(http://i279.photobucket.com/albums/kk137/HaibaneR/Monaco/Characters/Avatars/TillieAvatar04.jpg)<br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;">Tillie LeBon</span></span><br/><strong>Location:</strong>Emperium Sales rooms, slave sales floor<br/><strong>With:</strong>Callie Shaw, Sophie Maryse Bisset, Kaelyn Richelieu, Shop slaves<br/><br/>Men came and went and none bought me. I hated not being owned. The worst feeling in the world was to be unwanted. And then a freewoman came in. She was very beautiful, and part of me envied her the money and status she must enjoy. But that part was only very small. She looked at  Callie first, played with her a bit and moved on to me. Looked me up and down and was about to walk away. I almost sighed with relief. But then she stopped, looking at the price ticket, and turned back to me.<br/><br/>I had my head lowered, of course, as befit a well trained slave. A sharp fingernail pressed under my chin, forcing my head up. And up further. Realising what she was doing, although not why, I tipped my head right back, careful to keep my chin in contact with her finger, but making sure she didn't have to push. The order to stay like this was not a surprise, really, although it was rather uncomfortable. The hand cupping her breast felt nice, the pain was sharp and I closed my eyes briefly, keeping my expression neutral as she squeezed my nipple and twisted it. That felt so good. It had been an age since my final training session at the orphanage, and I missed the beatings, the torture.<br/><br/>There was something in the gloves the woman wore, that actually made them rasp my skin, sticking to it and pulling it in odd ways. It was the first time I'd felt anything like this and I decided I didn't like it. I wondered if the man who finally bought me would use such gloves as a punishment. I hoped so. And the she asked me a question. I listened and decided the question was rhetorical, not requiring me to break silence. Some owners, I knew, liked their slaves to talk, others liked their slaves silent. The only way to find out which was to wait for permission to talk, and risk punishment for not answering, or to answer, and risk punishment for doing so.<br/><br/>Her hand on my cunt was nice and I suppressed a soft purr, but then her fingers spread my lips. I was wet, of course. My daily venus pill saw to that - a reduced dose because they didn't want us fucking each other in the holding pens, but it was enough to have me horny and wet. I twitched, I couldn't help it, and a soft sigh escaped my lips.<br/><br/>She wiped her hand clean and moved on, but not before sending the shop slave to get Maître Adam. Why? I was beginning to get dizzy, so I took a risk and in a soft voice asked, "Excusez-moi, Maîtresse, puis-je réduire ma tête maintenant S'il vous plaît?"<sup>1</sup>I just hoped against hope that the reason she had sent for the Master was not what I suspected it was.<br/><hr/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 8pt;">1] Excuse me, Mistress, may I lower my head now please?</span>