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Learning to Obey

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The first in a multi-part series. Hope you enjoy!

Lot # 65 – or, as she used to be called, Elena Blake – squirmed as her arms were raised, inch by inch, above her head.

The heavy metal shackles dug into her wrists as they reached the desired height, stretching Elena’s nude body as tall as it could go. Leaning back, she rested on the tall pole that she was chained to.

She could hear, on either side of her, whimpers and moans from the other lots up for sale today. She did not turn her head.

She stared straight ahead at the heavy red curtain, wondering what she would see when it opened in just a few minutes.

---

For as long as she could remember, Elena had been a troublemaker.

As far back as elementary school she had been the kind of girl who wouldn’t stop talking in class – and, when the teacher scolded her, would get her revenge by stealing something out of the teacher’s bag. The rules didn’t mean much to her.

And, it turned out, Elena didn’t consider laws to be all that much more meaningful than school rules. It started with petty shoplifting – a candy bar here and there – but soon Elena lived for the thrill of the theft. By 17 she had dropped out of school and set out to be a high-class thief.

(Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid had always been her favorite movie, after all.)

She set up shop in the big city and settled in to a life of crime. She thought she was doing a pretty good job, too. For four years she plotted her heists carefully, accumulating a small fortune’s worth of trophies. Not once did she get caught. And so Elena became overconfident.

One night in mid-June, she slinked her way into the penthouse apartment of one of the city’s most powerful bankers. She had just seen the enormous safe that contained her prize… when a team of agents, clad in combat apparel, appeared out of nowhere and tackled her to the ground. Elena writhed as she found herself handcuffed for the very first time, hoping against hope that she could find her way out of this jam.

The list of charges against Elena were long, but the trial was short. The evidence against her was overwhelming. It turned out that she had been under surveillance for many months before her arrest. Elena sat with her head in her hands as the foreperson announced the verdict: guilty on all charges.

Her lawyer visited her a few days later at the jail where she awaited her sentencing.

“What’m I looking at?”

The lawyer sighed. “Best bet… forty years.”

Elena barely batted an eye at the prospect of staying in prison past her sixtieth birthday. Authority had never kept her down before. How much different could prison be from high school, after all?

----

Judge Angela Connor looked down from the bench at the tall, black-haired woman she was about to sentence.

Was woman the right word? The judge wondered to herself as she took one last look at Blake’s file. She was barely 21, after all, and it was obvious from one look at her face that Blake was still so, so young.

But Judge Connor was not impressed by Blake’s crimes. Nor her attitude. She had watched during the trial as Blake seemed barely interested in the proceedings. “The girl needs discipline” was the thought that ran repeatedly through her mind.

“Ms. Blake,” she said, “do you have anything you wish to say before your sentencing?”

Elena didn’t stand. She just shook her head no. Judge Connor gave a tiny laugh.

“All right then. Well, Ms. Blake, it looks like the recommended sentence for your crimes is 480 months in prison. And that seems well-deserved to me.”

The judge paused.

“But I’m worried, Ms. Blake, about two things. One is that it seems a shame to waste the entirety of your promising life inside a prison. The other… the other is that you don’t seem to respect me, or these proceedings, or this community… or anything, really. And I think that, with a little discipline, you might be able to learn that respect.”

Elena looked at the judge quizzically, interested for the first time.

“You may not know this,” Judge Connor said, “what with your total ignorance of the world around you, but the legislature has recently passed a law for cases like yours – convicts under the age of 30 who are facing more than 30 years in jail. Instead of prison, I am allowed to sentence you into slavery for a term not to exceed 25% of your maximum sentence. You would be sold to a private buyer – the costs going to compensate your victims of course – and spend your sentence as their slave.”

It was all happening so fast…

“I think that’s appropriate in your case, Ms. Blake. So, I sentence you to ten years’ enslavement, beginning from the date of your purchase by a private buyer. I trust that, when your time in chains is done, you will have learned your lesson.”

Elena stood suddenly, her face growing red. “NO! I don’t want to be a slave. Send me to prison instead, judge… I think I’ve earned it.”

Judge Connor smirked. “You haven’t earned anything. And you should know that slaves speak only when spoken to. Take her away.”

Elena thrashed in anger as the guards removed her from the courtroom and carried her back to the cells.

Finally, she had sound a rule that she couldn’t break.

----

The morning of her auction, two guards pulled Elena from her cell for processing.

They sliced her orange prison uniform off, leaving her naked save for the dog tags that hung between her breasts. Cuffing Elena to a metal frame, the guards spent some time beautifying her – shaving her pussy, straightening her hair, doing her makeup.

Elena, more terrified than she would ever admit, tried to get some information out of them. “Hey… hey! How does this work? Who’s going to be here? How much am I going to cost?”

The female guard suddenly grabbed her by the hair. “Silence, slave. Speak when spoken to.”

Elena complied, falling silent until the guards were done with her.

“Okay, slave. It’s time.”

They led her backstage. Ten steel poles, each ten feet tall, stood on the stage. Six of them already had slaves chained in place – leg irons locked around the pole, arms raised high above their heads. Elena quickly counted four men and two women before the guards took her to her spot seventh from the right. She looked at the sign above where her head would be.

LOT # 65
AGE: 21
SENTENCE: TEN YEARS
STARTING BID: $50,000

She stared straight ahead at the heavy red curtain. Her new life was on the other side.

Elena was not looking forward to it.
 
Robert Hutchinson was in no hurry. It had been a long time since any of the slaves at one of these auctions had really captured his imagination, so he didn't see any point to being one of the first buyers in the auction hall. He idled in the bathroom, adjusting the black tie around his neck until it was exactly in place, before making his way into the lobby and heading up toward the doors, where he could see the vague features of the ten shackled slaves on the stage in the distance.

Robert picked up a copy of the auction notes, which were set on a table just outside the hall. Loitering in the back, away from the crowds of buyers making conversation, he flipped through the pages, looking to see if any of the items caught his eye.

One did.

LOT # 65
AGE: 21
SENTENCE: TEN YEARS
STARTING BID: $50,000

Measurements: 5'9", 127 lbs, 34DD
Piercings: None
Tattoos: None


Lot 65 is a feisty one indeed -- an exceptionally talented thief who made the mistake of stealing from some exceptionally powerful people. You need only take one look at her to know that she would make a magnificent sex slave, with her gorgeous looks and lithe, sensual body. Fair warning, though: Lot 65 is not for the inexperienced trainer. She is intelligent, obstinate, and used to getting her own way. Strict discipline will be necessary to mold this young woman into a proper slave. If, however, you desire a challenge, this is the lot for you.

Robert scanned the description a few times, curiosity building with each word. He already had two slaves, of course. But both were approaching the end of their enslavement... and neither of them had really been a "challenge" for him to mold.

He looked up and focused his eyes on the row of slaves in front of him, his cock stirring just a bit at the sight of the naked and restrained items on sale. Finally, he came to Lot 65 -- just as enticing as the description suggested, he thought, as he scanned his eyes up and down her body as she fidgeted in bondage.

Suddenly, his eyes made contact with hers from across the room. They only connected for a second, but he saw in her eyes something unmistakeable.

Fire. Fueled by hatred, by disbelief, by a desperate desire to be free of her shackles and to live her life exactly as she saw fit.

A slight grin crept across Robert Hutchinson's face as a realization entered his mind.

He had to buy Lot 65.
 
Elena Blake’s time on the auction block – where she was known only as Lot # 65 – passed like a blur.

Other than a strange moment of eye contact with one of the prospective buyers, she worked to disassociate from the humiliating proceedings. She tried to turn her mind to happier times, reliving some of her favorite heists in her mind as the attendees ran their eyes and hands over her nude body, stretched taut by the shackles pulling her arms well above her head. She did her best to ignore the low throbbing in her pussy every time the auctioneer ordered her to spread her legs for inspection. She attempted to disconnect her ears from her brain as the examinations ended and bidding started.

This last was not very successful; if she was to be sold into slavery, she wanted to fetch the highest price, and so Elena’s morbid curiosity let the dollar amounts float into her head. All the while she kept her face a mask of impassivity, silently defiant of her subjugation.

After the six slaves before her each sold for less than $300,000, her turn arrived. There was a flurry of bids, quickly bumping the starting price of 50 grand into the stratosphere. She could not process who was bidding on her, only that there was a lot of interest. Her price blew past the other slaves in no time, and Elena could not resist a tiny smile of satisfaction.

Suddenly, the bidding slowed down. Only two voices continued to push for her.

“Do I hear six hundred thousand?” asked the auctioneer dramatically.

No response. “Going once… twice…” Elena realized suddenly that she was forgetting to breathe.

“Sold! Lot # 65, to the gentleman in the back corner, for $575,000. If you’ll come to the side, you can sort out delivery and processing options with our sales team…”

Elena’s brain was just starting to focus on the words “delivery and processing” when unseen hands pulled a loose black hood over her head. With practiced efficiency those same hands uncuffed her from the pole and began to lead her away. Elena could focus only on the fire in her shoulder muscles, finally free of the stressful auction position.

Still nude, her hands and legs shackled, the freshly purchased slave followed the hands blindly as she went, presumably, backstage.

After a few minutes, the hands stopped her. “What’re we doing to this one?” a voice, presumably connected to the hands, asked.

“Temporary collar, tattoo four, and piercings A, B, and G,” responded another voice. “Then get her loaded up."

At these words Elena lashed out. Body modification wasn’t something she fancied; she’d never had any in her free life for fear of being identified. Guessing at the locations of her captors, she fired her cuffed hands forward, aiming to strike the one in front of her in the neck.

She missed.

She heard laughter. An electrical buzz. A sharp pain in her back.

Then the world fell away.
 
Some amount of time later, Elena returned to consciousness.

Her hood removed, she observed her surroundings. The slavers had strapped her to a table, her arms and legs cuffed in place. Leather straps held her body firmly. A ball gag prevented her from speaking.

A uniformed man suddenly loomed over her. “The rules are that I can’t begin until you’re awake, slave. Looks like you’re ready to go.”

He produced what Elena recognized as a piercing gun. Elena tried to scream, but all that came out was a muffled moan. The man remorselessly pierced her nipples one at a time, filling each hole with a small stainless steel barbell. Pain and humiliation coursed through Lot # 65’s bound body. he moved to her nose, piercing her septum and replacing it with a nose ring.

Elena was still processing her pain when the man suddenly flipped the table on its axis, leaving his prisoner facing the floor. She realized that there was a gap between her headrest and the rest of the table, leaving the base of her neck exposed to the air – where she immediately felt the painful prick of a tattoo gun.

“Easy there, slave,” the man said, gently enough. “This mostly won’t be visible when your hair’s down, but we need some way to identify you.” He kept up his work. “Believe me, there are way worse places some owners have this inked on their new acquisitions.”

After a minute or two more, Elena felt man pull back. Something cold and metallic was put into place around her neck.

“Look.”

Elena had kept her eyes closed for much of this ordeal. Upon opening her eyes, it took her a minute to process what she saw. The man had produced a pair of mirrors, one held in front of her face and one above her neck.

In the first, Elena could see her face, red from frustration, a black gag in her mouth. Her eyes ran over the nose piercing, now the center of attention of her features, down to what was unmistakably a perfectly circular steel collar around her neck.

In the second, reflected in the first, Elena saw a small tattoo of a bar code and a few small words inked into the base of her neck.

“SLAVE RELEASE DATE JUNE 10, 2030”

As the man flipped the table back over and began the process of shackling Elena up for transport, she could feel the foreign piercings in her breasts and the unfamiliar collar around her neck. As much as she’d tried to let this all roll over her, there was no avoiding the reality of her situation: she was now someone’s property.

“Okay, slave. Time for delivery.”
 
The next day...

Robert looked out of the floor-to-ceiling window in his office yet again.

From there, he had a complete view of the northern part of the grounds: the rolling grass fields, the gardens that supplied much of his food, the Olympic-sized pool.

And he could see the driveway, easily a quarter-mile long, that any visitor would take to pay him a social visit… or to make a delivery.

He could not be more pleased with his property, he reflected as he sat down at his desk and distracted himself once more with the tedious business of reading and writing emails. He’d bought it… well, nearly a decade ago now, wasn’t it? It was just after he sold his first company, a little project he’d started in college as a way of tracking which grocery stores had his favorite potato chips in stock. In the course of solving that problem, he’d created a few algorithms that were, by the standards of business logistics, years ahead of their time. When he sold the business he’d developed – and the proprietary algorithms that came with it – he was a billionaire at the tender age of 25.

Unlike some of his colleagues who were young and obscenely wealthy, Robert had no interest in being a titan of industry or a CEO more powerful than some heads of state. Oh, he stayed busy, taking on gigs as an executive consultant or serving on various corporate boards. But Robert found his happiness in the estate that he’d built for himself, seventy acres in northern California that he’d acquired at an auction. It was more or less empty when he took possession, but after ten years of obsessing over every last detail, the place was perfect.

The house itself wasn’t overlarge, appropriate for a lifelong bachelor. But he felt comfortable in every room, designed in the modern style – all straight lines and simple, luxurious finishing.

(Of course, most modern homes didn’t have a basement quite like Robert’s. He was grateful that the architect didn’t bat an eye at his very specific instructions for one corner of the basement: a small wing with four concrete cells, built around a small living area. He imagined the men wondering why they were installing steel bars in the small windows in that part of the house, buried mostly below ground level...)

Robert realized he’d been daydreaming and snapped his focus back to his screen. He had found it difficult to concentrate since returning from the auction on his helicopter the night before. It had been several years since he’d purchased a new slave – he already had two, complementing the staff of four employees who lived in another corner of the grounds. The thought of training his new property had him fully distracted.

He stood up and looked once more out the window… and there it was, at last.

A white van, the words “Department of Corrections” painted clearly on its side, was making its way slowly up the driveway.
 
The next day...

Robert looked out of the floor-to-ceiling window in his office yet again.

From there, he had a complete view of the northern part of the grounds: the rolling grass fields, the gardens that supplied much of his food, the Olympic-sized pool.

And he could see the driveway, easily a quarter-mile long, that any visitor would take to pay him a social visit… or to make a delivery.

He could not be more pleased with his property, he reflected as he sat down at his desk and distracted himself once more with the tedious business of reading and writing emails. He’d bought it… well, nearly a decade ago now, wasn’t it? It was just after he sold his first company, a little project he’d started in college as a way of tracking which grocery stores had his favorite potato chips in stock. In the course of solving that problem, he’d created a few algorithms that were, by the standards of business logistics, years ahead of their time. When he sold the business he’d developed – and the proprietary algorithms that came with it – he was a billionaire at the tender age of 25.

Unlike some of his colleagues who were young and obscenely wealthy, Robert had no interest in being a titan of industry or a CEO more powerful than some heads of state. Oh, he stayed busy, taking on gigs as an executive consultant or serving on various corporate boards. But Robert found his happiness in the estate that he’d built for himself, seventy acres in northern California that he’d acquired at an auction. It was more or less empty when he took possession, but after ten years of obsessing over every last detail, the place was perfect.

The house itself wasn’t overlarge, appropriate for a lifelong bachelor. But he felt comfortable in every room, designed in the modern style – all straight lines and simple, luxurious finishing.

(Of course, most modern homes didn’t have a basement quite like Robert’s. He was grateful that the architect didn’t bat an eye at his very specific instructions for one corner of the basement: a small wing with four concrete cells, built around a small living area. He imagined the men wondering why they were installing steel bars in the small windows in that part of the house, buried mostly below ground level...)

Robert realized he’d been daydreaming and snapped his focus back to his screen. He had found it difficult to concentrate since returning from the auction on his helicopter the night before. It had been several years since he’d purchased a new slave – he already had two, complementing the staff of four employees who lived in another corner of the grounds. The thought of training his new property had him fully distracted.

He stood up and looked once more out the window… and there it was, at last.

A white van, the words “Department of Corrections” painted clearly on its side, was making its way slowly up the driveway.
Oh nice!! Fresh meat delivery! :devil:
 
Elena’s journey had not been so comfortable.

The guards placed the freshly tattooed slave into a small cage, not much bigger than a dog crate. Her nipples and nose still tingled where they had been pierced moments before, but Elena was mostly just glad to be free of the uncomfortable shackles she had worn for most of the evening. Now, she was naked save for her new collar, snugly locked in place around her neck.

Her captors placed her cage on a trolley and rolled her down a maze of hallways until they came to what seemed to be a loading station. The trunk of a white van opened, revealing two other slaves in cages inside. Elena found herself slid in between a lean, heavily tattooed man and a petite, olive-skinned woman. Both, like her, wore nothing but a collar.

They waited in silence as, presumably, final preparations were made. Then the van door slammed shut, and a tall officer took his place in the driver’s seat.

“Okay, slaves,” he said in a stern, unforgiving tone. “I’ll only say this once. You’re being transported to your new owners. This will take up to ten hours.”

Ten hours? Elena couldn’t believe this bullshit. But the guard continued.

“You will be silent and well-behaved for the duration of the journey. Don’t make me take disciplinary action, and we’ll have a pleasant trip.”

Without asking for questions, the guard started the van and pulled out of the loading area and onto the road. From her position, caged in the windowless portion of the van, Elena could see nothing but the sky – pink at dusk – through the windshield at the front of the van.

An hour, maybe more, passed in silence. Elena was bored. She shifted in her cage to face her fellow slavegirl. “This is so fucked up,” she whispered, hoping to start a quiet conversation. But the girl’s eyes widened and she shook her head frantically. Elena scoffed internally at her, but outwardly she just turned the other way.

The male slave looked a more promising prospect, though he did not speak. Elena could see that his cock, nice and long, was hard as a rock – presumably at the sight of Elena’s naked curves. She smiled and began to tease him silently, running her hands over her body and writhing as best she could in her cage.

The male slave’s hand went down to his cock, and she could see him start to jerk it ferociously. Elena adjusted her body to where she thought the guard couldn’t see and began to toy her own clit, surprised at how wet she was.

She and the male slave were face to face now, separated only by the bars of their cages, each masturbating silently. His hot, lustful breath turned her on even more, and she could feel her orgasm coming closer… closer… closer…

Suddenly, a fierce electric shock coursed through her body. She shrieked, pulling her hand away from her pussy as her brain processed the pain. The male slave had done the same.

Before she knew what was happening, the guard had come into the back of the van, muttering to himself. “These fucking sluts… can’t trust ‘em for even one second. Don’t know why they don’t put the slaves in chastity before transport.” Elena, nearly paralyzed, felt the officer unlock her cage and pull her hands roughly behind her back, cuffing them in place with cold steel cuffs.

The guard returned to his position and continued to drive as Elena tried to catch her breath. She was still incredibly horny… but there was nothing she could do about it with her hands bound behind her back. She forced herself to turn away from the still temptingly hard cock of the male slave. After what seemed like hours, she drifted into an uncomfortable, restless sleep – that of cargo en route to its destination.
 
Elena’s journey had not been so comfortable.

The guards placed the freshly tattooed slave into a small cage, not much bigger than a dog crate. Her nipples and nose still tingled where they had been pierced moments before, but Elena was mostly just glad to be free of the uncomfortable shackles she had worn for most of the evening. Now, she was naked save for her new collar, snugly locked in place around her neck.

Her captors placed her cage on a trolley and rolled her down a maze of hallways until they came to what seemed to be a loading station. The trunk of a white van opened, revealing two other slaves in cages inside. Elena found herself slid in between a lean, heavily tattooed man and a petite, olive-skinned woman. Both, like her, wore nothing but a collar.

They waited in silence as, presumably, final preparations were made. Then the van door slammed shut, and a tall officer took his place in the driver’s seat.

“Okay, slaves,” he said in a stern, unforgiving tone. “I’ll only say this once. You’re being transported to your new owners. This will take up to ten hours.”

Ten hours? Elena couldn’t believe this bullshit. But the guard continued.

“You will be silent and well-behaved for the duration of the journey. Don’t make me take disciplinary action, and we’ll have a pleasant trip.”

Without asking for questions, the guard started the van and pulled out of the loading area and onto the road. From her position, caged in the windowless portion of the van, Elena could see nothing but the sky – pink at dusk – through the windshield at the front of the van.

An hour, maybe more, passed in silence. Elena was bored. She shifted in her cage to face her fellow slavegirl. “This is so fucked up,” she whispered, hoping to start a quiet conversation. But the girl’s eyes widened and she shook her head frantically. Elena scoffed internally at her, but outwardly she just turned the other way.

The male slave looked a more promising prospect, though he did not speak. Elena could see that his cock, nice and long, was hard as a rock – presumably at the sight of Elena’s naked curves. She smiled and began to tease him silently, running her hands over her body and writhing as best she could in her cage.

The male slave’s hand went down to his cock, and she could see him start to jerk it ferociously. Elena adjusted her body to where she thought the guard couldn’t see and began to toy her own clit, surprised at how wet she was.

She and the male slave were face to face now, separated only by the bars of their cages, each masturbating silently. His hot, lustful breath turned her on even more, and she could feel her orgasm coming closer… closer… closer…

Suddenly, a fierce electric shock coursed through her body. She shrieked, pulling her hand away from her pussy as her brain processed the pain. The male slave had done the same.

Before she knew what was happening, the guard had come into the back of the van, muttering to himself. “These fucking sluts… can’t trust ‘em for even one second. Don’t know why they don’t put the slaves in chastity before transport.” Elena, nearly paralyzed, felt the officer unlock her cage and pull her hands roughly behind her back, cuffing them in place with cold steel cuffs.

The guard returned to his position and continued to drive as Elena tried to catch her breath. She was still incredibly horny… but there was nothing she could do about it with her hands bound behind her back. She forced herself to turn away from the still temptingly hard cock of the male slave. After what seemed like hours, she drifted into an uncomfortable, restless sleep – that of cargo en route to its destination.
Even chained and locked in a cage, she can’t help herself.. Elena is pure slave meat :devil: If anything, her slavery and helplessness just turn her on even more.. she is as much a prisoner of her own lust, as any restraint that is used on her. I do like the idea of her squirming in frustration, with her hands cuffed behind her back.. what a delicious slut..:rolleyes:
 
Even chained and locked in a cage, she can’t help herself.. Elena is pure slave meat :devil: If anything, her slavery and helplessness just turn her on even more.. she is as much a prisoner of her own lust, as any restraint that is used on her. I do like the idea of her squirming in frustration, with her hands cuffed behind her back.. what a delicious slut..:rolleyes:

you might even say that Elena hasn't learned to obey! which makes sense, given that she hasn't started her training yet. she is definitely a delicious slut, and we'll see how much fun Robert has turning her into a proper slavegirl...
 
The trunk door opened to the bright sunlight of early morning.

After an eternity in the dark trunk of the transport van, it blinded Elena. As she blinked frantically – unable to wipe her eyes with her hands behind her back – she heard the guard make low conversation with an unknown voice. After a moment, he returned to the van and grabbed the handle on the top of Elena’s cage, dragging her out of the trunk. Elena shivered in the cool air.

“Your stop, slave,” the guard said, and then Elena felt a prick in her upper arm. She barely had a moment to process it before darkness fell again.

--

Elena regained consciousness slowly.

She processed her surroundings first. She sat at one end of a long table made of rich, dark wood. A similar wood made up three walls of what she assumed was a dining room. The fourth wall, all glass, opened onto an expansive patio, which she could tell was anchored by a cerulean-blue pool.

Her eyes turned to the decorations. A long, abstract painting on the wall parallel to the table did little for her, but what was behind the chair at the other end of the table was more interesting. Atop an end table sat two frames filled with what looked like antique – ancient – coins. The coins flanked a small marble statue of a similar vintage, depicting a kneeling, nude woman.

A chill ran down Elena’s spine. As she shuffled in her chair, she finally noticed her bondage. Her collar had been clipped to a length of chain, maybe eight feet long, that ran down between her legs to an anchor point below the table. Her hands and feet were in standard cuffs, locked in front of her neck-chain so that she was effectively bound in a seated position. Elena barely even noticed that she was naked – she’d begun to realize that clothes weren’t an option for her anymore.

Elena mentally braced herself for whatever would come next. She assumed that this was the house of the person who’d purchased her. While she appreciated his (or her) taste in decoration, she had no intention of gratifying her new owner with her submission. “A slave in name only,” she thought to herself over and over again…

After what felt like an eternity, she heard a set of footsteps approaching.
 
A tall man entered the room and took the seat at the opposite end of the table from Elena. She sized him up: mid-thirties, probably, she thought, taking in the man’s impeccably tailored dark blue suit and white dress shirt. The top two buttons were undone, and she guessed that underneath his clothes was the physique of someone who went to the gym out of self-maintenance and not natural athleticism. Her eyes roved over the man’s expensively-maintained brown hair that framed a tight, clean-shaven face.

When she met his eyes – deep blue, like the pool just footsteps away – she recognized him. This was the man from the auction, the only one with whom she’d made any memorable connection, their eyes meeting across the room during the inspection period. So he’d ponied up over half a million dollars to buy her? Elena shifted in her chair as she processed this information, her shackles clinking gently.

“Welcome to your home,” the man said in a low but clear voice. “How was your journey here?”

Elena spat out her response. “You try spending ten hours in a cage in the back of a van.”

The man laughed. “Point taken. Thankfully, I don’t think I’ll ever have to. Never been much of a troublemaker… but I understand that would be a good way to describe you, Miss Blake?”

Elena did not respond as the man opened a manila folder. “Your file,” he said by way of explanation. “Quite a rap sheet you’ve picked up, and at such a young age… I thought thieves as talented as you only appear in movies.”

“I guess I’m a prodigy,” Elena said.

“Indeed,” the man said, closing the folder. “Well, I’m sure you understand that those days are over, Miss Blake. As is your time with that name, I think – your name is Four, for the time being.”

“My name is Elena Blake,” the slavegirl said, and she attempted to spring to her feet… but she could not stand with her collar leashed to the floor, and her chains forced her back into the seat. The man smiled. “It might take you a bit of time to accept it, Four, but while you’re my property I choose your name; not you.”

“And what’s your name?” asked the flustered Four.

“For your purposes, Four, you should call me Master.”
 
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