It was the nicest living room I had ever seen, certainly way better than what I was used to. First, though, I was taken to my bedroom. It was very spartan: just a single bed, a side table with a lamp, and a sort of combination wardrobe dresser cabinet. My clothes and duffle bag were on the bed.

After a look in the room, I was taken to the end of the hall to the large bathroom, with a group shower, and a separate exercise room. The guy who had taken charge of me after my appraisal looked to be around thirty. He was dressed in black pants, a black dress shirt, and black loafers. He wasn’t unfriendly, but he was distant and very formal. He told me to shower and report to the dining room for dinner, which would be served shortly.

When I asked how I should dress, he replied, “As you wish… until you are sold. You have clothes in the cabinet in your room to choose from, or a robe from the shower, or nothing at all.” I settled on black gym shorts and a white T-shirt from my room. Everyone just seemed to take a seat wherever at the table. The food was simple, but very good. Coming from my home, it was better than what I was used to. The other boys were friendly and introduced themselves after we all sat down.

They wanted to hear about me, of course, but I wanted to know what life was like after you were sold. They said it all depended on who bought you. Some Masters treat their boys almost like adopted sons, others like personal secretaries or valets; for others a boy is nothing more than a sex toy. The one thing they have in common is that they are all very very wealthy, and there is a minimum standard of care for slaves that must be met. Some Masters are better than others, but none of them can treat you too badly, at least not as far as living conditions go.

As far as sex goes, a boy should be ready, available and willing 24/7. Beyond the limits of not damaging them, boys are allowed few, if any, limits. They serve their Masters in any way that is required, with him, with his friends, with a random stranger if he orders it, in private, or as much in public as he dares. A boy is a very expensive and desirable object of pleasure and should expect to be used often and hard.

I was kept in the dormitory with the other boys for four days before the auction. I don’t know if all new boys get that or not. It was certainly a helpful orientation. Even though I realized that I might be looking at things through rose-tinted glasses, I couldn't help but feel like I had made a very good choice. The auction was still looming ahead for all of us, though. One of the older boys was a bit broken up. He had allowed himself to fall a little bit in love with his Master and was not looking forward to being sold. Another one had not cared much for the man who owned him and was eager to roll the dice again.

Things moved fast on auction day. We were woken up early and put through several hours of professional grooming before being taken to the auction house. We were given one final chance to back out before we were lined up on a wooden bench, in a darkened corridor backstage.

It hit me then. The fact that this was it. I was doing it. Thoughts of my parents and my life before were far away. I was already feeling homesick for the dormitory and my new friends; I wondered if I would ever see again, though the older boys assured me that we would cross paths sometimes.

I sat there in the dark long enough for my anxiety to resolve itself into a tense trance-like boredom. When Master Saint tapped me on the shoulder and whispered, “Come!” I jumped like I had been electrocuted. My stomach turned into a bottomless pit; I felt chill bumps cover my skin, and my knees shook a little bit when I stood up.

I stepped onto the stage and climbed on the block like we had rehearsed, the lights were blindingly bright. My satin jockstrap would have felt like nothing at all if the strap hadn’t been pinching behind my balls. That irritation was enough to take my mind off of the men out there in the dark in front of me.

Those men were focussed on nothing but me. I was “New.” My fellow boys assured me that I’m very handsome and they were sure that I would bring a high price. I’ve never appreciated my own looks, but I think it’s best not to be too impressed with yourself. When the auction began and Master Saint started rubbing massage oil all over my skin, I became incredibly self conscious of my body; even more conscious of the men beyond the lights starring at me, lusting over me.

I didn’t know what my price was, but I knew the bids were adding up. I knew from what the other boys had told me that we could be sold for breathtaking amounts of money. I knew the men placing the bids were wealthier than I could comprehend, and hundreds of thousands of dollars doesn’t mean the same thing to them as it does to me. Surely, though, with my price going higher, they are wondering if their desires are worth it. Is my cock that tasty? Is my hole that tight?

My fear was gone. Master Saint was turning me one way and the other, fucking my bare hole with his fingers. I was just an object on a pedestal. A very expensive object. An object whose future depended on its ability to be desirable, and I must be because the bids kept coming. I was almost floating out of my body, drunk on a wild mix of narcissism, sexual stimulation, fear, and exhibitionism.

The auction was over. The moment of truth arrived.

I knelt up and my new Master stepped through the lights and on to the stage. My heart almost skipped a beat. I recognized him! I didn’t know his name yet, but he was one of the men who helped Master Saint with my appraisal. He was handsome and strong, and maybe gentle, or not as rough as Master Saint, anyway. Still, he walked up, pushed me onto my hands and knees, and shoved his fingers into my hole, fucking me deep.

During the appraisal, he seemed to really enjoy my cocksucking, but today he clearly wanted my ass. I remembered what it had felt like when he fucked me then, and I was more than willing for him to do it again. He took his time, teasing my hole with his fingers and his tongue. When he finally thrust his cock into me, it was a relief to finally get it. Even though he was fucking me from behind, he grabbed my hand, pulling my arm back, to make me feel the bulging muscles and thick sweaty mat of hair on his chest.

I tried to focus on my new Master’s cock as it ravaged my hole, but I could hear the sounds of men in the dark. I knew that at least some of them were watching my Master use me. It felt strange to be fucked in public, but I knew that was something I must get used to. Seeing his obvious pleasure, were they regretting not having outbid him? Were they wishing it was them using my body with such obvious pleasure? For my part, if anything, I was only becoming more grateful that my Master had won.

He abruptly stopped pummeling my ass with his cock in order to flip me over on my back. I was surprised when he bent down to kiss my chest and deeply inhale the musk in my arm pits. He really did want to know every inch of his new merchandise. When he began fucking me again, he drove into me harder than ever. It felt so good that I grabbed hold of my cock without even thinking about it.

At the last moment before he came, he pulled his cock out of my hole, and sprayed my body with his load, adding his cum to mine. Once again, he scooped it up, feeding it to me. As I sucked his fingers clean and he thrust back into me, one last time and I laid there hoping that next time he would fuck his load deep into my guts and trully make me his.