Roman World, Part One, by Joe Doe

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“Rachel Steward, Creative Director”, the pretty blonde said.

Rachel placed her thumb on the keypad. It took the computer less than a second to read the proximity card around her neck, her thumbprint, her voiceprint, and do the facial scan.

“Admitted,” the computerized voice responded. “Have a nice day, Ms. Steward.”

The bank vault style doors opened and Rachel strode inside. Rachel knew it was sexist, to use a feminine voice for computer security while real security was mostly beefy male guards, but the whole world, particularly this world, was sexist. Get over it.

The cavernous, industrial room was empty, as they wouldn’t be dispatching the repaired robots, “or bots” as they called them, into the park for another hour. Rachel Steward’s heels clicked loudly on the cement floor as she strode past the endless array of bots created for the guest’s pleasure: gladiators, cowboys, knights, pirates, space creatures. She knew they were conscious of her, even if they couldn’t make eye contact, or respond in anyway, when they were in repair mode.

Rachel stopped at a line of 25 Roman slave girls, naked except for their metal collars, sitting on metal shelf bolted into a wall. There legs were spread and their heels were resting on the shelves where they were seated, exposing what Rachel slyly referred to as “their customer interfaces” entirely to the gaze of anyone who walked past them.

Dressed in her smart black pantsuit, Rachel walked slowly down the line, checking out each girl. Although they couldn’t respond, she knew they could see her. Relishing her power over the naked girls, she gave each one her best, “You’re going to get it but GOOD” smile. The slave girl bots had already been branded, auctioned, whipped, and raped countless times, but now repairs were over, and it was time to get them back to the slave market, so their nightmare could start again.

The bot’s utter helplessness was a real turn on for Rachel. As the Creative Director, all of the programmer nerds and story writers and mechanical engineers and bio-tech people reported to her. As she insisted on the best guest experience possible. Rachel was most exacting, and her tech nerd staff trembled in her presence. There were times that she felt that even the robots were scared of her, or resentful of her power.

The guests were rich, perverted, and sadistic, particularly in Roman World, which was where these slave girl bots were bound. That’s why she always liked to smile at them as she sent them to their doom, to let them know how much she relished her power over them.

Rachel stopped at a girl, a very pretty girl, with long blonde hair. Rachel had instituted the “bank” feature. When you became an employee at the park, your biometric, personality, and knowledge were all uploaded to the system, to be used to make better bots. Although it was agreed that the park would never make an exact replica of you, your data could be used – a personality quirk, a tick, a nose, a hand. It made it “More Real than Real”, as the marketing slogan liked to brag, enhancing the guest experience.

However, as she was the Creative Director, the rules did not apply to her, so Rachel had made a replica of herself, perfect right down to the tiny mole on her left thigh. The pretty bot before her, named VENUS, after the Goddess of Love, was a perfect replica of Rachel. She had even done a brain scan of herself, to give the bot her memories and personalities. Venus was, in a sense, Rachel, and through her, Rachel got to see the park through a bot’s eyes.

Alas, the world Rachel had created was not very nice to Venus. Her story arc was as repetitively dull as it was cruel and exciting. Molested by countless hands in the slave market, the blushing Venus was made to stand naked on the block and sold. The rich, perverted guest who bought her almost always had her ass branded, and used her in the most disgusting ways. Like Rachel, Venus was shy, modest, and easily humiliated, which only seemed to bring out the sadism in the guests. At the slightest offense, or sometimes just for fun, Rachel would be whipped or abused.

Rachel reached between the pretty girl’s legs, copping a quick feel. As her pussy was identical to her own, she felt like she was masturbating herself, but not.

Rachel smiled. Venus was wet-and-ready – even in power-down mode the collars kept the girl’s boxes humming. It was disgusting, but exciting at the same time.

Rachel followed her doppelganger’s adventures with great interest, living out her submissive fantasies safely through the blushing slave girl’s endless cycle of auctions and abuse. Venus always fetched top dollar on the block, much to Rachel’s delight, and was a favorite among guests. Rachel’s engineering team had tried to build sex bots as popular as Venus, but they never could. There was something about her intelligence, modesty, and dignity that made her delicious to violate, to debase, and to destroy.

Sometimes Venus was a captive brought home from Germania or Britannia. Sometimes, an intelligent Greek scholar, a librarian at Alexandria, sold off the block by pillaging pirates. Sometimes, Venus was the daughter of a wealthy merchant betrayed by an evil stepmother after her father’s murder.

Who would help poor Venus right these injustices? No one, it seemed. As a test of human nature, Venus never disappointed. The wealthy and powerful guests were never willing to help her, but always willing to fuck her.

As much as she enjoyed Venus’s travails, one problem remained. Although she could download her memories, thoughts, and feelings into Venus, it was a one-way street. She could watch what happened to Venus, but she could never experience it. As the Creative Director, this really wasn’t fair, as there was no problem too difficult for her to solve. So, solve it she did.

“Venus, come with me,” Rachel ordered.

Immediately, the slack jawed, glassy eyed robot became fully sentiment, and followed Rachel across the cement floor. She struggled to keep up, as Rachel walked fast, and Venus was barefoot, and the cement floor was freezing. Rachel was very sensitive to cold, not that it mattered to her, as she was wearing high heeled shoes.

Rachel led Venus into her private workroom / office, and closed the door. Venus looked slightly perplexed, but said nothing, as Rachel began to undress.

Rachel, as naked as Venus, save the collar, placed her clothes and badge in the desk. Letting her hair loose, she shook it out, so it flowed freely over her shoulders. She led Venus in front of the full length, mirrors which, depending on how you looked gave you a 360 degree of yourself, and arranged their hair, so that it fell the same way on both of them.

“Which one of us is more beautiful?” Rachel asked.

It was a trick question, of course, as they were identical.

“You are, Mistress,” Venus replied.

“Very good. I want you put yourself into the cupboard, and go into low power mode until I return. You may pleasure yourself, but do not let anyone see you. I’m going to lock the office. No one will come in here while I’m gone, not even the cleaning people. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Venus replied.

“I’ll need this,” Rachel said, using her proximity card to unlock Venus’s collar.

The restraining bolts had been Rachel’s inventions, after the bots became sentient and began deviating from their loops. The collars were a secondary check, feeding emotions to the bots from the central system, keeping them under control. In the case of the slave girls, like Venus, it kept their brains foggy and their pussies wet and sloppy.

The collars were no longer necessary, since Rachel had fixed the code that allowed the bots to break character, but management had insisted they remain. Usually, the bolts were in a ring, or a piece of jewelry the bots were not permitted to remove, but slave girls had collars, which were the perfect place for the bolts.

Rachel put on the collar, which would identify her as Venus anyplace she went into the resort. Better yet, her pussy began to buzz, as the programming gave her the wet sloppiness that no decent woman was ever permitted to enjoy. She immediately went to her desk and deactivated the reprogramming aspect of the collar. She wanted to feel the natural excitement of playing slave girl, but she realized the danger of having the central computer constantly reprogramming her brain.

After locking Venus securely in the cupboard, Rachel locked her office door behind her, and made her way back to the shelf. It took her longer than she had anticipated, as the floor was FREEZING, and she already heard voices as she scampered across the room.

Rachel quickly took her place on the self, her heels touching her ass, her legs spread wide. It was a shameful pose, and she could feel the breeze across her wetness as her male subordinates breezed by her. They gave no special attention to their naked boss – after all, they had seen it all before.

Or so they thought. Rachel fought the urge to smile.

Rachel knew she would only have a couple of minutes to wait, as she had programmed Flavius to pick her up and deliver her to the home of Marcus, a handsome bot who would pleasure her as his sex slave, even as she pleasured him. Easy duty, much easier than Venus ever would have, but then again, rank had its privileges.

But Flavius did not come. She waited, and waited, and waited. Eventually, Brutus, large, scary, hair, arrived to take the naked slave girls to market at the Roman Forum. Horrified, Rachel tried to speak, only to be cut off by Brutus, who slapped her hard across the ass. “You’re going to market, my pretty little slave girl, where you’ll fetch good coin. And that spank hurts nothing like the branding iron will, ha-ha!”

Rachel was shocked. Not only was she going to the wrong destination, but she had put a strict programming control that ensured that she would receive no harm during her adventure. No whippings, no brandings, no unwanted sexual encounters. If Brutus, a slave monger bot under her control, slapped her across the ass, what else might be in store for her?

The answer came when a familiar clicking sound marked the arrival of the woman in charge. Venus, now dressed in Rachel’s clothes, walked slowly down the line. She stopped at Rachel, and smiled, giving her a cruel “You’re going to get it, but GOOD,” smile.

Rachel trembled before her replacement, feeling all the more naked because of her doppelganger’s crisp black pantsuit, a token of power that Rachel was no longer permitted.

“Where are you taking these slave girls?” the bot said, speaking to the slave monger who was already hooking their collars together with long chains to form a coffle.

“To the slave market in The Forum, to be sold,” Brutus replied flatly.

“I see. You’re going to march them through the streets of Rome, NAKED?” emphasizing the last word as she turned and smiled at Rachel.

“Yes,” Brutus replied.

“Oh my!” the crisply dressed Venus said, feigning surprise. “That will be MOST humiliating for this one. She’s a Senator’s daughter, you know.”

Venus smiled as she lifted up Rachel’s chin, allowing her to gaze directly into the terrified Creative Director’s eyes.

As the new Creative Director grinned at her, Rachel felt a rush of adrenaline, fear, and an unmistakable buzzing in her pussy as a voice in her head said, “You are a slave girl. You exist only to please your master.”

Venus had turned her control collar on!

“She’s not a Senator’s daughter no more,” Brutus said gruffly. “She’s slave pussy now, and I’m marching her to the market slave naked. Goods need to be seen to be sold.”

“Well, you’re the expert,” Venus said, as if Rachel’s sale was of no particular concern. “I suppose it has to be done.”

Rachel cried out in pain as Brutus roughly snapped her neck to the side. He used a chain to bolt her collar to the girl in front of her, repeating the needlessly painful motion as she was secured to the girl behind her.

Venus, arms folded, laughed at Rachel’s pain.

Rachel’s heart beat like a triphammer as the smartly dressed bot slowly looked her up her down, taking her time to peruse her nakedness. “You’re sweating,” she observed. “Don’t you like being naked?”

“No, Mistress,” Rachel said, unsure of whether she was responding in character because of the collar, or fear of Brutus, or both.

“That’s too bad, my little slave girl, because you are going to be naked all…day…long!” she replied, grinning like the cat who had just got her cream. “Do you know why you were enslaved?”

In truth, Rachel did not know which of the hundreds of storylines had resulted in her disgrace on this particular day, as everything was very guest specific. She realized that the bot, in a moment of thoughtfulness, was briefing her.

“There was a guest, a newcomer, Governor Corpulent, who took a shine to you. His said that you were the most beautiful woman in Rome, and he bet you were even more beautiful underneath your tunic and cape. You looked quite shocked, and said that it wasn’t proper to speak to a Roman lady in such a way. Your father overheard, and apologized to him, knowing that he was a close friend and cousin of the Emperor. Your father hustled you out of the marketplace, but the newcomer was most displeased. He accused your father of treason, and got together with some of the other Senators. They murdered your father in front of the Senate. Corpulent is a horny old toad, and he could have simply taken possession of you, as a prize for uncovering your father’s treachery, but he had you sent to market. Do you know why?”

“No, Mistress,” Rachel said truthfully.

“Because you insulted him, and now he wants to see you humiliated in the marketplace. He wanted to see you naked and debased in front of all of your tittering friends, and the soldiers, and the shopkeepers who once kowtowed to you. They’re all going to see you naked, and they’re all going to laugh at you. He wants to see them inspect you, and cop a nice long feel.”

The bot reached out and adjusted the trembling slave girl’s hair over her shoulder. “Poor little Venus! So innocent! The innocent ones always suffer the most. Left at the mercy of all the people you thought were your friends, because you once had power over them. Now all that power has been stripped of you, as completely as your fancy tunic. You are at the mercy of a world that has no mercy. Who would create such a world?”

Rachel said nothing. Her collar prevented her from taking credit, or blame, for the world she had designed. As a naked slave girl, the world she was in simply existed. It was her world, her entire world, and it was no longer her place to question it. Indeed, to her horror, Rachel realized that she was quickly losing the ability to even THINK to question it.

“Have you seen slave girls examined on the tables in the marketplace?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Rachel replied, trying to answer in character. “I try not to look, because it is so terrible. But father likes to buy slave girls. I try to look away, or pretend to shop somewhere else, but father likes to keep me close.”

“Yes, he was very protective of you, wasn’t he?” she noted. “Too bad your stupidity cost him his life. Could you describe how the girls are examined?” she said, arms folded, one foot in front, clearly relishing her power over her naked interviewee. “What do the men do, and what do they say?”

Rachel felt nauseated. She had watched the process countless times, but would soon be experiencing it. “The girls kneel on table, Mistress. On all fours, like a dog. The men check their hair, and teeth, and feel their muscles, like they are farm animals. ‘This one has a fine flank,” or ‘Nice long legs on this one. She’ll make a fine pony girl for my chariot.”

“Where else are they going to put their fingers, Venus? Be specific.”

“Up…up inside me,” she said quietly, a tear falling down her cheek. She felt shamed, but her pussy was going crazy with excitement! Was it her character or her? Rachel/Venus no longer knew.

“And how will you react to that?” the Director prompted. “As a Senator’s daughter?”

“I will resist,” she said. “For I am a Roman lady!”

“You WERE a Roman lady,” Brutus said, correcting her. “Now you’re tail for sale,” he added gruffly.

Ignoring the slave monger, the Director kept her eyes locked with the naked woman in front of her. “And how will the buyers in the market react to your sad, silly little rebellion?”

Rachel swallowed. “I will be punished,” she said sadly.

The Director, pleased with the conversation, nodded thoughtfully. “May I see your flagrum, Brutus?” she asked pleasantly.

Rachel struggled to breathe as he unhooked it from his belt, and handed it to the smartly dressed Director, who examined the whip closely. The wooden handle was tied to nine leather lashes. The tip of each lash terminated in two metal studs, which had been sharpened like razors.

The Director examined the studs closely. “I need to be careful,” she said, smiling at the naked slave girl. “I don’t want to cut myself.”

The Director licked her lips as she examined the torture device. “Such a cruel world. So cruel to the chaste, and the innocent. Poor Venus! Today, you will suffer so. We may need to take you out of inventory soon, and dispose of you altogether. But these violent delights, have violent ends.”

Rachel felt a cold shiver go down her back as the endgame clicked into place. As the Director, she could order that any “broken” bot be taken directly to her for “repairs”, or “disposal”. With the original gone, no one would ever know about the copy. Unless Rachel could convince someone who actually mattered that she was "real."

“Do you know where you are, Venus?” the Director asked.

“I’m in a dream,” Rachel replied.

“You’re in my dream,” the bot replied, lifting up Rachel’s chin with the whip. “I’m in charge now. Do you believe in the Gods, Venus?”

“Yes, Mistress. I always attended all the feasts, with my father.”

“Today, I am your God. And like God, I will be watching you, from above. I will be watching everything, for my amusement.”

The Director handed Brutus the whip. Brutus, wrapping the chain around his fat fist, jerked the coffle forward. Rachel, naked except for her collar, felt her feet crossing the cold cement floor as she was led naked through the facility towards the streets of her city, Rome.

Her last sight of old self was the new Creative Director, arms folded, smiling smugly as she was led to her doom. The smile said it all.

Rachel was going to get it, but good.

***

Rachel’s naked walk through the endless labyrinth of hallways would not have been unpleasant, if not for three things. The freezing cold floor, her nakedness, and her growing sense of disorientation. The later was actually the most disturbing, for as the Creative Director she had designed the masterplan that now baffled her.

Bots, of course, were not supposed to learn the tunnels, as for them, it was all a dream. Rachel wasn’t sure if her confusion was mere panic or the collar insidiously reprogramming her into Venus, Senator’s daughter turned slave girl.

In the tunnels, at least people passing by took no great notice of her coffle’s nudity. That situation changed immediately when they emerged from a door that led them from the backstage area into The Forum. Nudity was not uncommon in Roman World, but a long line of two dozen gorgeous slave girls, naked except for their collars and leashes, being led to market, was an enjoyable enough sight to warrant a leisurely gander. It reminded Rachel of the way that people might smile when they saw a celebrity, and call something out, although the tone and the comments were entirely different.

“Nice string of pearls you have today, Brutus, “a man said, ogling the line of naked female flesh as it marched by. “Can they work, or are they just for fucking?”

A wolf whistle marked an admirer as a guest, as that wasn’t really in period, as did the occasional grope as a girl passed by. Rachel didn’t get all the attention, for all the girls up for sale were quite beautiful, but she certainly got her fair share. One man actually managed to walk alongside her fast enough to get a finger up between her legs.

“Wetter than the Tiber, and hotter than fire,” he joked to his friend.

“She wants you, my friend. She knows your finger is the best of you,” his friend teased.

“After I buy her, she’ll see the best of me,” he replied, rubbing himself through his toga.

Rachel’s coffle had emerged by the Arch of Titus, which meant they would have a nice, long walk up the main street to the entrance of Forum, then a shorter walk to the Central Piazza, which acted as the marketplace.

Rachel winced. It was early, but it was a bright, sunny day, and Rachel knew The Forum would be crowded.

The streets were stone, with tile or marble as they walked past temples, but the blazing sun worked quickly, so depending on the shading Rachel’s feet alternated between boiling hot rocks or freezing cold stone. It hardly mattered, though. Toughening up the soles of her feet was necessary conditioning, like Rachel getting used to total strangers grabbing her ass, tits, or pussy.

Rachel was a slave girl, yes, but worse than that, she was a bot, a toy the guests had already paid to destroy. In the ancient world, at least, she would have real value, but in the world Rachel had designed, she was a clay pigeon the guests could toss into the air and blast to pieces simply for the fun of doing so. At the market she would be sold, but in a sense, she had already been sold, and was the property of every single guest she encountered.

Rachel knew all the bots, right down to their serial numbers, as she had been intricately involved in their design and story loops. The loops did allow for some variety, and interplayed with other loops, and the guests story arcs as well.

“Taking your ladies out for a stroll then, Brutus?” one man teased.

“Finer ladies than yours, Horatius” Brutus replied, laughing as he returned the barb.

Decimus, who stopped to smile as she passed, let his eyes freely roam over Rachel’s naked body. He was a high-ranking legionnaire, and was usually involved in story arcs involving political intrigue, such as the brutal betrayal and assassination of her father. He said nothing, but clearly enjoyed seeing the proud daughter of a Roman Senator put in her place, although whether it was from lust or a sense of duty was impossible to know, with his armor hiding his desires.

If Decimus had known that it was his creator standing before him, would he have rescued her? Or, having died countless deaths as a result of her schemes and designs, would he be that much more amused?

Decimus was hard to read, but that was not the case of many of the younger Roman “gentleman”, and Rachel saw quite a few bulges under togas as her coffle walked past. A few even lifted their tunics, and waved their erections at the girls while calling out all manner of rudeness, in a sort of Ancient Roman dick-pic. Rachel noticed it was much more common among the guests than the bots, as was the drunkenness, with several guests drinking already, mere minutes after sunrise.

“What do you call 25 naked slave girls, chained together?”

“A good start, ha-ha!”

The taunts of the guests were not surprising. Rachel knew, naked and chained, that she was very beautiful, and her humiliation and discomfort made her all the more alluring. When her staff complained that the guests were sadists and perverts, Rachel always explained that the filthy rich weren’t paying the resorts exorbitant fees to experience the mundane. No, the guests gladly paid top dollar for the forbidden, to live in a world with no limits. Powerful people enjoyed power, and humiliating and mistreating a naked slave girl was a novelty worth paying for. The more humiliated and debased the slave, the greater the guest’s pleasure.

The humiliation was all the more enjoyable, of course, if you knew the girls’ backstories, and so it was that when he paused for water, Brutus reached into his merchant’s sack and extracted several placards, which he hung around the girl’s necks, identifying either the woman’s profession, or the reason for their enslavement.

THIEF
BRITANIC PRINCESS
TEACHER
DEBTOR
BOOKKEEPER
PIRATE CAPTIVE

The professions had been Rachel’s idea. While it’s doubtful that a guest would have much real need for a bookkeeper, she had arranged scenarios where guests had the chance to fuck look-a-like bots that reminded them of their accountant or their grade school teacher. For a price, they could even formulate a bot from photographs, and online photos, so that the guests could have fulfill that fantasy of enslaving and fucking their boss, their best friend’s hot wife, or their daughter-in-law.

“Nothing is off limits, if the price is right,” Rachel had told her staff. It was a harsh reality that made the Creative Director very rich, but now terrified her, now that she had been relegated to the role of a disposable bot.

Rachel knew that Venus, safely ensconced in her role of Creative Director, was watching her, from above, like an untouchable Goddess, enjoying every blush, ever grope, every humiliation. No doubt she laughed when Brutus hung the wooden sign around her slender neck:

SENATOR’S DAUGHTER

A Senator’s daughter, a true Roman aristocrat, born to wealth and privilege, now stripped of her title, power, and clothing, to be marched naked to The Forum to be sold as a slave. Seconds after the sign was hung around her neck, Rachel attracted unwanted attention.

“Oh, we have a fine Roman lady here,” one guest, an older fat man who looked like some CEO in a toga, snickered. “Quality quim.”

“What do you think she did to make her father so unhappy?” his younger, female trophy wife wondered, putting a finger to her cheek in wonder.

“Maybe she wouldn’t suck his dick,” he replied.

His female companion punched him in the arm. “Ralph, don’t be so vulgar.”

“My name is Rapheus, my dear, and don’t hit me again, or I might have you sold.”

“Guests,” Rachel thought. “No doubt about it. New comers, from the look of them.”

“Ooh, that does sound exciting! Do you think I’d fetch a good price on the block? But then you’d miss the fun we’re going to have with the slave girls tonight.”

“Do you want to buy this one?”

“No. She looks too scared. Too frosty. I like the one with the long nose, from Gaul.”

Rapheus walked over to Brutus, who explained that the girls would be sold at auction later in the day. Undeterred, Rapheus simply increased the price, and Brutus, programmed to satisfy the guests, sold her the naked captive at a very reasonable sum. After securing her wrists behind her back with coarse rope, the trophy wife bid her new toy back to their villa with a hard slap on her ass.

“Women can be so much crueler than men,” Brutus mused. Rachel’s mind drifted back to Venus, the Goddess who now controlled her fate. Knowing that Venus possessed Rachel’s mind, she tried to figure out what she would do, if the situation was reversed.

Rachel had beguiled away many a pleasant hour in her office, watching as poor, poor Venus was unceremoniously stripped, whipped, branded, and fucked. No doubt it would be all the sweeter for Venus to watch Rachel, the designer of all her miseries, experience the most shameful indignities imaginable.

Of course, unlike Venus, Rachel was destructible, so if things got out of hand the fun might end to quickly for Venus to enjoy. However, that might not be a bad thing, either, for Rachel’s continued existence represented a threat to the new role Venus had assumed.

Then there was the aspect of the bots themselves, and the strange way they were reacting to Rachel. Rachel’s pulse quickened as she was approached by Cicero, one of her father’s close friends, and a leader of the Senate.

“Ah, Venus, how very nice to see you,” he said, ogling her as he looked her naked body up and down. “Dressed for a day at the market, I see,” he added, smirking.

“Please… PLEASE, Uncle Cicero. Help me! I beg of you. In the name of my father, show mercy.”

“It’s a pity about your father, but your stupidity and vanity made such an ending inevitable. Governor Corpulent is going to enjoy owning you, although he wants to see you put through your paces on the auction block, first. Buy you off the hoof, as it were.”

Rachel gasped as her father’s friend grabbed one of her breasts, then reached between her legs and roughly inserted his fingers into her pussy.

“Oh, my! That is a steamy clam, isn’t it?” he said appreciatively.

“Uncle Cicero!” she cried. “What are you doing?”

“Marcus said I’m going to get a chance to bang you, as part of the price of helping him stab your idiot father in the back. It was a terrible thing I did, betraying such an old friend, but the chance to fuck you was irresistible. So, my little slave girl, wiggle your big ass a lot while I hump you, to make my treachery worth it.”

Rachel wiggled on Marcus’s boney fingers. Everything about him enraged and disgusted her, but why was she so turned on? Was it the collar, and her new identity, taking over her mind? Or was it merely because her submissive fantasies where coming true?

Rachel moaned as Cicero removed his fingers and wiped them in her hair. “Don’t look so shocked. All of Rome is going to be feeling your pussy today, you randy slut. Don’t pretend you don’t like it, either, with the evidence of your randiness right on my stinking fingers.”

Cicero’s rough-and-ready violation of Rachel surprised her, as it meant that at least some of the restrictions that prevented bots from assaulting humans had been lifted. But had it been lifted on all the hosts, or merely a select few? Would the hosts intervene to prevent a guest from harming Rachel, or would the “game” loop be allowed to play to its natural end? The answers were as unknowable as they were terrifying, and exciting.

As her coffle drew closer to the Piazza, the sun grew brighter, and the crowds grew thicker. To her horror, Rachel saw more people that she knew, or her character of Venus knew. Whether it was from the shock of what was happening to her, or the insidious pressure of the collar reprogramming her mind, she found herself reacting to them not as bots, but as real people.

Rachel spotted Lady Constantine, a close friend of her fathers, chatting pleasantly with a female guest about the best places to shop, and where the bargains where to be had. A supporting character, Lady Constantine had helped her many times over the years, and was something of a mentor to her, advising her on fashion, suitable matches for someone of her rank, and how a proper Roman Lady behaves.

Lady Constantine was, in addition to be a close friend to anyone in need of one, was very rich, and thus quite capable of helping her. Seeing her, Rachel cried out. “Help me! There’s been a terrible mistake. They have murdered father, and now they are taking me to market, to sell me as a slave!”

Lady Constantine turned, looking for the source of the voice. Rachel called out to her again. “It’s me, my Ladyship! Help me. They are taking me to Central Piazza. Please come buy me, so this nightmare might end!”

Rachel’s speech patterns surprised her. She was talking like Venus now, whether through the collar, or through method acting, she could not say. Lady Constantine turned, and looked at her, surprised. Rachel blushed as her Ladyship’s eyes quickly scanned her naked body, starting at her dusty feet and running up to her panicked eyes and pleading expression. Then she made a sour, disapproving look, twisting her expression as if she was seeing something that truly disgusted her, like a rotting carcass, or a pile of dung that needed to be shoveled somewhere.

Turning back to the guest, Lady Constantine smiled, and resumed her pleasant conversation, giving directions, as if Rachel’s rude interruption had not happened at all.

“We’ll stop here for watering-and-whizzing, LADIES,” Brutus said, making the irony of his addressing the two dozen naked sluts in his care as “LADIES” unmistakable. There was a water trough by the side of the road, which had several goats, a horse, and what appeared to be a stray dog watering at it. The first group of girls in the coffle crowded around it, sticking their faces in the murky water to drink up as much as they could.

“Drink your fill, LADIES,” Brutus said. “There will be no more for you today, until it is time for your sale.”

Time for her sale! Rachel shuddered at the words. This was happening. She was going to be sold as a slave girl in a Roman market. It was all real, too real. Her darkest fantasy was truly happening, in technicolor. It was both a thrill and a nightmare come true.

Rachel soon had a more immediate problem as Brutus made his way to her. “Slave girls do not call out to Roman Ladies!” he barked. Brutus put one hand on the flat of her stomach, and began delivering sharp spanks to her naked bottom. Rachel didn’t dare resist the blows, knowing this was the lightest of punishments, not that it made it hurt any less. Instead, she jerked her knees up with each blow, doing a sort of humiliating “spanking dance” as people stopped to watch.

Behind her, on the road, she heard two familiar voices.

“Spank her naughty bottom good, Brutus!” the first young woman cried out, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

“Yes, she’s been a bad, bad girl!” her partner said, laughing.

“Look at the little bitch squirm.”

“Yes, she’s wiggling like an eel!”

“Get those knees up, Venus! The men want to see what’s between those milky white thighs of yours.”

“Yes, and make your titties bounce. The buyers like that!”

Her short, sharp, humiliating spanking complete, Brutus returned his attentions to the front of the coffle, as the three female hyenas who had been heckling her closed in for the kill.

Rachel recognized Bimba, and Gal, her two best friends. The three had been inseparable, at least until now. They were accompanied by a third young woman, about 19, short and fat and wearing glasses, who Rachel supposed was a guest. Rachel supposed she was on holiday with her parents, and had befriended Bimba and Gal, who had welcomed her as a replacement when their former friend Venus had been enslaved.

Bots were VERY adaptable to the story. That’s how Rachel programmed them.

“Look who the slave traders dragged in,” Bimba cackled.

“Yes, that’s the problem with slave mongers. They’ll collar any wet pussy they can find.”

“She’s the wettest,” Bimba agreed. “Did you see how she rubbed her thighs together when she was being spanked?”

“What a slut. I’m so glad they finally collared her.”

“Do you think we should buy her?”

“What for? I don’t need someone humping the columns in my house all day.”

“We could brand her ass,” Bimba suggested. “A ‘B’, for Bimba!”

“A ‘G’ for Gal!”

“And a ‘E’ for Emma!” the newbee shouted out.

“Don’t be stupid. She only has two ass cheeks.”

“Yes, and we’re going to use big brands!”

“Really BIG brands!” Bimba teased, giving the terrified Rachel’s ass a squeeze.

“You can brand her titties,’ Gal suggested. “An E, for ‘excellent slave hole’.

“Oh, look, is the little slave girl CRYING?”

“Don’t cry little slave girl. Soon you’ll find a master who will buy you, and fuck all your holes, like you want.”

“Let’s follow Venus to the market. I want to see her sold!”

“Yes, that will be fun. Let’s watch as the men put her up on the table, and feel all her holes.”

Tears rolled down Rachel’s cheeks. How could her best and closest friends be so cruel? They had been like sisters, and now they seemed to delight in humiliating her, and torturing her. When she had first spotted them, she had even dreamed that they might buy her, to rescue her from this nightmare. Instead, they were reveling in her downfall.

Rachel knew she should not be surprised. She had designed the story arcs for Venus, and seen her betrayed thousands of times. Poor Venus! Always taken advantage of by the people whom she thought were her friends. More than few times, it had actually been her father, beguiled by some guest or slave girl, who had sold her into slavery.

Why, then, did Rachel think her friends would rescue her? Why did she, despite knowing better, think that every familiar face might be her salvation? Why did she allow her hopes to raise, only to have them so cruelly dashed?

The answer was more frightening than their cruelty. The collar was doing its work, and she was becoming Venus. She was feeling the wretched slave girl’s hurt, and humiliation, and betrayal. Her persona as Rachel, Creative Director, was receding rapidly in the rear-view mirror. She knew she would have to escape the collar soon, if she were to ever escape at all.

[Carl Bradford]

I've been hoping for several months that Joe would return to this project, which he was kind enough to preview with me. It has the classic Joe touch, just as with "Sandy Foot Girl": secretly-submissive woman designs a system so that she can vicariously enjoy the subjugation of slaves, then can't resist trying it out on herself, in the process losing all her status and power. This is turning into another Joe Doe classic!

[Cwelst72]

Nice story I look forward to the next part

[jeepster]

Great start! I truly hope this is as Carl said another Sandy tyoe story! Epic!

[imreadonly2]

Very Creative. Just when I thought I figured out the cliché of the story line I found out I was not even close. Loved it.

Hooked6

[timerider]

This a great story, total turned around what I expected.

[Jim927]

This is definitely the start of what could be another Joe Doe classic. Well done. My only hope is that A he continues to write the story and B that he finish it in a reasonable amount of time. I think I can safely speak for all the readers when I say that it’s hard to be left waiting when you have no idea if or when a story will be continued.
Jim

[Tanuki]

Wow, what a great idea! I like this much better than Westworld.

Please continue, Joe! Would it help if I got on my knees to beg?

[surferchick]

Totally agree with Tanuki....

BTW....Tanuki.... the Tanuki ..writer of "Agent in Distress?"

[Tanuki]

Totally agree with Tanuki....

BTW....Tanuki.... the Tanuki ..writer of "Agent in Distress?"

Yes, it's me, hey surferchick! I joined a few months ago to read the next chapters of Marie's Slavery Adventures.

[surferchick]

Totally agree with Tanuki....

BTW....Tanuki.... the Tanuki ..writer of "Agent in Distress?"

Yes, it's me, hey surferchick! I joined a few months ago to read the next chapters of Marie's Slavery Adventures.

Nice to have you here. Always great ringsherum another great writer here on board