Sold!

Buying and selling slaves is my favorite kind of shopping.

Introduction to the Memphis Femdom Auction

THE PLANE WAS FULL. That’s one reason I had my personal girl make business class reservations for the two-hour flight for me, of course, and for MAC, my exclusive who calls himself “Ms. Amity’s Cop.” The big A brand on the underside of his ball sac marks him as my exclusive. Currently, he is one of three exclusives I keep in cells in the attic. Three live there permanently. The newest one, Juke, is in training for his special role in my world. My Cop is a remote but appears whenever I want or need him.

The other business class ticket was for Zayn, my third exclusive. His sac was also seared with my brand and his inborn Tantric skills are developing under the tutelage of the ancient Asian Master I engaged. That I have an exclusive whose Eastern skills regularly take me beyond the outer limits of pleasure is well-known to my circle of friends. I received several inquiries asking if I was bringing him to auction. There was no need for them to drop hints. I knew what they wanted — their own time with him. Once you’ve been brought into the beyond by Zayn, no regular orgasm compares.

That’s one reason he was assigned a strength-building regimen for the past two months. I can vouch that it worked to increase his endurance and I’m certain he can now satisfy a lineup of voracious Dommes in a single afternoon.

There were six economy seats in the back of the plane for what I was taking with me — five male slaves I was selling and my personal girl, Audra. Her status with me was a big question mark. Oh, she was OK, but in my world, OK doesn’t cut it. Disposing of her was a decision I’d make after I looked over the available stock.

We were headed for what used to be our biennial auction. I hadn’t been to a local one, one in the lower 48 states, since before the pandemic. It had been four years since we could schedule one on the mainland. The Swedish Auction a year-and-a-half ago was memorable, but this was the first one in-country, as My Cop termed it, in a long time. I was looking forward to seeing friends I hadn’t been with for four years.

The auction had been on my calendar for months. With all the planning it takes my personal girl to arrange my schedule, I still have to double-check her work to make sure it is done correctly. That’s one reason her status was iffy. I don’t have the time or the desire to make sure an assigned task is done right. The other reason was that I need fresh meat from time to time and this was one of those times. When I told My Cop that I was thinking about selling her, he nodded. I’m sure he thought the girl wasn’t the right fit for me. He knows what I want in a personal female.

“You deserve impeccable skills and huge boobs,” he said.

That’s another reason he’s My Cop.

What made this auction so attractive wasn’t only that we were getting together in real life for the first time in four years. That was a big factor, for sure, but there was a very special event listed for Saturday afternoon to close the day with a big bang after bidding, buying and shipping was done. There are often skill demonstrations at auction and I did a single-tail demo in Sweden, the last one I promised myself I’d ever do. But the special program on the Memphis agenda stood out.

It was right there on the agenda after the markdowns, the slaves who didn’t get sold in the main event, were unloaded. Sometimes you can find a gem among the leftovers, so I will take a look at the discounted items to see if I can get a deal on something useful. But what I was really looking forward to was the late afternoon event.

A bullfight! We were going to have a bullfight! That’s when I knew who was going to make an appearance at this auction. She’s one of a kind. And one of my best friends.

I had my girl RSVP immediately when I saw it on the timetable. One of my best but elusive friends was organizing the bullfight. There’s nothing like a one-on-one bullfight outdoors in the sunshine to make your Saturday afternoon exciting. Especially when it’s followed by a huge dinner and a slave talent show.

The Training Farm Mistress is one of a kind.

That meant I needed a bull to enter. One who could win. I don’t take well to losing. My entry for the bullfight was sitting in the back of the plane and he knew that his future in my stable — or getting put on the auction block — was his to win or lose. He was big and strong and I had him well-trained during the past few months. Living in Amityworld was his life’s dream. Whether I allowed him to stay was completely in his hands. And on his shoulders.

I sat back, listened to Beethoven’s No. 9 in my earbuds and had Zayn take care of me right after the seatbelt sign was turned off. Business class seating gave him just enough room to squat at my feet. My Cop looked over the auction catalogue so he could suggest slaves with skills and talents I might want to look at and perhaps purchase. It took the entire two hours of the flight for him to get through the listings.

This was going to be quite an auction. Neither My Cop nor Zayn had any clue what was in store for them.

But I did.