The Slave Clearance Sale I’ll Never Forget

I’d spent weeks looking for a body to possess. Not a lover, not a companion: a being. Someone stripped of their own will, without whims, without opinions about what time I got home or who I climbed into bed with. This time, my visit to the «The Redoubt» complex had a specific purpose: to take one of them home with me.

I didn’t care about gender or physical appearance. I wanted total obedience, silence when I wasn’t asking them to speak, and availability without schedules or negotiations. What the purveyors of fantasies call a real slave: no cracks, no egos, no bad days to manage. A cunt or a cock at my disposal, without the head attached to either of them having an opinion on the matter.

It had all started three weeks earlier, when I received an email announcing «The Redoubt’s» annual clearance sale. Slaves discarded by their masters, whom the complex made available to new owners during an open-house weekend. The rules were simple: if you no longer wanted your slave, you left them at the center, and someone else might adopt them. A circular market, with no economic value—just leftovers looking for a new use. Those no one claimed would become part of the complex’s staff, available for the personal use of guests during their stays.

I went alone. I left my Beast at home, locked in his cage and barely concealing his anger. His possessive streak toward me sometimes proved stimulating, but that morning he had crossed a line we’d been negotiating for months. What he wanted wasn’t what mattered: he should have learned that by now. If he still didn’t understand, I would eventually hand him over to the complex at the next clearance sale. Not as a threat—as a consequence.

When I arrived at the facilities, Marc, the director, greeted me. He was Belgian, short, with the kind of precision in his gestures found in some northern Europeans who take power seriously. A huge slave, around six and a half feet tall, dark-skinned and naked, always followed closely behind him. Marc had brought him back from a trip to Senegal two years earlier. He had a fixation with a certain idea of hierarchy that he never bothered to hide—and in that context, no one held it against him.

—Sofía, long time no see. How was the trip? Did you come alone this time, or did you leave your pet in the trunk?

—Marc. —I approached him and kissed his cheek.— I came without company this time. Every now and then, he needs to realize he isn’t indispensable. He stayed in a bad mood, and we’ll have a conversation when I get back. That attitude is exhausting me.

—You’re far too patient with that kind of material. You should leave him with us for a few months in the reconditioning program. We have masters who bring theirs to us every season—they say it’s like breaking them in all over again from scratch.

—I’m not saying no... but I came for the clearance sale this time. I want a body to use, nothing more. Someone who won’t give me trouble, won’t make faces, who’ll be there when I need them. Is there anything decent among the offerings? I’m coming in with a completely open mind.

—Do you want this one? —He gestured toward his slave casually, as though offering the last free chair on a terrace.— I’ve had him for quite some time, and I’m bored of him now. I acquired him two years ago thinking he’d be harder to tame, but it turns out he loves serving. And I’m not aroused by anything that doesn’t resist. Look at him: he’s been like that all morning, hard and still as a well-trained animal. He’s got a good cock, a vasectomy, and a body that takes whatever you throw at it. I’ll give you the chastity cage I had custom-made for him, too. The first one was too small—I had trouble putting it on him and wasted time packing him in ice every time. The good thing is that he doesn’t talk much: he understands a few words in Spanish, but nothing more. The bad thing is that if you don’t point out exactly what you want, you have to guide him closely with the crop.

I looked calmly at the slave. His cock had grown harder simply from hearing Marc talk about him in the third person. It was thick and dark, with prominent veins and a shiny glans bearing a clear drop that had remained suspended without falling. His balls were tight and drawn up. An animal in working condition, without a doubt. But he wasn’t what I had come looking for.

—Well, Marc. I appreciate it, but I was looking for something more manageable. Something discreet, someone who can stay close without drawing too much attention. Though if you don’t mind, I might ask for him later, just for a while. The journey was long, and I feel like burning off some energy.

—He’s all yours whenever you want him. Have him carry your luggage in the meantime. —He gestured at the slave without looking at him.— I assigned Claudia to you as a domestic slave. I know you liked her work last time—she’s waiting for you in the room. The clearance sale is tonight after dinner, so you’ll have the weekend to try out the candidates before deciding. I’ll show you to the suite.

***

We crossed the main hall. Marc’s slave followed us, carrying my luggage, growing more tense and more erect with every step. I was convinced he understood far more than Marc thought. When we reached the suite door, it opened before we could knock.

Claudia was just over twenty-eight. Her brown hair was pulled into a tight bun; she was short, with one of those rounded figures that fill a space without taking it all up. She was completely shaved and, as befitted her role, naked and barefoot. She was a domestic service slave: she didn’t take part in the complex’s purely sexual games. Her job was to keep you in perfect condition throughout the day, laminating, massaging, anticipating. She was good at all three, and she knew it without needing anyone to tell her.

—Goodbye, Marc. Thanks for the welcome. I’ll see you tonight, and I’ll return the slave to you.

—No rush. He’s all yours until you get tired of him. I’m going to see whether more guests have arrived—and, while I’m at it, see if I can find a slave who needs attention. I’m in the mood to break in a new crop.

I entered the room. It wasn’t one of the largest in the complex, but it had a six-and-a-half-foot bed with a reinforced headboard for restraints, and a jacuzzi in the corner beside the picture window that looked directly out onto the complex’s gardens. There were no curtains here, and privacy was an alien concept—and that was precisely part of the place’s appeal.

I signaled Claudia to unpack my luggage: clothes in the wardrobe, toys on the central table. She moved silently, with the efficiency of someone who had been serving for a long time and had learned to anticipate. I went out onto the terrace to get some air and observe what was happening in the garden.

***

There they were: two men and four women, naked in a line on the gravel. They wore a ring belt cinched around their waists and Japanese nipple clamps, connected by chains to the belt of the person in front. Diego, the trainer, pulled the first one along, setting a steady pace as the group advanced barefoot. The mechanics were simple and brutal: if someone fell behind, the chain tugged at the nipples of the person behind them. If someone sped up to compensate, the person behind them got tugged anyway.

One of the submissives had been at her limit for several minutes. You could see it in her posture: neck tense, shoulders raised, trying to calculate every step without falling behind. Every time the group sped up slightly, she felt the tug on her nipples. To compensate, she made a little sprint, and then the slave behind her was the one who paid for the adjustment.

What happened next had been predictable from the terrace. During one of those tiny accelerations, the slave behind the submissive lost his clamps. The scream was sharp and involuntary—the sound a body makes when pain arrives before the brain expects it. The entire line stopped.

—What did I tell you? —Diego’s voice wasn’t a shout; it was something worse, that cold, controlled disappointment people who have been doing this for years know how to use.— We’ve spent all morning on this exercise. You can’t keep the pace for ten minutes straight. That’s it. Everyone to the punishment room. It seems you were asking for it. No wonder your masters gave up on you.

All six lowered their heads. None protested, none looked at the trainer. They began moving inside in silence, awkwardly, like people walking barefoot over stone with their hands tied to their belts.

That was when Marc appeared in the garden, crop in hand and wearing the smile of a man whose day had been perfectly on course from the very beginning.

—Diego, did I hear punishment? Will you let me participate? I’m dying to see what this crop leaves on a white ass.

—Master Marc, it will be a pleasure. Choose whichever one you like best. They’re all equally clumsy today.

Marc pointed to the submissive who hadn’t been able to keep pace and the slave who had lost his clamps. The others exhaled—a poorly concealed relief that Marc noted and filed away mentally, I was sure. There would be time for that relief later.

He made the two of them kneel in front of him. He hooked their wrists to the ring belts and forced their heads down toward the gravel. Using the crop’s handle, he spread their knees until their cunts and balls were exposed to the sun. Neither said a word. They knew that any sound not forcibly dragged out of them would only make things worse.

Marc calmly rolled up his shirt sleeves, like someone preparing something that required concentration. He started with the submissive. No counting, no warning, no preamble. The sound of a crop striking skin is different when the person holding it knows what they’re doing: cleaner, more precise, less spectacular, and far more effective. He crossed her ass first, twice, marking two parallel red stripes. Then he moved down to the inner sides of her thighs, and from there, without changing rhythm, delivered a sharp stroke directly across the lips of her cunt. The submissive took the first in silence. The second tore a compressed moan from between her teeth. On the third, she lost her balance and fell sideways onto the gravel. Marc repositioned her by pulling on the chain, taking the opportunity to check the state of things between her legs with his fingers. He pushed them in carelessly—two, three fingers to the knuckle—and pulled them out gleaming, a strand of fluid hanging from them all the way to his wrist.

—Look, Diego. Now we know why she couldn’t run. —He looked up at the trainer and showed him his soaked fingers.— Keep her near my room tonight. I think she’s going to like my toys. She’s squirting like a fountain.

He wiped his fingers in the submissive’s mouth, forcing them all the way to the back of her throat until he heard her gag. Then he turned toward the slave. He dropped the crop on the ground. He unbuttoned his trousers leisurely, without hurrying. He took out a thick, curved cock, already hard from what he had just done. He grabbed the slave’s face, positioned it in front of him, and shoved it into his mouth to the root without warning. He pumped a few times, one hand on the back of his neck, wrenching that guttural sound from his throat that emerges when the passage is forced, and pulled out a cock slick with saliva hanging in strings.

—So it goes in easier, —he said, more to the trainer than to the slave.

He positioned himself behind him. He spread the slave’s buttocks with both hands, spat a thick gob into the center of his ass, and spread it with the glans, striking the entrance twice. He didn’t use his fingers. He drove himself in all at once, to the root. The slave’s scream was short and cut off by itself—through training or pride, it was hard to say. Marc gripped the ring belt for leverage, pulled backward, and began fucking him at a steady pace, unhurried but relentless. The dull thuds of his hips against the slave’s ass could be heard, along with the wet smack of his cock sliding in and out, the compressed moans of the one receiving, and the scrape of gravel beneath his knees every time his body was pushed forward and pulled back. The slave’s cock, ignored beneath his belly, had grown hard as a stone and dripped a steady thread onto the gravel, which seemed to amuse Marc.

—Look at this one. He loves it. —He delivered a sharp slap that sent the sound across the entire garden.— Just like all of them.

He buried one hand in the slave’s hair, pulled his head back until his whole body arched, and sped up. He fucked his ass with deeper, more brutal thrusts, until his balls grew tight and pressed against his body. Diego had ordered one of the remaining submissives to kneel in front of him and already had his cock out, feeding it down the submissive’s throat with the same indifference with which one fills a dog’s bowl. The three submissives still standing stared straight ahead with their feet together and nipples hard, trying not to reveal what was perfectly visible from the terrace—their thighs pressed together, the glistening between them, their short breaths.

Marc finished with three deeper thrusts, gripping the belt with both hands, and came inside the slave with a short, furious growl. He remained still for several seconds, still buried to the root, letting his cock continue emptying itself without hurry. When at last he withdrew, a gleaming, dripping cock slid out, followed by a thick strand of semen that began running down the inner side of the slave’s thigh. Marc gathered what he could of the stream with two fingers, traveled up the cleft of his ass to collect more, and held his whole hand beneath the slave’s mouth.

—Swallow it all. And clean up.

The slave licked his fingers one by one, then his palm, then the back of his hand. Marc let him finish without rushing him. He pulled up his trousers, said something quietly to Diego without even looking at him, and disappeared inside the complex with the same leisurely manner in which he had arrived, leaving the slave still on his knees, ass open and dripping onto the gravel.

***

I turned and went into the room, my skin burning and my panties a complete mess.

Claudia had finished putting everything away. The collection of toys was arranged on the central table with a logic I hadn’t explained to her—and yet it was exactly the order I would have chosen: the black silicone dildo on the left, the harness folded beside it, the clamps and short whip in the center, the plug and lubricant on the right. The jacuzzi was already running, the temperature perfect, steam rising slowly toward the picture window.

Marc’s slave was kneeling beside the door, hands on his thighs, eyes lowered. He had heard everything that had happened in the garden. His body made it clear without any further explanation: his cock pointed toward his navel, his balls so tight they looked ready to burst, a shining thread of pre-cum trailing down to the carpet.

The clearance sale tonight. A decision tomorrow.

But first, something had to be done about the long drive, the accumulated tension, the urge to burn off some energy before dinner.

I took off my jacket and let it fall onto the chair. Then my blouse, my bra, my skirt, my panties—which were so soaked they stuck to my thigh as I pulled them down. I threw them in the slave’s face. They landed draped over his shoulder. He didn’t move. But I saw his nostrils flare as he sought out the scent.

Claudia was already standing beside me, waiting for instructions without asking for them. The slave didn’t move either, but he didn’t need to move for me to know he was ready.

I chose Claudia first. It’s always better to start with what you already know before exploring something new.

I lay on my back on the bed, legs spread and feet planted on the mattress. I gestured with two fingers. Claudia climbed onto the bed without a sound, silent as always, and knelt between my thighs. She needed no instructions. She opened the lips of my cunt with her thumbs, bent down, and began at my perineum with the tip of her tongue, slowly moving upward. When she reached my clitoris, she didn’t stop—she circled it, avoided it, left it waiting. She went down again, this time pushing her whole tongue in as far as it would reach, fucking me with it like a small, agile cock.

—With your fingers too, —I said, without lifting my head from the pillow.

She inserted two, then three, curling them upward, searching for the spot she had memorized last time. Her mouth returned to my clitoris, this time without detours, sucking it with the steady suction that was her signature. My body arched on its own. I reached down and grabbed her bun, pulling it downward to press her face more tightly against me.

The slave remained by the door, watching from beneath his lashes whenever he thought I wasn’t looking. His cock trembled with every moan that escaped me. I smiled inwardly. I was going to make him wait. I was going to make him wait until desire bent him double.

—Faster, —I told Claudia, and she obeyed instantly, increasing the pace of her fingers and the pressure of her tongue without changing her technique. She knew exactly what she was doing. Her fingers slid in and out with an obscene squelch that filled the room, while her mouth didn’t release my clitoris even to breathe.

I came on her face after a couple of minutes, squeezing her head between my thighs until I felt her struggling to breathe. I left her there for a few seconds longer than necessary, feeling her swallow what had fallen onto her tongue without protest. When at last I released her, she pulled back with her face shining up to her eyebrows, then remained kneeling at the foot of the bed, waiting for the next instruction.

—Very good. —I ran my thumb over her lower lip, gathering some of my juices hanging there, and pushed it into her mouth. She closed her eyes and sucked.— Now get Marc’s ready for me. I want to see him on all fours, face pressed to the floor and ass in the air. The cage on. I don’t want him to come. I want him to endure like a good animal while I use him.

Claudia nodded without a word and rose to fetch the chastity cage from the travel bag Marc had sent up. The slave, still by the door, raised his eyes for an instant—the exact time it took to meet my gaze and lower them again. He understood perfectly what was coming. The tip of his cock gleamed as though he’d just dipped it in water.

I settled onto the bed, my back against the headboard and my legs crossed, and watched as Claudia fitted the cage with a practical veterinarian’s efficiency. The slave didn’t move. When Claudia finished locking it, he remained still for a second, adjusting to the new sensation, and then crawled to the foot of the bed without needing to be told.

The night was long. The clearance sale was after dinner. But first, we had to thoroughly test the borrowed merchandise.