Please don't be someone cruel, please don't be someone cruel... Nicola chanted to herself mentally as she obediently waited on the platform, her free will run off to play somewhere without her while the bidding war began.
In this world of magic, attractive young women go for cheap; after all, why pay top dollar for some wench on the stand when you can kidnap one yourself, or just turn some poor schmuck into one?
Nicola had seen several far more interesting women go for exhorbitant prices... scaled sea-women, a glowing angel, her wings bound with impossibly black chains, a still-proud looking witch... When it came to her, a tiny, silly part of her felt affronted to see that most of the bids were fairly desultory. It came down to a fairly dumpy looking farmer who looked lonely and a smooth-faced kid with some other young men behind him. Pooling their money, they outbid the poor farmer and the four of them wandered around back to collect her.
Nicola sighed. Ah well. At least I didn't get handed off to that wolf-man thing who'd been eyeing me before. He oughta be satisfied with the snake girl...
At the auctioneer's binding command, she walked back behind the curtain, meeting her new owners. The clear leader was a tall, somewhat aristocratic looking boy with carefully arranged blond hair, though his style of dress, somewhat worn and lacking in jewelry, identified him as either a rich merchant or a very down-on-his-luck nobleman indeed; the fact that he had to pool with his compatriots to beat a wealthy farmer gave credence to this. His hanger-ons were attired similarly, albeit in progressively more ratty stages, they stood out only in how utterly unremarkable they were.
Touching a hand to her forehead, the slave master transferred her terms of ownership to the leader, and the man gestured curtly, leading her outside.
"What is your name?" he demanded, as they walked.
"Nicola," she answered. She kept her tone even and servile... the painful lesson the orcs had inflicted on her hadn't served to dampen her spirit so much as it did temper it; knowing the full effects of the magemark, she knew that, if she frustrated him, he might inadvertantly strip her of the very ability to consider a way out of this predicament.
The man seemed satisfied. Nicola herself had never heard of this 'magemark,' and suspected it was either a new magical development or one that hadn't seen much use in the general public. Either way, it meant that he probably didn't know much about it himself.
"Could call her 'Brenda,'" a ruddy-faced hanger-on suggested. "Brenda? Why the hell would we call her that?" another asked, incredulous, and the third added with a chuckle, "Brenda is the woman who slapped him yesterday, recall?"
"Enough," the tall one commanded, waving his hand, and the toadies fell silent. "I like Nicola," he smiled, pausing the group to take her chin and turn her head, examining her fine curves. Nicola repressed a shiver, and offered a shy, coquettish smile; much as she would rather be stroked by a brush made of razor blades, she knew that she needed to play this carefully. His answering look stilled some of her fears; he was buying into it, thinking that this stupid peasant girl had already started to fall for him. Sadly, Nicola doubted that it would be quite enough to spare her humiliations to come, but it might be enough to let her escape...
"Well, I promised," he said, "To George's house, then." A cheer went up, and Nicola followed along at the leader's call. Exactly why they were going to George's house - Hah! Knew they were merchants. - became apparent when the four of them gathered in the entryway. The boy's father passed by, complimenting them on a fine slave and giving Nicola's rounded rear a pat as he went off into another room, the boys smirking. Nicola knew what those looks meant, and hardly needed the leader's explanation.
"While I am and shall remain your owner, Nicola, these fine gentlemen are promised a service in return for aiding me in your purchase. We'll start with George, the host should have the honors." George stepped forward to take her hand, and Nicola forced herself not to shrink back more than was needed for the verisimilitude of a poor slave girl. "Nicola, take George to bed, give him the time of his life, and make yourself ready for the next person to go up."
Nicola hung her head appropriately. As she went upstairs with George, watching the other boys go in to play a game of cards, she prepared herself for what was to come... she had, after all, been expecting it all along.
As George opened the door to his room for her, though, her mind seized on a possibility that caused her heart to flutter: 'Take George to bed, give him the time of his life, and make yourself ready for the next person to go up.'
The Gods praise poor wording choices!