The Slave Auction Meme

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>The Slave Auction Meme

The Slave Auction Meme



❧ Leave a comment with the character's name, fandom, and whether your character will be playing the part of 'slave' or 'master', plus preferences for scenarios if you have any.
❧ Respond to others with one of the scenarios below or feel free to make up your own.
❧ Please remember to be respectful of others while you play

Warning: Be aware that this meme deals with dark subjects like slavery and may also contain non-consensual/dubiously consensual sex, violence, and kink.

SLAVES

1. The Newbie - This is your very first auction and you don't quite know what to expect. Hopefully you remember your training and don't disgrace yourself in front of your new master. Hopefully someone thinks you're worth buying at all.

2. The Oldtimer - You've been bought and sold and bought again so many times. You've seen it all before and don't think this time is going to be much different. In fact, the only real anxiety you've got is whether or not someone's going to pay for a more than slightly used slave.

3. The Pet - You're a pleasure slave. A bed warmer. A decorative piece of artwork. You're meant to look pretty and be pleasing and not much else.

4. The Guard - Your master hired you because of your ability to swing a sword or shoot a gun, not your looks.

5. The Escape Artist - Somehow you always manage to squirm out of your master's chains. Too bad you seem to get caught after a while. Maybe your next daring escape will be permanent. Then again, maybe your next master has special ways of keeping you locked up.

6. The Undercover - You aren't a slave at all, you're just pretending to be one. Why? Well that's up to you. Either way, your cover is blown if you don't act the part.

7. The Specialist - You have a skill that no one else has. Something rare and valuable. Something your master needs more than anything else.

MASTERS

1. The Customer - You've owned slaves before and this trip to the market is nothing new to you. Still, you're hoping to find something worth your while.

2. The Gift - Someone bought a pet for you, isn't that nice of them? Or maybe it isn't so nice. Did you even want a slave in the first place? Well you're stuck with one now.

3. The Giver - You're selecting a slave for someone else, and they need to be perfect. Perhaps you'd better test them out first to make sure you're getting your money's worth.

4. The Trainer - You specialize in taming unruly slaves and making them over into perfect, obedient, well-trained pets.

5. The Rebel - You hate the idea of slavery, but the system isn't going to go away any time soon, so the next best thing is to buy up any slave you can get your hands on and free them, right?

6. The Companion - You want someone to be with you always, someone you can talk to and depend on, someone who will never leave your side. It's a good thing that money can buy that these days.

7. The Undercover - You're not actually a Master. You're at the auction for an entirely different reason. Maybe it's special policework, maybe you're trying to hunt down a certain someone. Either way, your cover is blown unless you act the part.

As always, feel free to use a combination of scenarios or make up your own if you have other ideas.


Snagged from here.

Comments

[thereinsofhistory]

"I want no savior. I need no savior. Man and god alike can keep their salvation." His lips pressed another fervent kiss to the curve of her neck, just above her collar. Two fingers joined the thumb attending her nipple, trapping the little bud and rolling it between their tips. "Your hate means more to me than all their favor."

It was perhaps - no, it was careless of him to let those words free, to hint at the truth of the world when it was so irrevocably bound with his aims. But the warmth and smoothness of Tifa's body had an effect on him that even that forgotten wine on the table could not rival.

As if to evince it to himself, his hips tightened and ground more deeply against her, his erection now obvious and probing insistently at that tender seam hidden behind her underwear. Vayne could feel her seizing up under the pressure, the soft palm on his chest so eager to push him away and yet so trapped by her duty.

Vayne decided the bloody Espers could take his plots and secrets for tonight. The sight of her drove them all from his mind.

He released Tifa's hair, letting her head roll free, and that hand swept down to take hold of the other strap of her dress. Vayne peeled it with ruthless patience, baring her other breast but not stopping there, no, not stopping at all. He tugged it over that defending arm as it tried to conceal her dignity, wresting the cloth all the way down to her navel. Both his heart and his arousal thundered with every inch of the lush body bared to his sight.

"I will have no shortage of enemies with what I dare. Dalmasca. Rozarria. The gods themselves, though you would not believe it." His fingers softened on her nipple at the tail end of those words, whispered into the dark between them. His other hand moved down to stroke along Tifa's hip. Then along her thigh. Then along the inside of that thigh.

Then it joined the pressure forming in his pants, and stroked commandingly against her clothed sex.

"I shall not be cast down. You shall not be known as the mere slave of a kingslayer. I shall achieve what I wish, Tifa..." Vayne lowered his lips to her other breast, and now lips and fingers alike joined in attending to her body, above and below. "And you will be known as the lover of a new Dynast-King."

[thereinsofhistory]

Vayne did not reply at first. The pucker of her nipple against his lips spoke to the urges that had haunted him throughout that flight to Nalbina, and the merest brush of contact with her breast stoked that furnace of lust within him. It was a moment before he could slake his lust for it, lashing it slowly with his tongue whenever a heavy kiss would no longer satisfy him. Tifa had gone as taut as a drawn bowstring beneath him. That tension, the strained gasps from her lips as she tried to steady her breathing, and the soft rise and fall of her chest only encouraged him to sate himself on those stiffened pink peaks - stroking, plucking, tracing...indulging himself in her body as though it were a banquet laid out for his coronation.

Eventually, Vayne forced himself to slow. His manhood was beginning to ache from the constriction of his pants, from all the frustration and thwarted longing of the last day and night, from the barriers of leather and cloth that barred it from the heat beneath his fingers. Moreover - moreover, it was not the only tension in him demanding release.

His jaw set, and the words spilled out. And as gifted as he was in oration, the bile in his throat was nothing he could have pretended.

"The gods," and it was an effort not to spit the word, "gave Raithwall a sword. Cut him a stone. Sent him forth to conquer the age. Not because he wished it, but because they willed it. Because they have always willed it, throughout our history. Because they do not trust us to write our own."

Gritted out like that, the truth of the world's history seemed a small, pathetic thing. Vayne raised his head to look at her, and his hand released her nipple, opening into a palm over her breast. "I dare to give Ivalice, all Ivalice, the freedom it is truly owed, for the first and final time. No longer will the gods make our history their shadow-play. I will use them as they used me. As they used you. As they have used us all for centuries."

Below, his thumb pressed against the peak of her sex, then fell beside his bulge to trace down the crease of her entrance. Then it dragged upward again, grinding the soft fabric against the tender folds beneath. Vayne's eyes held hers throughout. "If I must grant you this freedom by force, then that is my duty."

The rest of his fingers gathered to the hem of Tifa's underwear, hooked under the band, and pulled. "And I accept it."

[thereinsofhistory]

"Does any Dalmascan hate me as much as you do?" Vayne gave a soft chuckle through his nose. "I suspect the answer is rather the same. But no. Archadia goes on believing, blind to the snares the gods have laid for Ivalice. Her people are much like yours." The hand still on her breast rolled it slowly again on her chest, lured to its softness and heft. "It is I who is...different."

Yet he did not feel so different from his fellow Humes in that moment, all bestial heat and arousal, his eyes drawn to the warm slit of her womanhood now laid bare. Vayne felt his erection straining again, not merely at the sight of her sex but the feel of its glistening heat against his knuckles. The grunt rising to his throat lost itself in a low, seething sigh. He felt warmth welling under his tongue, and a carnal urge he'd thought forgotten in years past returned to him now.

A breath flared in his chest, and Vayne lifted his hips from Tifa's. The hand on her underwear went to either strap on her lush hips, working them down her thighs. His eyes fell to her flushed face, and he wove steely command into his voice.

"Don't move."

He lowered his face, and slowly kissed down from the valley of her breasts along the warm plain of her stomach. His lips lost themselves there for a time like a wanderer in the desert, before pausing at Tifa's navel. He laid a deeper kiss there, parting his lips to allow his tongue to tease and roll along its rim, a foretaste of his intent. All the while the fingers at her breast kneaded and massaged her nipple, spellbound by its touch...and now one knee sank down onto the carpet at the foot of the bed, his chest relaxing on the edge of the bed, between her thighs.

The hand gripping her underwear opened and returned to Tifa's thigh, stroking its curve with a sinister adoration before pronating to grip it by the hamstring. Vayne lifted it high, forcing her sex to shift and splay for him. He could feel its warmth against his chest, and a breath steamed against her belly from between his clenched teeth.

"I'll not share your hatred with any other," he said, and now his whisper left the curve of her navel behind, an inch lower along her stomach - and then it was lower. Much lower. "Hate me, Tifa. Only me. Let me hear it in your voice now. Like the blackest of prayers."

Vayne tilted his head, breathed his lust, and sealed his lips against her sex.

[thereinsofhistory]

"Yes."

Vayne breathed both the word and his total, primal satisfaction into the kiss he laid on Tifa's sex, guiding that warm air into her entrance. Her taste left his body feeling raked with fire. He felt her wetness clinging to his lips as they wandered her soft pink folds, and it was all he could do not to plunge himself into her right there. Warm as the rains in Tchita, he thought distantly. The hand at her breast now slipped away, taking a moment to squeeze her hip on its descent to her other thigh. And while his other hand forced her open with its grip, now Vayne curled his arm around Tifa's other thigh, to pull her closer - and to trap it securely in the pocket of his bicep and forearm.

His eyes flashed up at Tifa as she went to her elbows, watching her face whiten under the moonlight, savoring the shock in her expression as much as the arousal beneath his lips. But she held the words back. As expected. She would not yield so easily. She would require efforts to be conquered.

Very well, then.

Vayne's lips parted, and his tongue lifted into her sex.

The muscle walled against her entrance before curling against her folds in a deep, brazen lick. Soft folds yielded under the motion, her lips just damp enough that he met no resistance. Vayne's eyes flickered, but did not shut. He tilted his head, guiding himself higher, deeper. The tip of his tongue buried itself in the crease at the crown of her sex, hinting toward that bundle of nerves hidden beneath. And then his sigh spread its warmth there, and his tongue drew itself back.

"You may say my name in anger, in hatred, or in despair," he said, fingers digging into the warm flesh of her thigh, "but you will say it."

Vayne braced his chest against the edge of the bed, and then his tongue buried itself in her again, lapping at her heat with abandon - and this time there was no delay for the next. No delay, and no restraint.

[thereinsofhistory]

The bed shook slightly with her fall. Or was it only the heave of his own chest, drawing air into his lungs like the heat pump at a forge as his tongue took its pleasure? Vayne was not certain, and for a moment, not certain of much else, lost as he was in her sex. His tongue moved with more hunger than finesse, curling hard enough that the lips of her womanhood seemed to shape themselves around him. With a growl, Vayne pressed his face in and then rolled his jaw, swirling his tongue within her as though he were drawing a circle with a paintbrush.

Above, he could hear Tifa's gasps and strangled efforts at silence, the chorus of that private battle she was waging with herself. His own arousal was so great now it threatened to burst through the zipper, but Vayne Solidor would not have it said he lacked for will. Not now. Not ever. And not when he could feel how near the brink she was.

The arm trapping Tifa's thigh hefted it gently, draping it over one hard shoulder - and allowing his hand to curl over her leg, cross over her stomach, and rest on that tender expanse just above her slit. Vayne let it linger there a moment, just long enough for another leisurely lick to run through that wet seam. Then forefinger and middle finger pressed to either side of her opening, and slowly - with merciless precision - hooked into her sex, and spread back the small, pink hood beneath its crown.

There.

The night had deepened around them, but the moongleam from the window guided his eyes to where her clitoris lay bare, hot, and helpless between the V of his fingers. Vayne did not disguise the wanton shudder in his breath. He wanted her to hear it.

"You want this," he murmured, as if his words were the incantation for a spell. "You need this. You burn for this. And now I grant it to you...Tifa."

He leaned in, and lifted his chin, and brought his lips to claim that sweet Dalmascan pearl. The flat of his tongue followed at once, wedging beneath it to sup upon its heat...and then his cheeks caved in as Vayne drew her clitoris into his mouth with a hard, seething suckle.

[thereinsofhistory]

He took his time and wouldn't dream of taking any less. Patience was no great hardship with such pleasure as this. Groaning in his throat, Vayne relaxed his lips, eased his tongue, and cradled her clit in his mouth with something approaching a lover's tenderness. That mercy was gone as soon as it came. The curve of his arm roughly tugged Tifa's hips closer for another hungry suckle that drew her clit in to meet the hot lash of his tongue. And now Vayne held it there, lips sealing tight, perhaps too tight for just a moment - before loosening again, leaving the little pearl of flesh helpless before another heavy stroke of his tongue.

His head was swimming with her heat, her taste, this unwilling passion he'd inflicted upon her. The silence of the bedchamber carried the echo of every wet slap of his tongue against her clit. And in truth, it had him perilously close to his own peak. His erection was more a coil of throbbing tension now, and his mind was astir with thoughts of freeing it, burying it in her, and taking his pleasure.

But no. Stopping here would only allow her mind an avenue of escape, of detachment. Another way to resist him. And he wanted to shatter even the memory of resistance in her mind.

Vayne drew his right hand from where it gripped Tifa's other thigh, allowing that smooth leg to drape over the bed. A soft brush of his teeth over her little pearl, and then his hand was on her seam. Two fingers pressed together like shields joining in phalanx, and then slid firmly past her folds. There was no delicacy there. He buried them to the hilt of his knuckles, and then drew them out, and hooked them into her again, beginning to pump in and out of her slick depths while his tongue attended to her clitoris.

"Say it," he growled between two tight seals of his lips, two tight thrusts of his fingers. "Say my name. Say it."

[thereinsofhistory]

The groans in his throat as she came were deeper than hers, but no less intense. He rode her climax with her, fingers firm and unyielding even as her folds thickened and tightened around them, as if she were trying to expel him even then. But he was too strong. Too focused. Too mad with her taste and her tightness and her gasping keen of his name.

"Good girl." Finally he felt her flatten on the bed, and Vayne released a long, sated breath through his nose. His lips released their hold, letting her overworked clitoris relax back into its petals. His fingers slowly eased the urgency of their thrusts, curling inside her in a come-hither motion as though he were beckoning a cupbearer. Her folds were still flushed and thick, and he could feel her wetness beneath his fingernails. Slowly, he eased them out of her sex, regarding the warm glaze that coated him to the knuckle...and despite his tongue already swimming with her taste, Vayne put his lips to those fingers and took more of it in. More of her.

More. Yes. He needed more.

His hands went to the rumpled panties around now around her calf, and slipped them off as Tifa lay there, panting and helpless. The rumpled dress around her waist followed next. Her body jostled on the bed as he stripped her, and his vision seemed to crackle at the sight of it. She lay naked before him, flushed with heat, coated with sweat, drained of strength and breath, and still quivering from the rush of pleasure. He'd never seen anything so enraging.

Then her heavy breathing was joined by the sound of buttons coming undone, the rustle of a shirt thrown to the floor, and the clinking of a belt. Then the crease of leather over muscle. Then a low, relieved sigh from his throat.

Vayne rose from his knee, lifting himself up over the edge of the bed. His body slid along hers, and bare skin met bare skin. His arms caged Tifa in, his lips meeting her throat once more, now wet with her passion - and now his freed erection brushed up the inside of her thigh, pulsing with heat and demand. "Do you feel that, Tifa?" he asked, in a whisper dark with promise. "That is what you do to me."

[thereinsofhistory]

"I should." His lips kissed a line from her collar to her ear, brushing over the earring at its lobe. His chest leveled against the lush cushions of her breasts, and the warmth of her body thickened his whisper. "I should take you now. Ravish you. Finish you. I'd barely have to move, and I'd be inside you."

His arousal was evident, an angry heat on her thigh. But his hips stayed where they were. And then Vayne cupped her chin in one hand, turning her face towards his, looking for that quiet flame of defiance in her stare that would not allow itself to be quenched. His eyes narrowed to slits, as though they faced each other from across a sparring circle instead of their entanglement in a lavish Galtean bed.

"You'd like that," he said to her weary, steely eyes. "For me to take my pleasure, spend myself in your body, and have done with it. To let you turn aside into sleep, dream of your neighbors, your friends, your family. Your warm sands. Your lush, blue Nebra. Your home, in a time when I was not here."

He leaned in, as though to stamp another tender kiss on her lips. And again, he stopped just shy of them. "But all dreams fade into day. I am here now. I am not leaving. And I am not letting you go. That I swear."

That whisper hung between them like a cold, iron hook, in stark contrast to the warm stroke his hand traced down the length of her body. His palm found the hinge of her hip and thigh, slipping between their stomachs. "But you can still know freedom, Tifa. If you obey me. If you swear yourself to me." He laid his thumb just above her mound, rubbing pressure into that still-sensitive skin. "If you join me."

[thereinsofhistory]

"Those are my terms." His thumb traced a line from hip to hip, smearing her sweat and passion over that warm skin just above her mound. "I could be convinced to alter them."

In a fashion, at least. Vayne wondered if she'd caught on to the rest of his actions during that visit to Nalbina. Cloud had not been alone in those dark cells. He leaned closer, the heat of his body blanketing her with overpowering intent and yet not shifting to move his arousal from where it beat against her thigh. The most he allowed was a closer plank of his chest into her breasts, guiding her body to sink more deeply into the thick Galtean covers.

"Quite a crew," he said to her, musingly. "The miner with the fusil grafted to his arm. The flower seller with the bow in her hair. The little adventurer with her mythril headband. That red beast muzzled in the corner. Nalbina is not like to be merciful to them...but I might be. If you will give me more than the pleasure of your body, Tifa. If you will give me you."

His other hand found Tifa's face, a thumb roaming over one tear-caked cheek as if to wipe the ghost of the droplet from her face. "Help me right the course of our history. Help me put its reins back in our hands. Help me protect our kingdoms...yours, and mine, and all...from the tyranny of the gods." Below, the fingers on her belly joined together, and curved, and slipped down to play against the folds of her sex.

"Do this, and I will free your friends."

[thereinsofhistory]

Almost. Almost. That moment where she'd shut her eyes had made him wonder if all that dark promise would be just enough - if she would succumb at last to the power and pleasure and freedom he dangled before her. But then her eyes found their steel again and Vayne felt his lips tighten toward his earlier smirk. Almost, but not quite.

And before he could respond, her fingers found his shaft.

Though his expression was impassive, even cold, the bead of wetness at the tip of his erection betrayed his arousal, smearing against her hand as she took hold of him. His shaft filled one of her palms while his neck tensed under the other...and for just a second, his own resolve fell back into the furnace of his lust. His eyes closed. His fingers spread her seam open until its heat seemed to whisper against the underside of his shaft, and his hand slipped down her neck to seize her breast in a bestial grope, and his abdominals knotted over her stomach and damn it he'd had enough, the Espers take his schemes and dalliances, this raven-haired Dalmascan girl was impossible to resist anymore -

But he had some self-possession left. Vayne opened his eyes to meet her glare, just as his swollen head wedged against the lips of her sex. She had him angled such that the slightest twitch of his hips would finish this. He'd be in her. With that fever of temptation pulsing in him, Vayne lowered his face to hers.

"I can see you need some time. My offer stands. Weigh it carefully, Tifa. In time, you will accept. I will have your loyalty. Your allegiance." The fingers at her sex splayed into a vee, spreading her folds for the stroke and making room for his shaft. "You."

And he straightened his back, swung his hips to hers, and drove himself into her to the hilt.

(While we're at it, Happy Halloween!)

[thereinsofhistory]

For all his bravado, his own mind turned to slate for the moment he entered her. Her walls closed around him, spread heat through him, turned his vision to a haze. He lingered there a moment, staring down at that steely purpose in Tifa's eyes, returning it with the fire in his. The awareness of her body, that he was actually inside her, having her, fucking her was as overpowering as the sensation itself. This woman who'd defied him, thwarted him, maddened him...and now he was buried in her, her arms around his neck like a hunter's snare.

He reveled in it. Reveled in her.

He rolled back his hips, his slick length inching halfway out of her body, and then thrust himself in again, forcing her folds to yield around his girth. None of that glacial patience from before was present in his touch. Vayne massaged her breast beneath him, kneading it like clay as his shaft pistoned into her again. The stroke was slower than before but with more strength behind the swing of his hips, as though he were stamping his mark upon her body.

Her lips were still open from that cry, and the fever of need overcame him. Vayne seized her mouth with a kiss whose ferocity surprised even him. He felt as though he could taste the unspoken curses on her breath, the simmering hate, but he did not care. It sated that hunger...and perhaps kept her from noticing the thumb quietly questing at the peak of her folds, curving toward her clit as his cock pumped into her again.

[thereinsofhistory]

That sudden gasp sent an assault of strength to his lower body. He would have savored that lost, overwhelmed passion on her face a while longer had she not then tightened around him, and forced his own eyes closed. Vayne settled for listening to that little song of sharp gasps and broken moans coming from her lips, answering every one with a pull and push of his hips, or another commanding squeeze of her breast.

Sometimes not even that. Sometimes just a low, wolfish groan of her name.

He felt that familiar heat building in his loins, that familiar sheen of sweat beginning to bead on his back. Nothing compared to this. He wanted to lose himself in her body. But to his frustration, he was already close to losing focus with his fingers, rubbing intently but imprecisely near her clit. She'd hope for that...for me to yield to myself, fall spent against her. End it before she loses herself, too. It would be easy. But it would not sate him.

Straightening his back again, Vayne slowed his thrusts - and began to rock his hips, grinding against her as though they were some drunken couple rutting in a tavern. He swirled himself inside her like a ladle, testing the strength of her walls as his shaft played and rolled and twisted against them. Brow knitting with concentration, he tucked his thumb into that wet bundle of folds, flicking from side to side with the motion of his hips as he sought out that pearl of flesh hidden below. It seared against his touch, and Vayne let free a hungry groan at the contact.

Then his cock rushed into her so hard the bed of kings shook beneath them.

Another thrust, hips looser, breath heavier. "Put your legs around my waist," he whispered, barely able to get the words out over the loud slap of his thighs against hers. "Pull me deeper. I want my cock coated with you."

(Oof. Sorry about the wait, got hijacked for Blizzcon!)

[thereinsofhistory]

The sound that left his lips when she crossed her legs around him seemed better suited to battle than sex. Yes - it was hard to say whether this was one or the other. She had him teetering on the brink, lush and supple and damp with sweat beneath him, her body molding against his in something between a dance and a grapple. Vayne's hips lifted in reply, pistoning himself into her depths with an eagerness that took him aback. The blankets at the lip of the bed were a tangle beneath where they were joined, soaked through with their sweat, but Tifa held him fast, and the sweat only seemed to guide her hips along in that grounded dance, and - and gods, the way she moved. He was almost angry at how easily that inflamed his arousal inside her.

But what truly knifed through him, what found that fever in his loins and brought to a blaze, were her eyes. Focused, clear, unrelenting. Beautiful. Glazed with passion, sharpened by defiance, and burning like an Entite's heart. She could finish a man with those eyes alone, he thought, watching a strand of damp black hair bounce between those dark Dalmascan eyes.

"That's it," he growled, the pace of his thrusts quickening as she pulled him into her. "Fuck me like you fight me, Tifa. Finish me. Just - like - that..."

All that Archadian composure began to ebb from him. Vayne held his strokes on her clit, the friction of his thumb and forefinger trapping it in a circle of heat and touch - but for all his toying with her body, he could not deny himself anymore. His arousal began to betray him, his cock tilting inside her, strength swelling in his shaft as his loins began to loosen and relax. She could probably see it in the glint of his eyes, hear it in the shortened cadence of his breath. He felt it...and let it come, gave himself to the fire, to the rolling rush of her body. His eyelids flickered, and his chin tilted toward his flaring chest with a grunt as a wave of pleasure and delirium crashed upon him. His shaft slid into her again, bulging at its head, and now the bed groaned under the effort of his thrusts-

Her name, and a warning, might have left his lips. He did not know. Vayne felt his heel dig into the carpet, and his neck relaxed under the tight snare of her arms, and his face buried itself against her breast -

And he came.

His seed burst from his tip, the thick, salty ribbons pumping deep inside her. His hips bucked against hers, and his cock spasmed between her tight walls, unleashing his passion in a hot, heavy torrent. The pleasure was like nothing he'd known before. And he rode out every second of it with a conqueror's relish, hands pawing at her breast and clit as he ground into her, and let her finish him.