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My heart was pounding a mile a minute the night I met BethAnne (or I guess you could say the night I *quot;bought*quot; BethAnne). I had heard about the slave auctions at one of the famous S the women looked at me like I was competition for them.

There were three girls available for auction that night. After seeing the first two, both of whom looked like they had been worked over by a steam shovel, my anticipation dwindled. But when BethAnne came up to the stage, my heart leaped out! There she was, the girl of my dreams--petite, blonde, blue-eyed, pug-nosed. Innately shy. Not a day over 20. She never raised her head, not once, while the auctioneer rattled off the cadence of numbers. At $250 there were three bidders left. At $325 just two. I ended up buying her for $400, only after convincing the auctioneer to make her raise her skirt up, showing us a dainty pair of white panties beneath her tan-colored pantyhose, and to open her blouse half-way, exposing a lacy, white bra and what appeared to be a pair of very well-formed breasts.

She blushed profusely as she was led to me from the dais, her head still lowered. I wondered what kind of girl would allow herself to be sold as a slave to a perfect stranger, to another girl. *quot;I live in Jersey,*quot; I half-whispered, my heart racing. *quot;My car is outside.*quot;

*quot;You have to promise me one thing,*quot; she said in an obviously nervous manner.

*quot;What's that?*quot;

*quot;No marks. I don't want you to leave any marks. I don't mind going with you, and you can do whatever you want to, but I don't want marks.*quot;

*quot;All right. No marks,*quot; I said. *quot;I want you to enjoy this evening as much as me.*quot;

For the first time she looked at me. Our eyes met. *quot;I'm BethAnne.*quot;

*quot;And I'm Danielle,*quot; I said, holding out my right hand. She shook it and smiled, just slightly, the kind of smile one gives more out of fear than of happiness.

Our chauffeur-driven ride through the Lincoln Tunnel occurred in almost total silence. I wanted it that way, to heighten BethAnne's obvious nervousness. She looked out of the window most of the time. I made some notes in a note book along the way, reminders to myself of things I planned to do in my one big night of fantasy fulfillment.

When we arrived, I gave the butler the night off and escorted BethAnne into my house. She seemed quite impressed with the mansion that I had inherited from my grandfather. She particularly liked the indoor swimming pool. I offered her a drink and she accepted. We ended up on the living room sofa.

*quot;Well, I guess you know why you are here, BethAnne,*quot; I said to the pretty blonde.

She kept her head down, blushing once more. She shook her head in the affirmative, biting her lower lip ever so slightly. She appeared to be trying to act like she wasn't as nervous as she really was. I could sense her uneasiness.

*quot;How long have you been into this sort of thing?*quot;

She smiled again. *quot;You are not going to believe this, Danielle, but only for a few months. My ex- boyfriend really got me started. He was deeply into S