Gill fitted Lanore with a studded leather dog collar and snapped on a sturdy chain leash. She'd given him a German shepherd puppy for Christmas two years ago, but, the dog soon grew too large to be comfortable in their small suburban backyard. He had given the dog to his brother who lived in the country where it could run free.
"But I'm glad I kept the collar," Gill said. "I've got good use for it now."
"You aren't going to make me wear this are you?"
"Try taking it off," he challenged.
"But it's so humiliating!" Lanore sobbed.
Gill had unlocked the handcuff from her wrists.
"So is having a hot wife who fucks all over the neighborhood while I'm at work. You act like a bitch in heat, so I'm treating you like one. On your feet, we're going back to the slave auction."
"I have to get dressed first," she said. Gill had already put on casual clothes.
"No, you're going just like that," he insisted, tugging on the leash. "Come on!"
"I can't walk down the street stark naked!"
"Bitch dogs do it all the time. Now get out of that chair before I drag you!"
"All right," Lanore moaned, standing reluctantly, her bald head bowed in shame.
"Heel!" Gill told her as he'd trained the dog.
She walked on his right side, a little to the rear. Celia was on his left in her filmy harem pants and little sequined vest. They held hands like a pair of high school sweethearts out to walk the dog.
It was after midnight and the sidewalk was dark except for the glow of an occasional street light. Lanore felt grateful for that, but the night air was chilling cold. She shivered more with each step they took toward the Bennetts' house.
A car rounded the corner half a block away and winded toward the sidewalk. Lanore naked and bald in the glare of its headlights. She lunged to hide behind some shrubbery growing in the yard they were passing, but Gill yanked her back.
The car swerved across the sidewalk on the far side of the street and crashed into a neighbor's white picket fence. The car lurched to a stop in the middle of the lawn and the driver got out, shaking his head. Lights flashed on in the house and Lanore wished she could dig a hole to crawl in.
"Jesus Christ," Gill said to Celia. "Hasn't that guy ever seen a man walking his dog before?"
"Probably not a completely bald dog," the redhead replied with a smile.
Lanore fumed but didn't respond to their taunting. She knew that would only make it worse. She walked along with her head down, thankful that few of the neighbors would recognize her without that long mane of golden hair.
More lights were coming on because of the car that had crashed through the picket fence. Gill waved to the ones he knew with the hand that held the looped end of Lanore's leash.
Lanore forgot the cold before they'd gone half a block. Her whole body was blushing, warm with the heat of shame.
"Good, you can keep it at home where it belongs," Gill said without concern. "I don't even think Al will want to see you as a skinhead."
The once-blonde beauty was sobbing hysterically by the time they reached the Bennetts' house. Lanore didn't want to go down the stairs. She could hear that the party was still in full swing. Blake was conducting another round in the auction.
"Ladies and gentlemen… it's a rare treat you're being offered this time. A tender young virgin! A pretty blonde who still has her cherry intact!"
A thousand dollars was the opening bid, and that went up a hundred each time Gill went down a stair, tugging on the leash to drag his reluctant wife along. It had reached by the time they stepped onto the lower floor.
He had to envy the few men rich enough to continue beyond that point. Gill recognized one of them, the president of the electronics company he worked for.
The girl on the block was a budding beauty hardly old enough to know what was going on. Her hair was ash blonde and as long as Lanore's had been.
Gill's ultimate boss, the company president, claimed they are virgin, with "a final bid of?" That made him wonder how much had been raised for that new hospital wing since the party began.
As if able to read his mind. Blake announced it from the stage. "That's the record price for a slave so far," he said. "And it brings the total contributions from this auction to…"
The crowd cheered as the silver-haired corporation president led the young virgin away.
Blake was saying, "If we had a few more virgins to put on the block, construction of the new children's hospital wing could start Monday morning. Unfortunately, we have no other volunteer slaves to offer at the moment – oh, wait a minute, folks!"
Gill was waving Lanore's leash to get his attention.
Blake bent over and the two men talked briefly in hushed tones. Then Gill handed the older man the leash and, he pulled Lanore up onto the platform. Lanore was too ashamed to even raise her head. She stood hunched over, arms crossed to hide her blushing tits, hands covering her bald pussy mound.
"Just like any fine store, we do occasionally have a bargain sale. Damaged merchandise. Factory seconds. Customer returns that aren't as good as new."
"Do I hear an opening bid for this sorry piece of goods?" Blake asked in a tone of obvious amusement. "How about ten dollars?"
"I'll hid a dime," some man said.
"Fifteen cents," a woman countered.
"Twenty," said the man. "Cents, not dollars!" he was quick to point out.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Blake protested. "Her chain and collar are worth more than that!"
"Two bucks for the chain and collar," Gill said. "I want those back."
"We have two dollars for the collar and chain. Do I hear three?" Blake asked. He was finding it hard not to laugh out loud. "Maybe two-fifty?"
Al joined the bidding then. He nudged Gill with an elbow and said, "Two-ten… and I'll let the donor keep the collar and chain." Lanore recognized his voice even though she refused to face the mocking crowd.
Blake said into the microphone, "We have two-ten. Do I hear two-twenty? Two dollars and twenty cents, anyone?"
No response but giggles.
"Ladies and gentlemen. This – ugh – this hairless wonder will be yours for twenty-four hours. A slave to your slightest whim. That's not even ten cents an hour. Even if you can't stand the sight of her, she can wash dishes scrub floors…"
"No, God damn it! No!" Lanore snapped up her head.
"Does she do windows?" a woman asked from the back of the room. Another peal of laughter made Lanore drop her head and start to ball again. She didn't seem to have a friend or supporter in the whole room.
"Two dollars and ten cents," Blake repeated. "Going once. Going twice…" Still no response. The guests seemed to sense there was something going on between the two men at the edge of the platform. No one else would put in a bid. "Going three times… sold to the lucky gentleman with the smirk, on his lips!" Blake gave Al the looped end of Lanore's leash.
"Oooh, Al," Lanore moaned as he was leading her off. "Get me out of this awful place. Take me home and fuck me!"
"Hey, not until after you've cleaned my house!"
"You aren't really going to make me do that."
"Damn right I am! I can fuck you for free. For cold, hard cash you're going to work your ass off, even if I have to stand over it with a whip!"
Gill was still grinning when Marilee got back to the party about ten minutes later, resplendent in the borrowed white mink coat.
And she looked no worse for wear despite having spent the last twenty-four hours with three young men who, between them, managed to have at least one cock hard all that time.
"Have you seen Al?" she asked.
"He just left with Lanore," Gill said. "She's going to spend the next twenty-four hours cleaning your house."
"Oh, then I'd hate to disturb them. Why don't we go to your place and wait until she's through?" ,Before Gill could do more than nod in consent, Celia appeared beside them holding something in hands behind her back. Her vest was open, her tits thrusting out.
"I got to feeling a little sorry for your wife," she said to Gill. "When you think she's learned her lesson, please give her this from me." It was a beautiful wig, long and tawny red like Celia's own hair. "It's my mother's. She has a bunch. I thought this one might help remind you of me."
"Celia, I hope I'll have more than a wig to remind me…"
"Don't worry," she grinned mischievously. "We are neighbors aren't we? I expect to be seeing a lot of you."
"You will, Celia. And thanks for the loan of the wig. I know Lanore will appreciate it – when she's learned her lesson."
Al was leading her down the street, tugging on the leash, half dragging Lanore like a pup. She was sobbing and pulling back, as angry as she was humiliated.
The old man whose car had crashed through the picket fence had given the card of his insurance agent to the sleepy homeowner and was backing into the street when the two of them walked by.
They passed, the naked and bald woman straining against her leash. The old man gawked and his car swerved again, bounding over the sidewalk to crash through a split rail fence just two houses down.
Al shook his head and said, "Jesus Christ, how did that guy ever get a driver's license?"
Lights were coming on all over the neighborhood and people were staring out their windows up and down the block. Lanore wanted to die. He dragged her straight into the kitchen and to a sink piled high with dirty dishes.
"I'm a lot like Gill," Al said sheepishly.
"I've been letting my wife get away with things, I don't like it. No more! Clean that shit up! I want to see every dish sparkle when you put it away."
Al fashioned the looped handle of her leash into a slip knot and cinched it tight around the base of the sink faucet. "I'm going to get a whip in case I need that to keep you on your toes!"
Lanore thought of running, but where? People now were milling around in front of their houses, drawn by the noise of the second accident of the night. And she was bald, naked and so ashamed. Even if she made it home, Gill would only drag her back.
Gill left the Bennetts' house arm in arm with Marilee. Celia had put the long red wig on a foam plastic stand, one that was flocked a flesh color and shaped with a model's classic features. He had that tucked under the other arm and he felt on top of the world.
"Al's going to be a lot more strict with me in the future," Marilee said as they walked up the street. "Once he's had Lanore as a slave for twenty-four hours…"
"It will do us all good," Gill said.
Marilee had lost her tablecloth toga nearly all the way. She rapped the sleek white mink close around her lithe body and still managed to keep pace with Gill's hurried strides.
They hardly noticed all the gawking neighbors in bathrobes and pajamas, those still curious about the second car crash of the night. The old man gave the required insurance information to another homeowner and was just untangling his car from the ruins of the split rail fence when they walked by.
Gill appeared to be carrying the severed head of a tawny haired beauty under his arm, and the old man remembered seeing him with a woman just like that the first time he crashed. Then the night wind caught the open front of Marilee's borrowed coat and spread it wide.
She was stark naked underneath, her raven pussy curls shining in the glow of a street light overhead. The old man gaped, his jaw hanging slack, his foot coming down hard on the accelerator while the car was still in reverse.
It shot backward, swerved again and took out all that was left standing in the white picket fence he'd hit before. "The insurance adjusters will never believe this," he moaned. "Never!"
Lanore hated the studded-leather dog collar cinched round her neck. Al seemed to be enjoying it greatly. He was sitting naked in a kitchen chair behind her, contentedly with a beer in one hand while he swirled and cracked a three-tailed whip in the other.
The sound and her fear of hissing leather was all that kept Lanore busy with her assigned chores. She breathed in weary resignation, envying males for their strength and virility, hating them for the power they possessed. She had been shamed and mocked and made a fool of. She'd been walked naked like a dog in front of the whole neighborhood. And she knew she had only herself to blame. That's the part that hurt worst of all.
She'd been shorn of her beautiful golden hair, chained like a humble slave to a sink full of dirty dishes. One man she adored was sitting behind her, slashing the air with a cold leather whip, just waiting for an excuse to lay it across her ripe ass.
And her husband was somewhere with another woman, Lanore had no doubt of that. She watched him, if not all to herself, at least part of the time.
"I have to be more than just a neighborhood slave," she sobbed.