The Trader smiled with genuine warmth at the figure before him, almost, but not quite, giving in to the temptation to call off the deal and keep this one for his own personal amusement and pleasure.

But, business was business and he had preparations to complete before the buyers arrived to bid for his latest creation. Reaching forward, he patted the smooth, leather-covered cheek of the skin-tight helmet encasing the figure's entire head and smiled again. His action had elicited a barely-audible moan and a futile flexing of muscles as the figure attempted to rub against his fingers.

For a moment, he considered rewarding her with the climax she so clearly wanted, but decided against it, knowing from experience that most buyers preferred a slave who was in desperate need and unable to hide the fierce heat burning in her body. Her performance and responses would be deeper and more intense if she was not permitted to come until the bidding was well under way, then the power of her enforced submission would serve to drive her price higher.

She was called Fran and six months before had been an office manager, but neither of those facts mattered any more. She was now a slave and her new life and even her name would be decided by her purchaser.

Her first contact with the Trader had come through his web site and from day one, it had been obvious to him that Fran was fascinated by the whole concept of bondage and slavery. Within two weeks, she was referring to him as "Master" and allowing him to dominate her with e-mailed instructions as to what she should wear both at home and to work. At his order, she acquired a web cam for her computer and bought several pairs of handcuffs and a large ball-gag, then sent many hours naked, chained and gagged as he watched her struggle to reach the orgasms he demanded.

She even agreed to have her nipples, labia and clitoris pierced and when they were healed, with welded steel rings permanently implanted, he had known that it would only be a short time before she requested to meet him and ask to become his full-time slave. At that meeting, he had made it perfectly clear that he was not interested in playing games and if he accepted her, she would become his permanent property, with no limitations on his absolute authority and control over every aspect of her life.

With barely a hesitation, she had agreed and from that moment, her world changed forever. She left her job and her home to move into his remote country farmhouse and there he began the lengthy process of transforming her from an inquisitive novice to an obedient, submissive, fully-trained and rigidly-disciplined bondage-slave.

He demanded instant and unquestioning obedience, absolute submission and perfect service, both sexually and in her domestic duties. If he did not get it, had no compunctions about punishing her until she met the standards he required. It was far harder and more painful than Fran had ever anticipated, but deep inside, she discovered an intense, powerfully-addictive visceral pleasure in her ruthless subjugation. The chains and whips of her slavery ignited a holocaust of sexual desire and need in her belly, and she knew that she had found her true role.

Welded steel cuffs, three inches wide, at her wrists, elbows, knees and ankles replaced her juvenile handcuffs, and a five-inch wide steel posture-collar welded around her throat forced her head regally upright. As well, tight steel bands were also welded permanently in place around the bases of her breasts making them project in lewd unconcealable prominence. That was not the end though.

er arms were folded behind her back into a reverse-prayer position, and over a period of weeks slowly forced higher and higher up between her shoulder blades until her wrists were directly attached to the rear of her collar. The enormous and unrelenting strain on her shoulders made her cinched breasts jut out from her chest like fleshy torpedoes and turned her nipples into aching, incredibly-sensitive bullets that transmitted even the lightest of touches into electrifying jolts of near-unbearable stimulation.

From the front, her arms were invisible and as she saw herself in the mirror, Fran gasped in shock and delight, astonished by the stunning image of helplessness and extreme vulnerability she presented.

Her Master had other surprises in store and when he had connected her knees and ankles by an X of rigid steel bars that spread her thighs cruelly wide. Next, he forced a pair of steel-braced boots with 8-inch heels onto her feet and welded the ankle-straps closed and she moaned in torment as her toes were crushed into the sharply-pointed boots by the weight of her body.

Her thighs, calves, ankles and toes immediately protested, but there was no way to relieve her distress and when her Master ended her fervent pleas by inserting a massive steel ring-gag behind her front teeth and jacking her mouth into a painfully-stretched circle, she found herself deprived of even the faintest hope of being able to reason with him.

With no choice but to submit to every demand made upon her, Fran's subjugation grew deeper and more unbreakable with every day that passed as she was conditioned to accept the total slavery and the sexual servitude imposed upon her. Every day, the physical responses forced from her body became more powerful and less controllable, until the slightest touch of her Master's fingers and lips, or the stinging lash of his whip across her naked flesh, instantly triggered the slave-heat that swirled constantly in her belly and set her spiralling towards orgasm whether she willed it or not.

Five months of relentless training, iron discipline, stringent bondage and extreme sexual subjugation had transformed Fran into the slave her Master wished her to be and unbeknown to her, he began the final stage of his plan to capitalise on the hard work he had put in to make her what she was.

E-mails were despatched to a select list of addresses throughout the world and as Fran continued to serve her Master in ignorance of her eventual fate, travel plans were set in motion in more than a dozen far-flung locations.

The helmet was specifically designed to isolate its wearer from the outside world and when it was fitted over Fran's head and its laces tightened, the double layer of leather was moulded to every contour of her face. Eye-pads blotted out every chink of light, ear-pads eliminating every sound, built-in breathing tubes had insinuated themselves into her nostrils and an inflatable gag bulged her cheeks, silencing her utterly.

Fran could see nothing, hear nothing, say nothing, and smell only the leather encasing her head; feeling its inescapable grip of her head and face. Combined with her other bondage, she was utterly helpless and completely dependent on her Master. When a leash was clipped to her collar and she felt it tug insistently at her throat, Fran had no option but to stumble blindly forward on her immense high heels, legs swinging wide in the slow, awkward and painful steps forced on her by the steel "X" clamping her knees and ankles.

Her brain raced and sex dampened as she felt hot sun on her breasts and belly, and knew that she had been taken from the relative security of the house and was in the open air: exposed in her bondage and nudity, vulnerable and defenceless.

Brought to a halt, she felt pressure at her throat and strained upwards onto the tips of her crushed toes, stretching her body to its full height as her leash was clipped to a thick, strong beam projecting from above the front door of the house. There she remained, unable to ease her position, her breasts tensioned by the strain, thigh muscles quivering, and belly fluttering to the erotic fear of knowing that she was perfectly secured with every curve and hollow of her body displayed and available.

The brief touch of her Master's hand against her leather-covered cheek sent a gush of juices oozing from her sex, but she was powerless to offer him the submission she longed to give. She was forced to stand in the hot sun, tethered as a slave, for what seemed an endless eternity with her belly seething and burning with feverish anticipation.

Suddenly, strong fingers captured her left nipple, rolling and squeezing it to send devastating arousal and bitter-sweet pain jolting through her breast. A second set trapped her right breast, then a third tweaked the ring at her clitoris and a fourth burrowed into her sex! A fifth penetrated her anus and a sixth and seventh cracked across her bottom cheeks, then suddenly a whip slashed across her unprotected belly. Other hands tested the muscle-tone of her gaping thighs, and unable to escape past the huge inflated ball in her mouth, Fran's wild shrieks of anguish and terror echoed and re-echoed in her brain. She realised that an unknown number of people .... strangers ... were exploring and ravaging her body, and there was nothing she could do to save herself!

From deep down within, a shattering climax exploded into her belly and a river of glistening silver juices burst from her pulsing sex. She had no way of knowing that her involuntary exhibition of the awesome power and extent of the submission that could be extracted from her was precisely the reaction that her Master had counted on to maximise the price that her sale would bring.

Standing back, the Trader watched with a small, satisfied smile curving his lips as the buyers inspected his latest offering as she dangled from the Trading Post, shuddering and jerking to the spasms of her slave-orgasm. Her offered breasts, buttocks and belly were involuntarily presented to the fingers and whips of her audience and earned yet more more pinches, lashes and caresses as she tried unavailingly to protect herself.

He wondered what she was thinking and whether she had yet realised that she was in the process of being sold to one of the group tormenting her. It would be interesting to ask , he thought idly, but knew he wouldn't. As soon as the bidding was over and the cash was in his hands, she would disappear into one of the expensive limousines or helicopters that had brought the bidders to his farmhouse and that was the last he, or anyone else but her new owners, would see of her.

Fran would be a slave for the rest of her life, just like the other seven girls he had collared, trained and then sold. He'd give the bidders five more minutes to play with her, he decided casually, then start the auction. Judging by her ferociously-hot responses, she ought to bring the best price yet. It was strange, he smiled to himself, how not one of the eight girls he had enslaved so far, had ever thought to question him as to why he called himself the Trader, or even appeared to suspect that he might have a good reason for running a web site about bondage and slavery; naming it The Trading Post.

Perhaps, when they found themselves in the situation that Fran was now having to endure, they all had, but, like her, it was far too late by then. One of these days, he'd have to keep one of his trainees for himself and ask her, but not this one, not just yet, because she was worth a great deal of money. In any case, no doubt his web site would soon attract a new candidate, only too willing and eager to experience the very special relationship that his site offered.

After all, female curiosity had always been his greatest ally and it had been several years since he had lacked a compliant slave to take care of his sexual needs and desires, not to mention helping him to amass a considerable fortune from their sale. They had enabled him to live in luxury and continue his favourite activities without the boring necessity of actually having to hold down a job in order to fund his lifestyle.

In some ways, it was a pity that Fran had to go. She had been the closest yet to his vision of his ideal slave, but he was confident that there would be others to replace her and he was in no great hurry. The world was so full of potential slaves and their would-be owners, that the few genuine Traders such as himself were highly unlikely to run out of either clients or of the young, attractive and trustingly-naive females who were the raw material of their business.

And, speaking of business, he pitched his voice at a level that rose above the amused voices and cruel laughter of his guests as they watched Fran's ineffectual struggles.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Now that you have seen for yourselves how enthusiastic the young lady is to please you, may I suggest a figure of one hundred thousand? Thank you, Madam. Shall we say one hundred and twenty thousand?"

The auction was going very well and as the bidding for Fran's involuntary and life-long servitude rose, then rose again, the Trader's eyes glittered with satisfaction. His secret bank accounts were about to receive a very healthy injection and if her life-long captivity and enslavement were the price of his increased wealth, well, then that was a cost he was more than happy to pay.

Even if Fran was considerably less happy with her contribution.

At one hundred and ninety thousand, the deal was closed and he unclipped her leash and handed it to the buyer's representative, then watched as she was led towards the helicopter to begin her long journey, still hooded and unaware of her fate.

In twenty-four hours or so, she would join a small, hand-picked stable of pony-slaves on the fifty thousand square mile ranch belonging to Dona Consuela Santimagro y Alaves; one of the richest women in South America and with a well-earned reputation for accepting nothing less than absolute perfection from her expensively-purchased team.

Fran didn't know it yet, but she was going to become a pony-girl, a harnessed, bit-gagged, high-stepping beast of burden, trained to obey the slightest tug of reins at her soft mouth and ringed nipples; the sting of a whip at her flanks and the brusque commands of her driver.

The Trader was pleased ... not for Fran, although he wished her well in her new life, but for himself and his business. She was the second slave Dona Consuela had bought from him and that meant that the first; a pretty blonde called Emily, must have proven satisfactory. That was good for his future dealings with the millionairess.

He shaded his eyes as the helicopter lifted off and dwindled to a speck, then when his guests had all gone, turned and went into his house. He would have a celebratory drink, then it would be time to check his web site to see whether any likely candidates had dropped by, eager and willing to assume Fran's newly-vacant position. He hadn't forgotten that all but one of the buyers at his auction had gone away empty-handed and disappointed.

The Trading Post needed fresh merchandise and a good businessman always did his very best to supply his clients' requirements.

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