The Slave Auction Meme

[toastysocks]

>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]

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."