I know I have touched on this before….

But why do I find the thought of being sold so completely erotic?

When I look at a picture such a this, it positively makes me tingle. I don’t know if it is the humiliation of her plight, that she is naked, or the ardent desire that the purchasers seem to have for her flesh, but there is something about it which makes me moist.

I jokingly said to a male friend that he should find someone of appropriate means, and sell me. Of course, we had a laugh about it, but there is something about that lack of choice that I find arousing. Being told to pleasure someone, and be forced to do it.

I know this gets dangerously into topics of modern sexual slavery and prostitution, and of course, I am no advocate of that. Perhaps it is just my own twisted little perversions coming out. Being the helpless spoil of war. Touched and used by strangers.

Not long ago I had a dream where I was taken before a somewhat well known General from history, and stripped naked before him- not unlike the woman in the painting. He weighed my breasts in his hands as if they were ripe fruit- twisting my nipples between his fingers. Then he turned me around, and held me back against him; kissing my neck while his men made made themselves available of my quivering pussy. They literally fucked me against him; pushing us into a wall. Yet all the while, he kissed me and told me how good I was being and how beautiful I was. I remember looking down in the dream, and seeing their cum dripping from my body- those pearls landing on his perfectly polished boots. I was naked, they were all dressed, apart from some unzipped trews. The men held my legs open for their fellows, while their master clasped me tight against his chest. How many were there? I could not tell you. In the dream, they were faceless. They were just a line of cocks inside me. I was so focused on the General and his sibilant words in my ear.

He wanted me, but not for himself. He wanted me as a pet to reward his men with. He wanted to watch my degradation.The thrusting of his men on my body would have resonated through his entire chest. The more his men despoiled me, the more it aroused him. The more I moaned and begged for mercy, the more ardently he licked and bit at my neck. The more beautiful he thought I was. As the dream faded, he said he would keep me with him.

I woke up from the dream about as wet as a girl can be. It was so real, and terrifyingly erotic. The modern me looks on it and thinks, Jesus H. Christ… What the hell is going on in that brain of yours. Could there be any more BAD! EW! WRONG! in this whole situation? And yet my mind has drifted back to it constantly. I have pleasured myself to the memory of the dream countless times. One wonders what my subconscious will hit me with next.