With 40 buyers and sellers and 100 men for sale, they’ll talk about the Femdom auction at Amityworld for years.
A Weekend in Amityworld
The Ultimate Femdom Auction Weekend, Amity Style
Auction Plans
Buying and Selling Men
by Amity Harris
After months of intense planning, it was time for Amityworld’s first slave auction. Women arrived from across the country and two oceans to inspect and bid on the skills and talents they wanted to buy to grow their stables. Dozens of buyers descended on Amityworld anticipating the first-class experience that only Amity could provide. Her exclusives — a former military commander, her Tantric boys and of course, her cop — did the heavy lifting. From pre-sales inspections to slave competitions to bidding wars, Amity gave her network of Dommes the weekend they would never forget — three days they would talk about for years.
The Red Handle
Crafted by her personal leather worker, the red handle fit perfectly in her left hand. When Amity let it fly, her single-tail never missed its mark. That whip kept her stable in line in her punishment building. When a decorated ex-POW was sent to her to finally heal, the red-handled whip brought him home. When her most important exclusive slave, the one she calls My Cop, is hungry, she feeds him a five-course meal with the red handle in her fist. Her whip is an extension of her power. Amity reaches for the red handle when that special sensation fills her. At the culmination of the Amityworld auction weekend, her single-tail spoke louder than any slave chorus could sing.
A Weekend in Amityworld – Preface
IN CITIES ACROSS the country just like in towns across the ocean, men were loaded into trucks and planes to be delivered to the same place, near the mountains where Tennessee meets the Carolinas. One or two carefully chosen men from each owner’s collection were culled, collected and caged for transport. They represented a cross-section of construction skills and had the talents needed to do an extraordinary job.
When they were finished and the building foreman approved their work, some would be shipped back to their owners. Unbeknownst to the rest, they were headed for distant places to be under the control of new titleholders who had one thing in common.
The new owners were Ms. Amity’s friends. They were on the guest list for the first auction ever held in Amityworld. The slave sale in Sweden was four long years ago. The Houston and Memphis markets were smaller, one- and two-year-old memories. Some of these women, the ones who could afford the prices, had purchased high-quality, high-priced merchandise from Reckoning to fill their stables. But the women missed each other’s company and the fun they always had when they got together.
Not to mention the trouble they loved to get into.
A full-fledged auction was the perfect solution. Given the location, it was destined to be more than simply bidding on and buying male or mixed-gender slaves. Nothing at Amityworld was ever simple. Or small. That’s why Amity arranged for the talents and skills she needed from her friends’ stables to produce the grandest and most entertaining three-day weekend her friends had ever experienced. They shared their property’s skillsets on a series of video calls and not one hesitated to donate their slaves’ time or talents. After all, it was Amityworld.
Red Rick’s shipping company was running in high gear, collecting what Amity chose from cities and towns all over the country with a few from overseas, assembling them in way stations and delivering them to her world. Amity gave Rick a detailed timetable so a glut of new males didn’t have to be sent through Intake at the same time. Every visitor to Amity’s world undergoes one level of Intake or another. In this case, she was explicit.
Medical screening, rules training and housing. In that order.
Emma, her doctor, earned her transition to become a female a year ago. Along with a pair of house females who doubled as medical screeners and the physician’s assistant Amity bought, Emma could examine five males in under an hour. Unless one had a problem. The most common was constipation, usually a result of their diets during shipping. Emma’s enemas were one of her favorite treatments.
Learning Amity’s rules took longer and depended on the quality of their owners’ ways of schooling their slaves. Amity gave her friends a list of expectations for each slave-on-loan so most wouldn’t disrupt her well-trained stable. There would likely be one or two loaners who needed remedial work. Brutal remedial work. Time mattered. They had a job to complete.
Amity never let new boys eat, sleep or piss-and-shit with the ones she owned. Her slaves were competent at their jobs and obeyed her strict schedule. New ones often caused some disruption that Jack, the stable manager, had to cope with. That took time from Jack’s full plate of duties. The loaners needed housing so finishing the new building was their first job. Until it was ready, she put them in cages lined up along the edge of the smaller field. Finishing what would be their own dorm was a high priority for the new arrivals. It got cold at night. Sometimes it rained.
The household staff was abuzz with new duties added to their regular tasks. There would be no overlooking of Amity’s exacting standards for her home while the dozen girls she owned handled the two dozen extra males’ needs. Her pair of chefs got no rest. As soon as the girls delivered first feeding to her stable and the visitors in their cages, the chefs had to prepare the second. Added to that, Amity had guests for two luncheons and three dinners during the construction. And one special meal for her exclusives, the four branded slaves she keeps in attic cells so they can respond quickly to her summons.
The regular staff tiptoed around her exclusives. They were slaves, of course, but in their own category. Those four were the only slaves allowed in her private suite and what they did there was a mystery the female staff didn’t dare to speculate about. One of them was allowed to have head hair, unlike every other one Amity owned. Even the girls.
The slaves who were privileged to live in Amityworld knew when that one, the one she called My Cop, arrived in the transport garage. Their owner would focus on him. When he was there, things happened. Private planes landed at a small airport and limos picked up visitors. Staff rarely saw those visitors and were locked in the main house or in the female dorm when guests were there. The punishment out-building was constantly busy and her girls drove Ms. Amity to and from it in a golf cart, often at odd hours.
The soundproofing prevented them from hearing what took place inside the punishment building but the house girls could guess. Especially when they cleaned and sterilized her single-tail whips. Each girl reported to the punishment building from time to time to face the consequences of her mistakes or rare infractions. One visit taught them to do their jobs carefully and well. The possibility of a second visit was terrifying.
One Thursday morning, the first of Red Rick’s trucks arrived in the transport garage. Five males were uncrated and stood naked on the concrete floor, waiting for instructions.
A side door opened and a voice on a speaker said, “Run down the slaveway.”
A line of five naked men ran down the path toward the Intake building, their genitals bouncing with every step.
From the terrace overlooking her property, Amity sipped coffee and watched them run under the bright sunshine. Had they dared to glance up, they would have seen two bald, naked bodies bent at her feet, their tongues busy with her toes. So it starts, Amity thought.
