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Author Topic: Writing Prompt Inside  (Read 539 times)

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Offline PennySludtTopic starter

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Writing Prompt Inside
« on: January 13, 2016, 03:45:08 pm »
I had a beginning stuck in my head that wants a story. I would like to see what others can see happening with this one. Not guaranteed I'll start another story, but if something really catches my fancy, I would.

“It only hurts for a few minutes each time,” the pretty girl told Riva, leaning her back against the wooden bench, her arms wrapped around one knee as the other swung idly beneath. “My last Master barely used me much anyway. He was so fat I don’t think he could be bothered. When he died, they just sold off all his possessions. They said I’d do okay cuz I’m not twenty yet, so most likely I won’t be sent to the breeders.”

There was a derisive snort from an older girl nearby, who probably WAS about twenty, but life had made her look much older. The first girl turned to her with her eyebrows raised.

“Something you want to say, Carla?” she asked, her leg not swinging anymore. The older girl looked from Riva to the first girl in thought for a moment.

“Don’t fill her head with all that innocent fluff, Marissa! We’re not in the good stock. There’s no way she’s going to a Master like that, even if it WERE true. We all know what we’re worth down here, and it’s not going to be a personal slave, that’s for sure.” She turned her head away and returned to scratching her symbol into the wooden bench with a small piece of broken floor tile.

Marissa watched her for a moment before she spoke again. “Why are you doing that?”

Without looking up, Carla answered, “So someone knows I existed….”

One week later:

The girls huddled together behind the big stage that held the podium and display block. Some held hands, others held themselves. Carla had been right. They were one of the last groups to go up on the block, meaning they were considered low quality. Either they had been troublesome and untrainable, or were too used to fetch a decent price in any other market, or their owners simply couldn’t be bothered to list them in private sale. Carla was probably one of the first two. Marissa was obviously in the third group.

And then there were those like Riva. The ones who weren’t considered pretty, or were unhealthy in some way. The ones considered to be basically worthless, even more so than the first three.

The crowd in front of the stage was drunk and bawdy. Some of them simply came for the cheap show, others actually had come to buy. They were mostly men, but there were a few women in business suits here and there also, most likely purchasing in bulk for a club and the like. The auctioneer’s gavel sounded on the podium and the crowd quieted down. The first girl was brought out onto the stage and made to stand on the display block while the auctioneer spoke.

“Alright, our first item up for bid is item number 9317 and comes to us from a bankrupt club. Well used, fairly well trained. Older though. 23 years old, 5’7”, 130 pounds, blond hair, blue eyes, still a few years left in her I’d say. Let’s start the bidding at $700”

The bidding began. Riva was clutching Marissa’s hand tightly as she listened to the sounds around them. It felt like chaos. After a few bids, the girl was sold for $3,000 and ushered off the stage on the opposite side crying as Marissa made a sad noise.

“What’s wrong….?” Riva asked her softly.

“She was sold to another club…. It has a reputation for catering to the rough crowd….” she whispered back. She held Riva’s hand more tightly.

A few more girls went up and were sold, each one crying as they were taken down. Riva felt tears welling in her own eyes as she imagined the fates of those poor girls, and what hers would probably be.

Soon it was Carla’s turn. Holding her head up high, she climbed up onto the box and stared over the heads of the crowd as the auctioneer began.

“Item number 3659, comes from a club in Norfolk, unable to train and violent, used, 20 years old, 5’9”, 150 pounds, red hair, green eyes. I’m sure you folks could find a use for her. Let’s start the bidding at $500.”

The bidding was short and quiet. When the auctioneer banged his gavel, Carla gave a scream and fell to her knees, struggling violently when two porters came to take her away.

Riva clutched at Marissa, “What? What’s wrong? Why is she like that?” It was only then that she realized Marissa was crying too.

“She….. She was sold to a…. a breeder…. They’ll put her to suitable males and breed her until she can’t produce anymore….and then…. and then…. Girls don’t come back from breeders….” she finished.

A porter came over and grabbed Riva’s arm roughly, dragging her away from Marissa. It was her turn. She was lifted onto the block and stood there, stock still, trembling with fright as tears ran down her cheeks.

“Item number 5223, comes from a youth shelter, untrained but unused, quite a deal, 16 years old, 5’2”, a bit scrawny at 95 pounds, black hair, gray eyes. She is defective though. She’s blind. Still, I’m sure you bargain hunters could get a great deal here on a young, unused girl you can train your way. She’s quite docile I’m told, easy to work with. Let’s start the bidding at $300.”

$300!? That’s all she was worth!? Was she so worthless that she was going for less than Carla with all her violence and rage and disobedience!?