thousand, do I hear one-fifty, one-fifty do I hear two,
two hundred thousand for this one-of-a-kind girl"
The bidding was going up higher and higher.
"Smile for the audience Misty. Show them how happy you are to be
here. How eager you are to serve."
I smiled with my perfectly capped teeth into that bank of lights.
I saw numbered cards going up in the audience. Most of them were
held by women but a few were held by men. I noticed one tall, dark, good-
looking man in the back holding a card with the number "134." He held it
up without hesitation every time the bidding went up.
"Perfect for kitchen or bedroom, parties or private get-togethers,
Misty is certain to please," the auctioneer went on. "She is pre-op but
functionally impotent though she achieves stimulation manually and anally
and loves to give pleasure. She will make the ideal maid for those so inclined
or a classy trophy wife for the corporately upward mobile."
It was hard hearing myself described in such a matter-of-fact way but
I had to realize that I was no longer a person to these people. I was simply an
object. But as the bidding went up I realized a new kind of pride. As an
object I was worth far more than I ever was as a person.
"Four hundred thousand, do I hear four-fifty, four-fifty, let me hear a
five hundred grand, five hundred grand for this fine piece of ass, slave for a
life or a ready-made wife for life."
Oh please, I thought, make it be one of the women who bought me.
But as the price went up I noticed more and more of the women dropping out
of the bidding. Meanwhile, the tall, dark, and undeniably handsome man in
the back kept holding up his card.
What did he want with me anyway? Did he really want me as his
wife? It was not something I had ever considered. Or was it? Wasn't that the
ultimate fantasy? Wasn't that where it all led to? Isn't that what I really
secretly dreamed about. To me didn't being a woman mean belonging to a
man, to have him hold me, protect me, cherish me, love me? If that man
bought me would he complete my transformation or would he leave me the
way I was? Did he want a complete woman or the she-male I was?
I didn't care.
I knew I wanted to go down on my knees before him and take his
cock in my mouth. I wanted to do for real what Debi had taught me. I
wanted to taste his man-flesh as I licked the tip of him, tasting his precum. I
wanted to lick up and down his hard shaft and finally suck the tip of him
with my pouty collagen-filled lips. I wanted to flick my tongue on the small
pink triangle under the head of his cock until he was crazy with need. I
wanted to hear him pant and moan above me and push my head down as I
swallowed him inch by inch. I wanted to feel him grow harder and harder
until the tip of his cock reached the back of my throat and nearly gagged me.
I wanted to feel him explode down my throat, the hot cum pouring from his
convulsing cock as I desperately tried to swallow it all.
Yes, I wanted that.
I also wanted to be on all-fours before him, my ass raised high in the
air as his cock, lubed only by my blow job, poised at my virgin asshole. I
wanted to feel his strong hands around my hips, his thumbs separating my
ass cheeks exposing me, and then the swollen head of his cock pressed
against me. I wanted to hear him tell me to relax, to push backwards a little,
how he would try not to hurt me as he took me for the first time. I wanted to
feel the terrible, impossible pressure, certain it would never go in, and then
finally, with a sharp thrust, feel him inside me. I wanted to hear myself gasp
as I realized it was in me, really in me, and then the long slow push as he
filled me with his cock. I wanted to feel it stretch me, complete me, make me
his woman. I wanted to feel it as he thrust it in and out, his hands still on my
hips, my own hand fiddling between my thighs as I brought myself off. I
wanted to feel him expand impossibly large inside me and then the hot cum
jetting inside me, hitting my prostate, as he grunted above me, one hand
squeezing my breasts, pinching my nipples hard, giving me pain and
pleasure.
Finally I wanted to lie spooned against him as he slept, breathing deep
and satisfied, as I lie pressed tightly against his hard, well-muscled body, his
cum leaking from my ass.
The bidding was going higher and higher and now it was down
between a rather severe-looking older woman dressed in black and the
handsome man in the back of the room. I smiled politely into the lights,
trying not to look at either. I wondered what my life would be like with
either of the two. Who would I be better off with? The woman did not look
like she liked me at all, which made me wonder why she was willing to pay
so much for me. Meanwhile the man seemed to have a genuine look of
interest in me. In spite of myself, I found I was leaning more and more
towards the man in the back.
He looked as if he would truly covet and care for me. He might even
grow to love me. The woman in black looked like she would probably lock
me away in some dusty Victorian mansion where I would be forced to live a
loveless existence as an upstairs maid. Please, please, I prayed silently to
myself, let him buy me.
The bidding seemed to go on forever. I could feel the hot lights
bringing out a not unflattering sheen to my tanned flesh. Every so soften I
raised my eyes through the blinding footlights to the audience, but mostly I
kept them down at my manicured toes. Finally I heard the sound of the gavel
and it beat in time to the hard hammering of my heart.
"SOLD!" I heard the auctioneer say. "Lot number 26 Misty goes to
the number "139" for one million one hundred and twenty-five thousand
dollars."
My mind was a mad jumble. I had been bought for over a million
dollars. Who had that kind of money. And, more importantly, who was
number 139? I felt faint, my knees nearly knocking together I was trembling
so badly. I was led off the stage to make room for the next "girl" to be
auctioned off. Off-stage there was a mad scramble of "girls" and handlers, a
lot of sobbing, and hugging, and saying goodbyes. I was hustled through
the crowd and saw Debi. She gave me a big hung and a kiss. She was with
her new boyfriend, but I hardly felt anything. I was on emotional overload.
She wished me the best of everything, hoped I realized she did
everything for me, and thanked me for being so cooperative. It seemed she
had turned quite a profit. She said all this in a rush as she was off to catch a
plane to Venice with her new beau the following day and had to make some
last minute arrangements. She gave me another kiss, this time a bit more
passionately on the lips, and told me how she'd never forget me. I mumbled
something of the same. I desperately wanted to ask her who had bought me
but a part of me was afraid. Whoever held me arm jerked me forward and I
struggled to keep up on my gold high-heels.
And then the crowd parted and I knew who had bought me.
I knew who number 139 was.
He was still holding the little sign in his hand.
He was even taller and more broad-shouldered than he had seemed
from the stage. He had dark hair and a square manly jaw and the most
beautiful blue eyes I had ever seen. He was wearing an expensive suit and a
pair of expensive leather shoes which I could hardly take my eyes off of as I
was almost scared to raise my face to his. He did it for me, placing two
fingers under my chin and lifting my eyes to meet his.
I knew at that moment I was in love.
True love.
"We are going to have a lot of fun together Misty," he said.
He peeled the sticker off my tanned thigh.
He smiled, crumbled the sticker up, and threw it on the floor.
"You belong to me now."
(the end)
"Are you nervous darling?"
Nervous didn't even begin to describe the feelings I was having. I
was the next to be presented. The "girl" in front of me was a stunner with a
mass of red curls and the bidding was hot and furious. I could see my little
bouquet of flowers trembling in my cuffed hands.
"Debi do I really have to do this?" I pleaded, my newly shaved voice-
box making my plea sound like a little girl's.
"We've discussed this already Misty. The money I'll make will pay
back the alterations we made and turn me quite a hefty profit. I just regret we
didn't have enough to get you the operation. But perhaps someone in the
audience will see enough potential"
"Please couldn't you just-" I couldn't bring myself to say the word.
"Sell you privately?"
"We've been all through that Misty. This way is best. Once the
bidding starts there's no telling how high it can go. Now I want to see you
smiling. I paid good money for those caps. And keep that pretty little chin
up. That's better. Stop crying."
"I can't help it Debi. I'm going to miss you."
"And I'm going to miss you Misty but you knew it was going to
come to this sooner or later."
My girlfriend was right. Even though I didn't want to admit it. I knew
from the moment she discovered that I was a cross-dresser our life together
was never going to be the same. At first I figured she would be just mad or
disgusted but her acceptance had surprised me. When she started helping me
pick out clothes and taught me how to properly do my make-up I was in
heaven. But it didn't end there. She wanted me to start on hormonal therapy
and although it interfered somewhat with out sex life she said it didn't
matter. She liked the way I was starting to look and she never like
penetration anyway. She preferred me to be oral and liked thinking of me as
her lesbian lover.
I didn't even protest when she started taking over all the "masculine"
roles in our relationships. She made all the money decisions as well as
decided where we would eat, what movies we'd see, what parties we
attended. At home, I began doing all the household chores and when she got
promoted at work she had me quit my own entry-level job and get part-time
work in the hair salon she frequented. I helped clean up the place and
sometimes gave shampoos. By now my appearance was becoming more and
more feminine. My hair was down to my shoulders and she had her gay
salon friends dye it golden blonde and cut it in a rather feminine style. I
didn't object. I suppose the hormones helped make my mind more amenable
to the physical changes that were occurring in my body.
The cosmetic surgery came next. She had my nose fixed so that it was
now tiny, pert, and upturned. My naturally high cheekbones were enhanced
by collagen injections and my lips were similarly injected to give them a full,
pouty look. I always had a weak chin but now it seemed to go perfectly with
the rest of my "new" face. One weekend Debi informed me we were driving
across the border into Mexico where there was a clinic that would give me
breast implants. At this point I could no longer really pass for a guy and
there was a part of me that really did want all the changes she was
introducing. The surgery went well. I was given c-cup breasts. They looked
completely natural. I was amazed and fascinated by them and could hardly
stop playing with them. Debi was pleased and amused.
She didn't tell me about the voice box shaving until after I recovered
from the surgery. I couldn't talk above a whisper for a couple of weeks and
when I did this totally different femme voice came out. It was really strange.
At first I kind of freaked out a little, but Debi calmed me down, pointing out
that my old voice just didn't fit my new body. I realized that she was right
and soon I grew used to my voice. I don't even remember what I used to
sound like anymore.
It was after we returned from Mexico that Debi began "reconfiguring"
my sexual orientation. It's true I no longer penetrated her. The hormones
themselves made that all but impossible. I satisfied her strictly orally. But
now she began to instruct me on how to satisfy men as well as women. She
didn't say that was what she was doing, but I found myself practicing licking
and sucking cucumbers and dildos. She taught me how to keep myself clean
down there-"douching" she called it-and had me get on all fours as she
trained me to relax my sphincter and accept penetration. Sometimes she
would use a strap-on, double-ended dildo on me and bring herself to orgasm
that way. But somehow I guess I must have known deep down what was
coming next. I didn't object. She must have been right when she said I really
wanted it all along.
I was shown off to her other girlfriends-at this point there was no
hiding my feminized state. They enjoyed having me serve them and seeing
my breasts and "feminized" penis. They liked to listen to me chatter on about
fashion, romance novels, celebrity gossip, and soap operas which was about
all of the outside world I was permitted access to. When the conversation
switched to more serious topics I was asked to leave the room.
I dressed in female clothes all the time now. I was about the same size
as Debi so we shared clothes while she built up a wardrobe of my own. I
wore tight hobble skirts and platform sandals, sundresses and flats, and
mini-dresses and stiletto heels. At home she liked me to wear short-shorts, a
cut off girlie t-shirt, and wedge-heeled sandals. I did my housework and did
the shopping in these outfits. By now I was going to the salon with her all
the time and everyone had begun treating me like a girl. They did my hair, my
nails, and waxed what little hair was left on my body. It all seemed so
natural. Afterwards we went to a small cafe in the mall and ate the salad bar.
Debi had taken to calling me Misty by now and it had gotten so that anytime
any mail arrived at the house bearing my old name it took me a while to
recognize who it was addressed to.
Debi began working later and later at the office and I started having
suspicions that she was seeing someone else. I tried hard to keep my fears to
myself but finally one night over dinner I blurted out my darkest suspicions.
Debi didn't try to deny it at all. To my shock, she freely admitted that she
was seeing a man at work to whom she was deeply attracted. In fact, she was
waiting for me to bring the matter up. She was beginning to thing that the
hormones were making me rather dim-witted. When I began to cry, she
showed no sign of understanding why I would be upset. I tried through my
sobbing to explain as best I could, but her only answer was that she needed a
man and I no longer fit the bill. I stared down at the orange culottes and
halter top I was wearing, my bare feet with painted toenails, my smooth
tanned legs. It was impossible to argue with her. She was right. I was no
longer a man.
It was shortly after that evening that Debi brought up the subject of
the auction. She informed me how much she had spent to bring my
transformation to the point it was now. She had fulfilled my lifelong dream
of becoming a woman-almost. Now it was time to get on with her life. She
figured she could sell me to someone who wanted a girl like me. She knew
of a place where auctions were regularly held. I wept and begged her to keep
me, but she said she had no use for me anymore. She had had enjoyed our
lesbian sex but she wasn't a lesbian and she had fallen head-over-heels in
love with her new boyfriend. It would be best for all of us, she argued, if I
would allow myself to be auctioned off. Otherwise, she would just have to
break up with me and let me fend for myself on the street.
Needless to say I was stunned and in a state of shock. I could hardly
believe that Debi would do this to me. Still, there was a part of me that knew
it would come to something like this all along. When Debi told me the date of
the auction I accepted the news with a sad resignation. Now, standing in the
wings as the "girl" in front of me was sold I realized it was my turn. Debi
made sure the sticker with my number was fixed securely to my left upper
thigh. Then she kissed me lightly on the cheek, patted my fanny, and told me
to do her proud as my named was called.
"Lot number 26, Misty."
I hesitated, my heart missing a beat, and Debi gently pushed me
forward. I looked back and she smiled and winked, mouthing the words "I
love you" as I took the stage. I could feel my knees trembling as I tried to
balance on the five-inch-high gold stiletto strap sandals I was wearing. All
that covered me was a gold lame string bikini that left little to the
imagination. My blonde hair was layered and loosely curled and hung down
to the small of my back. My finger and toe-nails were painted with gold
glitter polish and my tanned skinned was also loosely sprinkled with tiny bits
of glitter confetti. The handcuffs around my wrists were just for show.
Obviously I wasn't going anywhere. They were to further illustrate my
submissive nature. I held my bouquet of flowers tightly and stared down
towards the floor as the auctioneer began to read off my "vital statistics."
"Misty is 5 feet 7 inches tall, one hundred and twenty-two pounds.
She has been measured at 36-24-36. She is extremely submissive and has
been living exclusively as a girl for the past eighteen months. She was
transformed by her former girlfriend and is well-mannered, eager-to-please,
and extremely docile. She would make the perfect housewife and bed
companion to either a male or female owner."
Male owner , I heard. I had no idea
"Please turn around Misty so our customers can see what they are
getting."
I turned around numbly in my high-heels. It was true I had seen some
men in the audience beyond the lights before I dropped my eyes in
embarrassment but I only assumed they were there with their wives or
girlfriends. I didn't think they were there to actually bid. Maybe Debi wasn't
so far off the mark. Maybe the hormones had affected my mind.
How stupid could I be?
"Shall we start the bidding at one-hundred-thousand?" I heard the
auctioneer call out.
One hundred thousand!
The idea that someone would pay twenty thousand dollars for me was
incomprehensible. Still I couldn't help but feel a jolt of excitement go
through me.
What was wrong with me.
"Turn back around Misty and face the audience again," I heard the
auctioneer say. I obeyed as quickly as my bound wrists and high-heels would
allow. Both were throwing off my balance a little.
"One hundred thousand, do I hear one-fifty, one-fifty do I hear two,
two hundred thousand for this one-of-a-kind girl"
The bidding was going up higher and higher.
"Smile for the audience Misty. Show them how happy you are to be
here. How eager you are to serve."
I smiled with my perfectly capped teeth into that bank of lights.
I saw numbered cards going up in the audience. Most of them were
held by women but a few were held by men. I noticed one tall, dark, good-
looking man in the back holding a card with the number "134." He held it
up without hesitation every time the bidding went up.
"Perfect for kitchen or bedroom, parties or private get-togethers,
Misty is certain to please," the auctioneer went on. "She is pre-op but
functionally impotent though she achieves stimulation manually and anally
and loves to give pleasure. She will make the ideal maid for those so inclined
or a classy trophy wife for the corporately upward mobile."
It was hard hearing myself described in such a matter-of-fact way but
I had to realize that I was no longer a person to these people. I was simply an
object. But as the bidding went up I realized a new kind of pride. As an
object I was worth far more than I ever was as a person.
"Four hundred thousand, do I hear four-fifty, four-fifty, let me hear a
five hundred grand, five hundred grand for this fine piece of ass, slave for a
life or a ready-made wife for life."
Oh please, I thought, make it be one of the women who bought me.
But as the price went up I noticed more and more of the women dropping out
of the bidding. Meanwhile, the tall, dark, and undeniably handsome man in
the back kept holding up his card.
What did he want with me anyway? Did he really want me as his
wife? It was not something I had ever considered. Or was it? Wasn't that the
ultimate fantasy? Wasn't that where it all led to? Isn't that what I really
secretly dreamed about. To me didn't being a woman mean belonging to a
man, to have him hold me, protect me, cherish me, love me? If that man
bought me would he complete my transformation or would he leave me the
way I was? Did he want a complete woman or the she-male I was?
I didn't care.
I knew I wanted to go down on my knees before him and take his
cock in my mouth. I wanted to do for real what Debi had taught me. I
wanted to taste his man-flesh as I licked the tip of him, tasting his precum. I
wanted to lick up and down his hard shaft and finally suck the tip of him
with my pouty collagen-filled lips. I wanted to flick my tongue on the small
pink triangle under the head of his cock until he was crazy with need. I
wanted to hear him pant and moan above me and push my head down as I
swallowed him inch by inch. I wanted to feel him grow harder and harder
until the tip of his cock reached the back of my throat and nearly gagged me.
I wanted to feel him explode down my throat, the hot cum pouring from his
convulsing cock as I desperately tried to swallow it all.
Yes, I wanted that.
I also wanted to be on all-fours before him, my ass raised high in the
air as his cock, lubed only by my blow job, poised at my virgin asshole. I
wanted to feel his strong hands around my hips, his thumbs separating my
ass cheeks exposing me, and then the swollen head of his cock pressed
against me. I wanted to hear him tell me to relax, to push backwards a little,
how he would try not to hurt me as he took me for the first time. I wanted to
feel the terrible, impossible pressure, certain it would never go in, and then
finally, with a sharp thrust, feel him inside me. I wanted to hear myself gasp
as I realized it was in me, really in me, and then the long slow push as he
filled me with his cock. I wanted to feel it stretch me, complete me, make me
his woman. I wanted to feel it as he thrust it in and out, his hands still on my
hips, my own hand fiddling between my thighs as I brought myself off. I
wanted to feel him expand impossibly large inside me and then the hot cum
jetting inside me, hitting my prostate, as he grunted above me, one hand
squeezing my breasts, pinching my nipples hard, giving me pain and
pleasure.
Finally I wanted to lie spooned against him as he slept, breathing deep
and satisfied, as I lie pressed tightly against his hard, well-muscled body, his
cum leaking from my ass.
The bidding was going higher and higher and now it was down
between a rather severe-looking older woman dressed in black and the
handsome man in the back of the room. I smiled politely into the lights,
trying not to look at either. I wondered what my life would be like with
either of the two. Who would I be better off with? The woman did not look
like she liked me at all, which made me wonder why she was willing to pay
so much for me. Meanwhile the man seemed to have a genuine look of
interest in me. In spite of myself, I found I was leaning more and more
towards the man in the back.
He looked as if he would truly covet and care for me. He might even
grow to love me. The woman in black looked like she would probably lock
me away in some dusty Victorian mansion where I would be forced to live a
loveless existence as an upstairs maid. Please, please, I prayed silently to
myself, let him buy me.
The bidding seemed to go on forever. I could feel the hot lights
bringing out a not unflattering sheen to my tanned flesh. Every so soften I
raised my eyes through the blinding footlights to the audience, but mostly I
kept them down at my manicured toes. Finally I heard the sound of the gavel
and it beat in time to the hard hammering of my heart.
"SOLD!" I heard the auctioneer say. "Lot number 26 Misty goes to
the number "139" for one million one hundred and twenty-five thousand
dollars."
My mind was a mad jumble. I had been bought for over a million
dollars. Who had that kind of money. And, more importantly, who was
number 139? I felt faint, my knees nearly knocking together I was trembling
so badly. I was led off the stage to make room for the next "girl" to be
auctioned off. Off-stage there was a mad scramble of "girls" and handlers, a
lot of sobbing, and hugging, and saying goodbyes. I was hustled through
the crowd and saw Debi. She gave me a big hung and a kiss. She was with
her new boyfriend, but I hardly felt anything. I was on emotional overload.
She wished me the best of everything, hoped I realized she did
everything for me, and thanked me for being so cooperative. It seemed she
had turned quite a profit. She said all this in a rush as she was off to catch a
plane to Venice with her new beau the following day and had to make some
last minute arrangements. She gave me another kiss, this time a bit more
passionately on the lips, and told me how she'd never forget me. I mumbled
something of the same. I desperately wanted to ask her who had bought me
but a part of me was afraid. Whoever held me arm jerked me forward and I
struggled to keep up on my gold high-heels.
And then the crowd parted and I knew who had bought me.
I knew who number 139 was.
He was still holding the little sign in his hand.
He was even taller and more broad-shouldered than he had seemed
from the stage. He had dark hair and a square manly jaw and the most
beautiful blue eyes I had ever seen. He was wearing an expensive suit and a
pair of expensive leather shoes which I could hardly take my eyes off of as I
was almost scared to raise my face to his. He did it for me, placing two
fingers under my chin and lifting my eyes to meet his.
I knew at that moment I was in love.
True love.
"We are going to have a lot of fun together Misty," he said.
He peeled the sticker off my tanned thigh.
He smiled, crumbled the sticker up, and threw it on the floor.
"You belong to me now."
(the end)
