Merchandise

You keep your gaze lowered until you’re spoken to directly. It’s a rule you really struggled with at the start of your training, but which comes as second nature now… along with everything else: stand up straight, hands behind your back, eyes down, shoulders loose. You don’t move a muscle as the two men pace around you.

“She’s pretty,” says one. You don’t recognise the voice. This must be the customer. “How old?”

“22.”

“How long has she been in training for?”

“Two years. She was a little… difficult at first. But no longer. She’s one of our finest. Very smart. Very eager to please.”

“Hmm.”

You hold your breath. It’s cool in the room where they hold the viewings. Air conditioned air, since the space is windowless and private. Naked as you are, it’s difficult not to shiver. Especially as you can feel eyes roaming your body, taking in every hair, every curve of skin.

It took hours to prepare for this. You’ve been waxed, shaved, made smooth, bathed. You’re hair is pinned back. Light makeup. That’s all the girls are permitted to wear for a viewing; the purpose is to display you as you are, not to mislead.

“Is she noisy?” The customer again. He sounds almost bored, and the tone makes your heart sink. This is your second viewing, and although you know girls often need five or six before they find an owner, you’d always fantasised that you’d be one of the ones taken quickly.

The handler pauses before answering. “She… vocalises when used, yes. But she can take a gag. Would you like to see her with one?”

“No, that’s fine.” The customer stands in front of you now. Black shoes so shiny you can see your own reflection. He puts a hand on your chin and tilts your face up. Your heart misses a beat. You wouldn’t dream of resisting, but he hasn’t spoken to you yet. Eye contact still isn’t permitted. It takes every fibre of self-control to look straight past him, eyes to an invisible horizon. “Your name?” he says.

It’s only a small adjustment, but he comes into focus even as the correct reply rises to your lips. “I will answer to whatever name you give me, Sir.” He is younger than you thought. Well-groomed. A light scurf of stubble and dark brown eyes. He doesn’t look like he’d be a bad owner.

“Good,” he says. His eyes flick downwards, assessing you once more. “Tell me: you like taking it in the ass?”

You pause for only a moment. It is not permitted for a girl to lie, not even to a potential owner. But at the same time you don’t want to disappoint. You really don’t want that. “I… find it painful sometimes. But I enjoy being able to satisfy, Sir.”

He nods. Releases the point of your chin and turns to the handler. You’re free to observe him: the line of his jaw, the set of his teeth. Hands that might one day handle you.

“She’s available now?” he says.

“She is.”

“How much?”

The handler tells him, and the customer nods. A slight grunt that might be approval. Your heart skips a beat, but you don’t move. You won’t. Not until it is required of you.

“Would you like to try her?” says the handler.

The briefest of sideways glances, as though double-checking what he’s selected from a vending machine. “Yes,” he says. “Briefly. I don’t have long.”

Your handler nods, bows, shows himself from the room. You don’t need to be told what to do next. You sink to your knees, put your hands behind your back, and open your mouth. Now that you are permitted to look at him, you don’t look away.