Revised and Edited by Rachael Anne

 

Auctioning Rachael Anne               by: Rachael Anne

 

"Are you nervous Rachael darling?"

Nervous didn't even begin to describe the feelings I was having. I was the next to be presented. The "girl" in front of me was a stunner with a mass of red curls and the bidding was hot and furious. I could see my little bouquet of flowers trembling in my cuffed hands.

"Miranda do I really have to do this?" I pleaded, my newly shaved voice box making my plea sound like a young woman.

"We've discussed this already, Rachael Anne. The money I'll make will pay back the alterations we made and turn me quite a hefty profit. I just regret we didn't have enough to get you the operation. But perhaps someone in the audience will see enough potential"

"Please couldn't you just…?" I couldn't bring myself to say the words.

"Sell you privately?"

"We've been all through that Rachael Anne. This way is best. Once the bidding starts, there's no telling how high it can go. Now I want to see you smiling. I paid good money for those caps. And keep that pretty little chin up. That's better. Now stop crying sweetheart."

"I can't help it Miranda, I'm going to miss you so."

"And I'm going to miss you Rachael Anne but you knew it was going to come to this sooner or later."

My girlfriend was right. Even though I didn't want to admit it. I knew from the moment she discovered that I was a cross-dresser our life together was never going to be the same. At first I figured she would be just mad or disgusted but her acceptance had surprised me. When she started helping me pick out clothes and taught me how to properly do my make-up I was in heaven. But it didn't end there. She had me start hormonal therapy and although it interfered somewhat with out sex life she said it didn't matter. She liked the way I was starting to look and she never like penetration anyway. She preferred me to be oral and liked thinking of me as her lesbian lover.

I didn't even protest when she started taking over all the "masculine" roles in our relationships. She made all the money decisions as well as decided where we would eat, what movies we'd see, what parties we attended. At home, I began doing all the household chores and when she got promoted at work she had me quit my own entry-level job and get part-time work in the hair salon she frequented. I helped clean up the place and sometimes gave shampoos. By now my appearance was becoming more and more feminine. My hair was down to below my shoulders and she had her salon friends color it really pretty light auburn and cut it in a rather feminine style. I didn't object. I suppose the hormones helped make my mind more amenable to the physical changes that were occurring in my body.

The cosmetic surgery came next. She had my nose fixed so that it was now tiny, pert, and upturned. My naturally high cheekbones were enhanced by collagen injections and my lips were similarly injected to give them a full, pouty look. I always had a weak chin but now it seemed to go perfectly with the rest of my "new" face. One weekend Miranda informed me we were driving down to Houston where there was a clinic that would give me breast implants.

At this point I could no longer really pass for a male and there was a part of me that really did want all the changes she was introducing. The surgery went well. The surgeon was instructed to give me C-cup breasts. They looked completely natural and perfectly formed. I was amazed and mesmerized by them and could hardly stop playing with them. Miranda was delighted and amused and teased me when she would see me touching them.

She didn't tell me about the voice box shaving until after I recovered from the surgery. I couldn't talk above a whisper for a couple of weeks and when I did this totally different femme voice came out. It was really strange. At first I kind of freaked out a little, but Miranda calmed me down, pointing out that my old voice just didn't fit my new body. I realized that she was right and soon I grew used to my voice. I don't even remember what I used to sound like anymore.

It was after we returned from Houston that Miranda began "reconfiguring" my sexual orientation. It's true I could no longer penetrate her. The hormones made that all but impossible. I satisfied her strictly orally. Now, however, she began to instruct me on how to satisfy men as well as women. She didn't say that was what she was doing, but I found myself practicing licking and sucking cucumbers and dildos. She taught me how to douche and keep myself clean down there, and had me get on all fours as she trained me to relax my sphincter and accept penetration. Sometimes she would use a double-ended dildo on me and bring herself to orgasm that way. But somehow I guess I must have known deep down what was coming next. I didn't object. She must have been right when she said I really wanted it all along.

I was shown off to her other girlfriends-at this point there was no hiding my feminized state. They enjoyed having me serve them and seeing my breasts and "feminized" penis. They liked to listen to me chatter on about fashion, romance novels, celebrity gossip and soap operas, which was about all of the outside world I was permitted access to at the time. When the conversation switched to more serious topics I was asked to leave the room.

I dressed in girl clothes all the time now. I was about the same size as Miranda so we shared clothes while she built up a wardrobe of my own. I wore tight hobble skirts and platform sandals, sundresses and flats, and mini-dresses and stiletto heels. At home she liked me to wear short-shorts, a cut off girlie t-shirt, and wedge-heeled sandals. I did my housework and did the shopping in these outfits. By now I was going to the salon with her all the time and everyone had begun treating me like a girl. They did my hair, my nails, and waxed what little hair was left on my body. It all seemed so natural. She would often have me dress in a sexy outfit and take me out to eat or to a movie. I think she liked showing me off.

Miranda had taken to calling me Rachael Anne by now and it had gotten so that anytime any mail arrived at the house bearing my old name it took me a while to actually realize to whom it was addressed.

She began working later and later at the office and I started having suspicions that she was seeing someone else. I tried hard to keep my fears to myself but finally one night over dinner I blurted out my darkest suspicions. Miranda didn't try to deny it at all. To my shock, she freely admitted that she was seeing a man at work to whom she was deeply attracted. In fact, she was waiting for me to bring the matter up. She was beginning to thing that the hormones were making me rather dim-witted. When I began to cry, she showed no sign of understanding why I would be upset. I tried through my sobbing to explain as best I could, but her only answer was that she needed a man and I no longer fit the bill. I stared down at the blue stretch satin short-shorts and matching halter-top I was wearing, my bare feet with painted toenails, my satin smooth tanned legs. It was impossible to argue with her. She was right. I was no longer male.

It was shortly after that evening that Miranda brought up the subject of the auction. She informed me how much she had spent to bring my transformation to the point it was now. She had fulfilled my lifelong dream of becoming a woman-almost. Now it was time to get on with her life. She figured she could sell me to someone who wanted a girl like me. She knew of a place where auctions were regularly held. I wept and begged her to keep me, but she said she had no use for me anymore. She had had enjoyed our Lesbian sex but she wasn't a lesbian and she had fallen head-over-heels in love with her new boyfriend. It would be best for all of us, she argued, if I would allow myself to be auctioned off. Otherwise, she would just have to break up with me and let me fend for myself on the street.

Needless to say I was stunned and in a state of shock. I could hardly believe that Miranda would do this to me. Still, there was a part of me that knew it would come to something like this all along. When Miranda told me the date of the auction I accepted the news with a sad resignation. Now, standing in the wings as the "girl" in front of me was sold I realized it was my turn. Miranda made sure the sticker with my number was fixed securely to my left upper thigh. Then she kissed me lightly on the cheek, patted my fanny, and told me to do her proud as my named was called.

"Lot number 26, Rachael Anne."

I hesitated, my heart missing a beat, and Miranda gently pushed me forward. I looked back and she smiled and winked, mouthing the words "I love you" as I took the stage. I could feel my knees trembling as I tried to balance on the six-inch high gold stiletto ankle strap sandals I was wearing. All that covered me was a tiny gold lame` thong bikini that left little to the imagination. My hair was layered and loosely curled and hung down to the small of my back. My fingernails and toenails were painted with gold glitter polish and my body was also loosely sprinkled with tiny bits of glitter. The handcuffs around my wrists were just for show. Obviously I wasn't going anywhere. They were to further illustrate my submissive nature. I held my bouquet of flowers tightly and stared down towards the floor as the auctioneer began to read off my "vital statistics."

"Rachael Anne is 5 feet 7 inches tall, one hundred and twenty-two pounds.

She has been measured at 38-24-36. She is extremely submissive and has been living exclusively as a girl for the past two years. She was transformed by her former girlfriend and is well mannered, eager-to-please, and extremely docile. She would make the perfect housewife and bed companion to either a male or female owner."

Male owner, I heard. I had no idea.

"Please turn around Rachael Anne so our customers can see what they are getting."

I turned around numbly in my high-heels. It was true I had seen some men in the audience beyond the lights before I dropped my eyes in embarrassment but I only assumed they were there with their wives or girlfriends. I didn't think they were there to actually bid. Maybe Miranda wasn't so far off the mark. Maybe the hormones had affected my mind.

How stupid could I be?

"Shall we start the bidding at one-hundred-thousand?" I heard the auctioneer call out.

One hundred thousand!

The idea that someone would pay twenty thousand dollars for me was incomprehensible. Still I couldn't help but feel a jolt of excitement go through me.

What was wrong with me?

"Turn back around Rachael Anne and face the audience again," I heard the auctioneer say. I obeyed as quickly as my bound wrists and high-heels would allow. Both were throwing off my balance a little.

"One hundred thousand, do I hear one-fifty, one-fifty do I hear two, two hundred thousand for this one-of-a-kind girl"

The bidding was going up higher and higher.

"Smile for the audience Rachael Anne. Show them how happy you are to be here. How eager you are to serve."

I smiled with my perfectly capped teeth into that bank of lights.

I saw numbered cards going up in the audience. Women held most of them, but men held a few. I noticed one tall, dark, good-looking man in the back holding a card with the number 139. He held it up without hesitation every time the bidding went up.

"Perfect for kitchen or bedroom, parties or private get-togethers, Rachael Anne is certain to please," the auctioneer went on. "She is pre-op but functionally impotent though she achieves stimulation manually and anally and loves to give pleasure. She will make the ideal maid for those so inclined or a classy trophy wife for the upwardly mobile executive."

It was hard hearing myself described in such a matter-of-fact way but I had to realize that I was no longer a person to these people. I was simply an object. But as the bidding went up I realized a new kind of pride. As an object I was worth far more than I ever was as a person was.

"Four hundred thousand, do I hear four-fifty, four-fifty, let me hear a five hundred grand, five hundred grand for this fine piece of ass, slave for life or a ready-made wife for life."

Oh please, I thought, make it be one of the women who bought me. But as the price went up I noticed more and more of the women dropping out of the bidding. Meanwhile, the tall, dark, and undeniably handsome man in the back kept holding up his card.

What did he want with me anyway? Did he really want me as his wife? It was not something I had ever considered. Or was it? Wasn't that the ultimate fantasy? Wasn't that where it all led? Isn't that what I really secretly dreamed about. To me didn't being a woman mean belonging to a man, to have him hold me, protect me, cherish me, and love me? If that man bought me would he complete my transformation or would he leave me the way I was? Did he want a complete woman or the she-male I was?

I didn't care…my mind was racing…oh wow!

I knew I wanted to go down on my knees before him and take his cock in my mouth. I wanted to do for real what Miranda had taught me. I wanted to taste his man-flesh as I licked the tip of him, tasting his precum. I wanted to lick up and down his hard shaft and finally suck the tip of him with my bright red, pouty lips. I wanted to flick my tongue on the small pink triangle under the head of his cock until he was crazy with need. I wanted to hear him pant and moan above me and push my head down as I swallowed him inch by inch. I wanted to feel him grow harder and harder until the tip of his cock reached the back of my throat and nearly gagged me. I wanted to feel him explode down my throat, the hot cum pouring from his convulsing cock as I desperately tried to swallow it all.

Oh yes, I wanted that.

I also wanted to be on all fours before him; my ass raised high in the air as his cock, lubed only by my saliva, poised at my virgin asshole. I wanted to feel his strong hands around my hips, his thumbs separating my ass cheeks exposing me, and then the swollen head of his cock pressed against me. I wanted to hear him tell me to relax, to push backwards a little, how he would try not to hurt me as he took me for the first time. I wanted to feel the terrible, impossible pressure, certain it would never go in, and then finally, with a sharp thrust, feel him inside me. I wanted to hear myself gasp as I realized it was in me, really in me, and then the long slow push as he filled me with his cock. I wanted to feel it stretch me, complete me, make me his woman. I wanted to feel it as he thrust it in and out; his hands still on my hips, my own hand fiddling between my thighs as I brought myself off. I wanted to feel him expand impossibly large inside me and then the hot cum jetting inside me, hitting my prostate, as he moaned above me, one hand squeezing my breasts, pinching my nipples hard, giving me pain and pleasure.

Finally I wanted to lie spooned against him as he slept, breathing deep and satisfied, as I lie pressed tightly against his hard, well-muscled body, his cum leaking from my ass.

The bidding was going higher and higher and now it was down between a rather severe-looking older woman dressed in black and the handsome man in the back of the room. I smiled politely into the lights, trying not to look at either. I wondered what my life would be like with either of the two. Who would I be better off with? The woman did not look like she liked me at all, which made me wonder why she was willing to pay so much for me. Meanwhile the man seemed to have a genuine look of interest in me. In spite of myself, I found I was leaning more and more towards the man in the back.

He looked as if he would truly covet and care for me. He might even grow to love me. The woman in black looked like she would probably lock me away in some dusty Victorian mansion where I would be forced to live a loveless existence as an upstairs maid. Please, please, I prayed silently to myself, let him buy me.

The bidding seemed to go on forever. I could feel the hot lights bringing out a not unflattering sheen to my tanned flesh. Every so soften I raised my eyes through the blinding footlights to the audience, but mostly I kept them down at my manicured toes. Finally I heard the sound of the gavel and it beat in time to the hard hammering of my heart.

"SOLD!" I heard the auctioneer say. "Lot number 26 Rachael Anne goes to the number 139 for one million one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars."

My mind was a mad jumble. I had been bought for over a million dollars. Who had that kind of money? And, more importantly, who was number 139? I felt faint; my knees nearly knocking together I was trembling so badly. I was led off the stage to make room for the next "girl" to be auctioned off. Off-stage there was a mad scramble of "girls" and handlers, a lot of sobbing, and hugging, and saying good-byes. I was hustled through the crowd and saw Miranda. She gave me a big hug and a kiss. She was with her new boyfriend, but I hardly felt anything. I was on emotional overload.

She wished me the best of everything, hoped I realized she did everything for me, and thanked me for being so cooperative. It seemed she had turned quite a profit. She said all this in a rush as she was off to catch a plane to Venice with her new beau the following day and had to make some last minute arrangements. She gave me another kiss, this time a bit more passionately on the lips, and told me how she'd never forget me. I mumbled something of the same. I desperately wanted to ask her who had bought me but a part of me was so frightened. Someone holding my arm jerked me forward and I struggled to keep up on my high-heels.

And then the crowd parted and I knew who had bought me.

I knew who number 139 was.

He was still holding the little sign in his hand.

He was even taller and more broad-shouldered than he had seemed from the stage. He had dark hair and a square manly jaw and the most beautiful blue eyes I had ever seen. He was wearing an expensive suit and a pair of expensive leather shoes, which I could hardly take my eyes off of, as I was afraid to raise my face to his. He did it for me, placing two fingers under my chin and lifting my eyes to meet his.

I knew at that moment I was in love.

True love.

"We are going to have a lot of fun together Rachael Anne," he said.

He peeled the sticker off my tanned thigh.

He smiled, crumbled the sticker up, and dropped it to the floor.

"You belong to me now," as he gently snapped a two-inch wide gold plated steel collar around my neck. He locked it with a small padlock, attached a leash, softly patted me on the fanny and said, "Let’s go home little one; you are going to love what I have in store for you."

(END)

 

 

 

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