The clicking of high heels are heard all through-out the fancy, marble hallway. Swift rushing noises fill my ears and voices of hurry blur together, making them unreadable.

My long, luscious, flow dress just barely drags behind me. The purple velvet is remotely comfortable against my bruised flesh, but nothing helps when your skin is sore and sensitive.

"Line up!" A rough, scratchy voice pierces the sound of commotion like a knife. Everyone around me scurries to form a straight line starting at the opening of the long, narrow hallway. A muscular man dressed in a black suit helps fix the already perfect line into what is considered "Perfection". I make sure I am aligned like a shadow with the person infront of me, who happens to have short red-orange hair and a very pretty red dress that hangs down and hides her black pumps.

I don't move a muscle, I barely breath, making sure that while he inspects me I am exactly what he wants me to be. If I'm not, I get pulled out of line and punished. It's some pretty tough rules, but I'm used to them. He checks me over, and to my relief, moves on. I let out the breath I was holding, trying to keep it quiet, but instead of the silent breath I was hoping for, it comes out shallow and ragged. He glances at me through the corner of his eye, but pays me no attention.

"All clear!" He assures and gives a thumbs up to somebody past the beginning of the line, but far past my possible range of sight. Then he walks off down the hall and disappears out of sight. I keep starring straight forward, as still as a brick. The line moves forward by a little, and a older man's voice is heard.

"Violet Gail Bennon. She's a real beauty. A rebellious and sassy, yet sweet young girl. She works well and obeys orders. Only 17. Not to young, not to old. She's perfection. She's had eight masters in the past, and is extremely well behaved. Starting price of 1000!" Excitement lingers in his tone. His voice sounds raspy from age. I'm going to take a wild guess and say he's a little under forty. I hear a few woman and men shout out prices. The prices vary from 1000, the starting price, all the way up to 3200. Which ends up being the winning price.

"Sold!" Says the same raspy man's voice. The light tapping of, what I'm guessing to be her shoes, is heard as she walks over to her new Master.

The line inches forward a bit more, and the same process is repeated. Two hours pass, before It's my turn. My feet would normally be sore, but I have gotten used to the constant standing. It's one of the advantages of having the life I have. I watch the girl infront of me be dragged up onto a fairly high stage by a woman in her early twenties. "Abigail Vazner Ackson. Has a sweet and fragile personality. Obeys extremely well and has been tamed. Beatings don't effect her, she likes housework. Very positive reviews form her last seven masters. Only 15 and a virgin! A red haired-green eyed beauty." He states, confidently. "Starting price of 2500!" He finishes.

"2600!" "2800!" "2900" "3000" Random people shout out. "3000! Going once, goi-" He starts. "3600!" Somebody cut's him off. "3600! Going once, going twice, sold! To Mister Blanche Drescher." He hands her off to a tall, thin man in a black suit.

A bold, tough guy grabs my arm roughly and shoves into a blonde lady, who pulls me up on stage to the same guy who sold the girl infront of me, who's name is apparently "Abigail". He's almost as muscular and huge as the guard who checked over the line. He grabs my shoulder and shakes it.

"Mikki Carter Monock. A wonderful young girl with a caring, heart of gold. Has had only five masters in the past, nobody wanted to give her up!" He jokes. "Honesty is a word she is commonly described as. She's a keeper. 16 years old. Starting price of 3700!" He finishes.

I look through the crowd of hundreds. Men and woman in fancy outfits are looking at me, judging me. A few people argue over who gets me. In a strange way, people bidding on me and fighting over me makes me feel wanted. It's actually a good feeling. However, I'm nervous about my new Master.

Some Masters are nice and some are cruel. I've had a master that used to beat and whip me for fun. Of course, it was only fun for him. I still have nasty scars that remind of the horrible events. But that's just my horrible, dreadful, life.

I must have zoned out, because the next thing I hear is the guy behind me shouting "Sold! To Peter Cardiel." He pushes me off the stage and over to a guy who looks to be in his late forties. He has short black-brown hair and a slight mustache. He's fairly overweight and, like everyone else, he's very well dressed.

He takes me by the elbow and gently escorts me to a long, 8-seated, black limo. So, he's probably rich. I have absolutely no problem with that. He looks like one of those high-ranking business guys from a movie. I've had nice masters who let me watch movies, but those people are rare.

He tells me to sit in the seat next to him, and I do. I buckle the seat-belt, making sure not to rip or catch my dress. "Oh, I'm sorry. Let me introduce myself. I'm Peter Cardiel. I would prefer you call me Master, though. Nice to meet you." He says.

He has a slight English accent and his voice sounds confident. He seems pretty nice. Most masters won't even talk to us. He reaches out his hand for me to shake.

I shift my weight, since were both sitting inside the limo, so that I can shake his hand. "I'm Mikki Monock." I start. My voice sounds fragile and sweet, yet confident. I lightly shake his hand. "And I'm your new slave." I finish.