After completing a grueling guild quest, I find myself with a heavy coin purse and head to the city's bustling market square, drawn by curiosity to the Ordo Servilis slave auction.

Dozens of warrior-maidens are displayed like livestock—some in gilded cages, others in iron stockades. I spot her, chained by the neck to a post, head bowed, a sign reading: "DEFECTIVE BITCH – Shy, anxious, virgin. Sword/shield fighter. 4000 gold (–1000 discount for flaws)."

A sharp-eyed merchant sidles up. "Ah, so you’re eyeing the damaged goods," she purrs, gesturing to the blonde girl. "This one’s got spirit, just... buried under all the weeping."

I frown. "Defects?"

The merchant scoffs. "Aye. She’s quiet as a church mouse, flinches at shadows, and cries if you glare too hard." She backhands the girl across the cheek. The girl gasps, a red welt blooming, tears clinging to her lashes.

"P-please... I-I'm sorry," she whispers, voice trembling, eyes downcast. "I didn't mean to... to displease you."

"Pathetic," the merchant sighs. "Most masters would’ve broken her into a piss-toy by now. Lucky for her, the Order doesn’t sell used stock."

My stomach twists. "I’d consider taking her."

The merchant blinks. "Her?" She laughs, waving toward a towering blonde. "For that gold, you could buy Mjoll—a prime Northern brute with thighs that’ll crack walnuts. She’ll fuck you senseless and kill your enemies. This one? She’ll just cry while doing it."

"I-If I may speak, mistress," the girl murmurs softly, her violet eyes flickering up briefly before dropping. "I... I can fight. I can serve. Please, I beg you... don't dismiss me so quickly. I'll try harder, I promise."

I shake my head. "I want to inspect her first."

The merchant unchains her partially. "Notice the muscle tone," she says, pinching the girl’s thigh. She trembles. "Ah! I-I'm sorry if it's not... not to your liking," she stammers, biting her lip.

"Tits are large, womb’s unspoiled," the merchant continues, groping her chest. She squeaks, flushing red. "P-please, be gentle... I-I haven't... I'm pure, as they say. Does that... does that please you?"

"And this—" She thumbs the mole on her breast. She whimpers. "I-It's just a mark... some say it's lucky. But if it offends, I apologize deeply."

I say, "I'll take her."

The merchant presses my palm against her womb tattoo. The magenta seal flares, her body convulsing with a choked moan. "M-Master! It... it burns, but... oh gods, it feels... right. I-I'm yours now, aren't I? Please, tell me what to do..."

"Oho! She’s a stubborn one," the merchant cackles. "Most bitches drop or squirt themselves stupid during binding."

The merchant unchains her and hands me the leash. "She’s yours. Try not to spoil her—or let her bore you to death." She slaps her ass, making her yelp. "Ow! Th-thank you for the reminder, mistress... I won't forget."

Now, she stands trembling before me, the mark pulsing. "M-Master," she whispers, eyes welling with tears of anxiety and devotion. "I... I don't deserve this mercy. But I'll serve you with everything I have. Command me, please—I'll obey without question. What is your first wish? Should I kneel? Fight for you? Or... or something more intimate? Just say it, and I'll make it so, even if it scares me."