Happiness in Slavery…

Am I the only woman who has ever wanted to be sold?

Not for a night… but as a more permanent commodity?

Sometimes I pass time pondering an auction… where a person volunteers to be sold for a year. What they offer to an owner, in terms of their skills and servitude is a legal, contractual obligation. The buyers must sign a contract with the auction house that they will care for their purchase to a particular standard. They cannot hurt their purchase beyond what is contractually offered by the contract. The woman signs over all legal rights to their owner for a certain amount of time, and they receive half of their purchase price, held in trust by the auction house to help the chattel begin a new life after. Perhaps once a month the Auction house would be responsible to check in on all sold chattel to prevent serious abuses. For example, your master couldn’t whore you out… unless that was in your contract of sale.

But as a woman, you are sold. You have no choice in who purchases you. You don’t even know who is bidding. Being led into a room… blindfolded. Dressed finely, or perhaps scantily. Those who wish to bid on you may come and examine you. They will have a file of all your information and pictures. But if they wish to ensure that you are as advertised, they may touch.

Then you belong to your owner. From that night on, they own you for 365 days. It doesn’t matter if you find them wonderful or repulsive. What you have offered contractually is binding.  Everything that you are is now property of your master.  You must go with them to wherever they wish.

I don’t know why I have this urge to have my sense of choice taken away from me. While I realise it is a choice to give up your will, there is no mechanism for this in the modern world. In some ways, an arranged marriage is sort of similar, but those haven’t been in vogue for some time.

A part of me would like to be sold. A part of me would like to be chattel. But I would also want a limit on it… at least at first.

Now… I would like to say that I am not advocating, nor do I agree with human trafficking. Big caveat. I find the kidnapping and sale of women illegally to be horrendous. This slave auction would be entirely voluntary. If minimum bids started in the tens of thousands of dollars/GBP/Euros, with half going to the woman, I am sure there would be volunteers.

I fantasize about being brought into a room… my eyes are covered but I can feel the heat of the spotlight. Hands come… they touch me. They might ask me a question to clarify the contract. The bidding begins. I would like to think I would sell. Then I am taken to a room. I see my owner. I am scared, but the die is cast. Perhaps he takes me right there. It would be his right. Perhaps I am his only purchase. Perhaps he takes me back to the room while he bids on others.

Maybe this is a wonder… maybe it is a horror… But I know I would be sorely tempted by the idea.

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9 thoughts on “Happiness in Slavery…

  1. I sense the passion in your words and it reminds me of that feeling of being free I get from being owned…sometimes scary because of the unknown but yet a strange thrill. They have a file on you and know u yet u know nothing…I doubt any of us are alone in our fantasies…for me this would make a wonderful scene as you have laid it out yet I understand for you it is much deeper….thank you for being so honest and open with your thoughts. Wonderfully brave. And I like the picture!!!

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