My First Time Chained on the Slave Block: A Duchess’s Surrender
The wooden stage creaked under my bare feet. First time locked in that stocks, neck and wrists trapped in cold iron. Heart hammered like a drum in my chest. Naked. Completely exposed. The merchant’s sign around my neck screamed ‘100’—cheap meat. Amber beside me, priced at 10,000, free to kneel pretty. Me? Chained short, forced to stay put. Crowd building. Stomach twisted. What if no one bids? Worse, the pillory out front, promised if reds piled up. Used by anyone. Object. My pulse raced, thighs slick already. Fear and want tangled tight. No turning back. Albert had sold me like trash. Husband tossing me away. Pride stung, but pussy throbbed.
Whispers from the alleys. Dominants strolling, eyes hungry. I growled at the first guy, black stare daring him. He slipped red paper in my sign. Fuck. Merchant warned me. Be good or pillory. Knees buckled. Turned, hid the red, arched back, ass out. More came. Begged one with soft eyes. Promised obedience. He saw through, added another red. Rage boiled, clit ached. Charles next. Sucked him deep, sloppy, desperate for green. Pulled out, no color. Laughed as he paid the fine. Bastard. Reds stacking. Merchant loomed. ‘Pillory time, slut.’ Trembled. Heat flooded me. Had to win this. Crouched low, eyes down, perfect sub pose. But still reds. Body on fire, untouched yet screaming for it.
The Approach
Clocks rang four. Sales boomed around. I bolted, stole food, hid. Caught. Whip cracked. Dodged, snatched it, cracked him back. Crowd gasped. ‘Not a slave!’ Yelled. No one grabbed me. Needed breaking. Nicolas stepped up. Whip mine now. Dropped it. Knees hit dirt, hands on head. First real strike lashed my back. Fire exploded. Yelped, held still. Belly next. Burned deep. Soaked. He walked. Alone again.
Wandered, pissed in shadows. Photographer fight. Grabbed Nicolas’ camera. Snapped pics, watched. Spotted him—Henry. Tattoos, calm power. Kneeled before him. Ignored. Heart sank. Tracked his slave, Andreá. Unballed her, chatted. Traded barbs. She wanted swap. Found her perfect match: Nicolas. Concours set. Barn. Chained high, spreader bar, metal balls stuffed in cunt and ass, locked chasteté, gagged. Hands free, but trapped. Andreá snatched scarf first. Lost.
The Instant
Suck-off round. Louis smirked. Knew my moves. Deepthroated, swirled tongue just right. He held, trained to last. Andreá won hers quick. Defeat. Rage. No more games. Faced Henry. ‘I’m Duchess of Scotland.’ Eyes lit. Hand in hair, pulled slow. Knees buckled. Face to floor. Pinned gentle, firm. Broke me. Innocence cracked wide. Owned by a stranger’s will.
After, world shifted. No more duchess on pedestal. Craved the dirt, the chain, the command. First true surrender. Horizons blown open. Still feel that pull, that wet rush. Adulthood hit hard—slave heart awakened.
