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]

"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.

[thereinsofhistory]

For a moment even he believed the illusion, let the fire in him crackle at the sound of her crying his name. Or was it only the haze of lust that left it all feeling like she were a dream born of some fever, this lush-bodied Dalmascan commoner who incited him so? Either way, Vayne left his composure behind and rode out his passion inside her, his cock spasming from the effort to spend the last of those hot, thick ropes of seed. And damn it all but there was much to spend after this last day and night of frustration. Of yearning. Of closing his eyes and picturing fucking her like this.

Finally Tifa slackened beneath him, and Vayne let himself drape across her smooth body, his fingers slowing their strokes of her clit above where their bodies joined. Not stopping, though. No, he refused to. The feel of that warm pearl of flesh was too alluring, and even relaxed by afterglow and reeling from the crash of his pleasure, he could not tear his touch from it. The quiet of the night yielded to the sounds of their breathing, and the wet swirl of his fingers over her sex.

At last his hips tilted, and Vayne drew himself partly out of her. The slits of his eyes read the glazed shock in hers, glistening under the wet strands of her hair. Only days ago she sought my life. Now she can feel me inside her. Fucked by the man she hates most. She does not want to believe it.

"Well." His other hand came to her brow, smoothing those damp tresses of hair back from her flushed face - while the other added a third finger to flick over her clit. He tilted his head, regarding her with a raised eyebrow and no small amount of intrigue in his stare. "Someone isn't so afraid of me after all."

[thereinsofhistory]

She turned away, leaving his hand and manhood to fall back to his lap. Vayne huffed a chuckle under his breath, thinking for a moment that the hart merely wished him to give chase. He drew himself up along the bed beside her, that coldly mocking tone from earlier revisiting his voice. "Running from a fight, Tifa? What would our dear master think?" He raised a hand toward her taut shoulder, preparing to turn her from the safe harbor of the pillow. "Come, I'm sure you've more-"

And he stopped.

His hand froze inches from her skin, and his fingers curled back toward his palm. Because for all his hunger for her, he didn't see the fellow student of Zangan who'd bested him, or the defiant rebel who had maddened him with lust. He saw something else. A frown darkened his face, and his voice stopped in his throat as though bound by magick.

His hand fell away. He did not bother to tell himself why.

Regardless, he knew she could feel his eyes on her. He did her the mercy of turning them aside, and slunk away with his lips pursed into a hard line, rising to sit on the edge of the bed. He took a bracing breath of that midnight air from the window, feeling the sweat on his back beginning to cool. His eyes flashed to the wine on the far table. He'd thought he would have a thirst after taking his pleasure, but somehow the thought had lost its savor. He heard her ragged, shivering breathing on the pillow behind him. Vayne's teeth ground together. The words came without explanation.

"That was...undue of me," he said. "Forgive me."

[thereinsofhistory]

His face turned toward his shoulder, enough that he could see her from the corner of one dark eye. She was disheveled and damp with sweat and silvered by the moonlight, and the sheets she gathered to herself clung to the curves of her body. Something about the sight made him feel as though his ribs were plated with iron. He turned his face away.

"Merely what I said. I've no more speeches in me today." His tone crested toward rebuke, but fell short. The next words were quieter, and felt strange on his lips. "You are neither a toy nor a coward, and I should not treat you as such. You are a woman of quality. Where you were born does not change that."

Very strange, yes. Even absurd.

His erection had started to withdraw. Vayne gripped the hem of his pants, pulling them up again gruffly, as though he were suddenly annoyed by its presence. Sitting on the bed with her eyes on him was infuriating. Or it wasn't. Or it was. Something was, Espers take the how and why. After a pause he stood, brushing back the sweaty mane of his hair and forcing himself to cross over to the table beside the painting of Rabanastre. His mind's voice was telling him to calm himself but it was just noise, like the hum of snowflies in the Feywood. He seized one of the glasses and drank, not out of any thirst for the vintage but to burn the focus back into himself.

But the burn was slow. He still felt her eyes on him.

"You frustrate me." Another sip, deeper this time, and then he set the glass down. "I am - unaccustomed to that feeling...as I am to regret. That is all."

[thereinsofhistory]

"As you wish." His tone was just as dry as hers, as she left for the bathchamber. He stood in silence for a time after that, a stillness settling in both body and mind. Then he listened to the water running, heard it quiet as it ran over her skin, through her hair - purging her of the stain of his victory. The sound broke the stillness in him, and his thoughts began to stir again. His eyes closed as if to trap himself in with them.

Go to hell. He likely would. He'd known that since he'd murdered his brothers on Gramis' command (I still do not call him Father, he thought distantly). It was freeing, in a way. The hands of a damned man could do more for the world than a thousand clasped in prayer at Bur-Omisace. That was the point entirely. The point of him. Free them all from the tyranny of the Occuria. Guide Ivalice to a new age of peace. Unite the kingdoms of Man into a single, golden empire. And as he could damn his soul no further, he had his choice of the means. No other after him would ever need to bloody their hands in the pursuit of peace.

A lofty vision...from a man of privilege and power who'd just forced himself upon a commonborn girl. Whose only crime was not knowing the truth. Like the rest. Are those like her not the ones you bloodied your hands for?

The thought came to him in Larsa's voice.

He drained the last of the wine. Then he hurled the glass at that splendid painting at full bore.

The shards and spattered droplets were still there when Tifa returned, but by then Vayne was on the other side of the bed. He was dressing, but not for sleep. Over his shirt and pants, he was donning his mail of state. His eyes swiveled briefly toward her as she sat and began to attend her hair, then returned to his hands as they attired him, adjusting the armor and fastening his belt.

"If you hunger or require anything before dawn, speak to the guards. A maid will attend you in the morning." Despite the strength of the wine and the haste with which he'd imbibed it, his tone was flat and clinical. "I may be some time. I trust you will be here when I return."

[thereinsofhistory]

"I have a matter to attend to. You need not trouble yourself over it." His tone suggested further inquiry would only meet an exterior as cold and impassive as the Paramina Rift. He busied himself adjusting one of his medals of state, suddenly unable to remember the honor for which he had received it. Unable to remember, and unable to care. He snorted under his breath.

He looked at her again, saw the uncertainty play across her face. Bringing her hands to her lap left her hair half undone, draped over her shoulder and shimmering in the moonlight. Her eyes gleamed at him warily from under those long eyelashes. The sight of her like that might bring any man to a standstill. The thought broke on his face, just for a moment. Then Vayne drew it back with a long breath, one that reminded him of just how heavier his armor felt in that moment.

He could not explain what he himself did not understand.

Vayne yet had his profile to her, so he turned to face her in full. "You undoubtedly wish my assurance. Very well. Then I command you to rest. Recover. Put this from your mind. It's past you. It..."

He stopped, anger darkening his face. Absurd. These were words for a boy of seventeen, not the Consul of Rabanastre. And the time for such words was past. Well past. He turned his eyes from Tifa's before he could see the disgust well in them again.

"Expect my return sometime after midday. I am sure you will sleep comfortably." His eyebrow lifted, and he forced himself to paint some of that highborn condescension back onto his face. "Unless you fear to sleep alone? Shall I light you a candle?"

[thereinsofhistory]

He could sense that hatred in her again, coming to life like a freshly stoked fire. A certain relief gathered within him. That disgusted twist of her lips let him fall back into that glacial composure, a role he knew how to play. "The Doctor is a man of his word," he said. "I am, as well. Whether you deem that for good or ill is your own affair, but neither of us has deceived you. Or shall."

The frostbite he intended for his tone was not there. That annoyed him. Vayne did his best to dismiss that annoyance, glancing at the moon outside. "I am not a man who is easily, if ever contented...but you have pleased me. For tonight, at least." His eyes returned to hers. "You keep your word as well, Tifa. That is something we have in common."

Ah. There was the frostbite.

He turned on his heel, making for the door with a summary pace - paused as his hand fell to the handle. "Come to the dining hall, tomorrow at noontide. I will be waiting. Come rested." Despite himself, his face turned toward his shoulder, toward her. "Good night, Tifa."