On the Auction Block (22 page)

There was polite applause.

“And, because she was unable to fulfill
properly her duties as a slave, Flame has lost the right to her
slave name. She will no longer be known as Flame. Her owner has
agreed that, from this day forward, she will be known as the slave,
Irene.”

Flame – now, once again, Irene – was
horrified. Slaves had slave names. They never had a lady’s name. It
was unthinkable to give a piece of property a person’s name. There
were other ladies in the world who were named,
Irene
. What
would they do when they found out that they shared their name with
a slave? They would want to kill her. To erase her from the world
forever so that their name would once again be untarnished. And
their babies? No lady would ever again christen her newborn baby,
Irene
. It would be unthinkable.

Thorn was not finished. “To remind her and
everyone else that this is the slave, Irene, her owner has agreed
that she should wear this collar about her neck.” Thorn took a band
of gold from a velvet pillow and held it aloft. “It is inscribed
with the words,
Slave Irene
, along its length. It fastens
with a spring tab. Once clicked into place, it can be removed only
by cutting it off.”

Irene stared at it in horror. Slaves were
property, but they weren’t animals. Only animals wore collars.
Irene had never heard of a slave being forced to wear a collar.

Her flesh cringed at the touch of the gold as
Thorn fitted it around her neck.

The clasp clicked. The collar was so finely
wrought that the seam where it fastened was all but invisible.

Her hands flew to her neck of their own
volition and tugged at the collar. It was implacable. She would
wear it until her owner decided to cut it off. And that owner
wouldn’t be Dodge. When he had agreed that she would be fitted with
a collar if she lost the game, he understood that he would never
remove it.

It wasn’t tight, but it felt like it was
choking her. It was flexible and the edges were round and smooth,
but it felt like it was cutting her throat. It wasn’t heavy, but it
felt like it was dragging her head to the floor.

She dropped her hands and stood in front of
thirty men and cried like a baby.

The gentlemen, mostly old friends and
acquaintances, applauded enthusiastically. Lord Snow was standing
in the front, applauding the loudest of all.

Her only blessing was to see that James was
not standing beside him. Her former husband was not in the
room.

But he would hear about his wife’s
humiliation by morning. A story this shocking would blaze through
society like wildfire.

“Gentlemen, the formal entertainment is
concluded. But I’m sure that the slave Irene would be pleased to
stay for as long as you wish and continue to provide all the
service that you desire.”

The handlers pushed the newly-unmasked and
collared Irene toward the men who took her into their midst with
eager hands.

She didn’t care. She was so exhausted, so
pain-ridden, so crushed that she had no more feeling than a piece
of meat.

Sapphire had said that every slave aspired to
feel nothing. Irene had achieved that state tonight.

Men would have to take their pleasure from
her because she had no pleasure of hers to give to them.

* * *

Dodge examined her collar. “At least, it’s a
pretty thing. It’s a piece of jewelry. I was afraid that they were
going to give you something like a black leather dog collar with an
engraved steel plate.”

“It feels like a dog collar,” Irene said. A
collar was a collar. No one who saw it would mistake it for a
necklace.

“It doesn’t look like it. It looks like the
choker that I’ve seen some ladies wear.”

That was the point of giving her a lady’s
name and a parody of a lady’s jewelry. She was toxic. The
association with her would immediately defile both.

“No lady is ever again going to wear a gold
choker, for fear that it will resemble this one,” she said.

“I guess not.” Dodge shrugged. Lady’s
fashions were no concern to him. “The kennelman reported that you
were severely used last night. He cautioned me to let you heal for
two days to ensure that you don’t suffer permanent damage.”

“I’m sorry that I can’t serve you properly
today. My cunt is still in good shape. If you want to use that, I’m
sure that you won’t damage it.” Her jaw and ass were the most sore
– after her calves and shoulders, which were almost non-functional.
Once they’d seen her familiar face, the gentlemen had delighted in
availing themselves of the services that they considered most
humiliating. That pretty much left her normal sex organ
untouched.

“If you think…” Dodge let his sentence trail
off.

She didn’t respond verbally; she was already
laying on her back on her cot, naked, so she simply pulled her
blanket aside and spread her legs.

When he entered her, she whispered, “Fuck me
good, Mr. Dodge. Fuck me damn good.”

He did.

She stayed in bed for two days, only getting
up for the essential functions.

Barry, the kennelman, massaged her shoulders
and calves. That helped. On the third day, she expressed her
gratitude with her best oral technique.

He was happy to see that she was
recovering.

She wasn’t asked to help at the house all
week.

On Friday, Mr. Dodge came to the kennel. He
was carrying a pair of handcuffs and a chain leash. “I’ve struck a
deal. You have a new owner. The car is waiting outside. Turn
around.”

She almost collapsed from the shock. She had
no warning that she was about to be sold.

By tradition, a slave was always delivered to
her new owner naked and leashed with her hands cuffed behind her
back.

“To whom am I being delivered?” she asked
after he clicked the cuffs closed.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Dodge answered
as he slipped the chain around her neck.

She wished that the chain would scratch the
soft gold collar to illegibility but it was loose and rested safely
below the choker.

Her collar would proclaim to her new owner
that she was Irene.

END OF BOOK ONE