Dear Abner: April Fools?

[imreadonly2]

Dear Abner,

My husband Seth is in the energy business. He is Egyptian by birth, but raised in London, educated in the United States, and fluent in many languages. As his territory includes Asia and the Middle East, last year he went to a trade show in Istanbul that kept him busy taking orders during the last week of March and the first week of April. Having grown up in Boston, with very proper parents, I had lived rather a sheltered life, and I persuaded him to let me tag along. He reluctantly agreed, on the condition that I not get in the way during what was a very busy two weeks for him.

Istanbul was stunning, and I was amazed by the food, culture, music, art, and architecture. The hotel we stayed in had once been a Sultan's palace, and looked like something out of the Arabian nights. Our room was stunning, and living there and touring the city I truly felt like a Princess. My husband frequently sent me out to dinner with the wives of his business associates, and as I am both beautiful and quite charming I became something of a favorite and quite an asset to him. I spent a lot of time in the hotel shops, and fitness center, and spa, and made friends with many of the hotel staff, who greeted me by name, and were appreciative of my generous tips.

While the richness of the culture amazed me, I must admit that I was stunned by the openness of slavery. As a Western woman, I was not allowed to go into the slave market, and Seth was very strict in telling me where I could and couldn't go, and insisted I have a rather brawny Turkish speaking guide to accompany me in my travels. My guide, Selim, would get quite flirty when I asked him about the "pleasures sluts" available for sale in the market, and joked that he could "turn a fine coin" selling me, and it was almost a pity Seth was paying him so well.

The comment left me more than a little insulted, as I thought I would fetch more than measly tour guide's salary. He explained that no insult was attended, but Istanbul was an international slave market, and the supply of beautiful girls was plentiful.

Fortunately, I didn't have to venture into a forbidden market to see the slave girls, for one of the small shops in my hotel, Keyif Çarşısı, sold slave girls. The inventory at any given time was about 100 girls, which was pretty impressive given that the store itself was about the size of a hotel convenience store, and indeed sold candy, cigarettes, and toothpaste as side items. The girls were hung up by their wrists to a mechanical overhead trolley, that could rotate them around in a circle like sacks of laundry. Most of the time they were pressed tightly together, and stood on a platform, but the four girls at the front of the store hung freely by their wrists, their toes off the floor, as did the girl's in the "sales inspection area" next to the register.

They took Apple Pay and Google Pay, in addition to the major credit cards.

I became something of a tea person, as it allowed me to sit in the lobby and watch the girls spin about on their little carousel as the buyers wandered in and out of the store. Although the inventory was small, sales were brisk, and they seemed to constantly be bringing new stock. Most of the girls were meek, but one French girl cursed them loudly as they stripped her, and stapled the sales tag through her ear, and hung her on her hook, at least until the ball gag was put in place. An ankle strap shoe she had lost as she was being stripped lay in the lobby floor in front of the store for nearly an hour, and every time she made her rotation her eyes gravitated to it, as if recovering her shoe would somehow free her. She seemed quite distressed, and shook in the window, as a bored maid picked it up and examined it as she mopped the floor. Clinking my tea cup with my spoon I got the maid's attention, and used my finger to identify the naked girl twisting in the shop window as the shoe's one-time owner. The maid looked at the girl, smiled, and threw the shoe in her trash bin.

When a girl I found attractive was being sold -- and most of them were quite attractive - I would change seats to get a better view of their handling in the inspection bay. Latex gloves were available by the register, but the only ones who ever seemed to use those were the wholesalers who would buy 3 or 4 girls at a time, for what purpose I don't know. Inspections were usually brisk, with a finger between the legs, a parting of the buttocks, and a squeeze of the breasts all that was needed before the sale was made of the electric button was pressed and the girls swung down the line as the next most desirable inventory item was moved into sales position.

The girls prices, nationality, and age were written on their naked bottoms with a red magic marker. I couldn't read the letters, but I could read the numbers, and learned that ABD meant the girl was from the US, or at least, once had been.

I found myself spending more and more time in the lobby, as the tea was simply irresistible. I made friends with the store's owner, Omar. He was an independent businessman, and was proud of the fact that his family had been slave traders for centuries. Despite his small size, he had a diverse supply chain that fed in beautiful girls from all over the world, and allowed him to "buy cheap, and sell fast, before too many questions were asked." The wholesalers were from the Middle East, who purchased the girls for men living in countries where "legal challenges or former citizenships were never an issue". Prices were cheap - about 20,000 Turkish Lire, less than $650 in American dollars. "We price to sell," Omar said proudly, and sell he did.

I found the girls inspections quite exciting, and I found myself regularly buying batteries from Omar, much to his amusement when I confessed what the batteries were being used for. "You are not the first girl to fantasize about hanging on Omar's hook," he said. "Do you see how the little sluts rub each other, and squeeze their thighs. It is quite a thrill for a woman to be an object of desire, an item for sale, and part of my family's long traditions." Omar knew I wasn't going to buy, but i think it amused him to see me fingering the squirming girls, particularly the ones who in some way resembled me.

"She could be sister, no?" he would tease. "Perhaps you trade places? Or maybe I sell you, two for one, ha-ha!" Omar, the old charmer, knew just what to say to sell me batteries.

I found myself fascinated by the mechanical track, and sometimes asked to feel up a girl in the back just to see their titties and bottoms bounce and the panicked, humiliated, and helpless expression on the girls faces as the merciless motor WHIRRED them forward into position. Some of them struggled to keep their toes on the platform for as long as possible, but there was no denying the track, and eventually they'd swing into empty air, their toes straining to find earth.

I'd examined them closely, with a particular eye to how easily they juiced up when I gave them a good rub. Drunk of my power over them, I smirked as I asked them where they were from, to see if they knew enough English to gurgle nonsense into their gags. Always, I'd find fault?

"Pretty, but stupid."

"She's too wet. She'll just rub herself all day."

"I'd love to brand that ass, but I'm not running a dairy." And with a hard slap on their ass, I'd send them off, as the machine advanced me to the next dangling piece of slave meat.

I became less amused when I spotted my husband Seth leaving the bar with two of his customers and entering Omar's shop. After examining several girls, Seth bought one, and I watched with clenched teeth as he took the naked girl back to the men's room. He didn't get back to the room until 1AM, and went straight to sleep, with the smell of the little slut's arousal burning in my nostrils. When i confronted him about this the next morning, he became quite angry, and reminded me that I promised not to interfere with his business. Fucking slave girls isn't business, I replied, so he went to his briefcase and showed me an order for $25 million in solar panels. I was stunned, and fell silent.

For the rest of the trip we didn't discuss my tea parties, or his purchase of gratuities for his customers. My husband made a habit of stopping by Omar's store each evening to check for fresh stock, ostensibly on behalf of his customers. Some of his inspections were a bit too long for that, and I clenched my teeth and sipped my tea from the lobby as we both pretended the other one wasn't there.

When I returned to Boston, I got registered and tattooed, as Omar and Selim had both told me it was far too dangerous for a girl as beautiful as I to travel around with a SIN number. I was graded "Choice", I'm embarrassed to say, wrongly assuming that being hot was enough, but with slave training and slave yoga I managed to raise my grade to Prime Minus.

Now we are going back to Istanbul. As we will be there on April 1st, I was thinking that it might be amusing to add a Prime Minus girl from Boston to Omar's rotating carousel of cheap pussy, positioned toward the back of the Wheel of Misfortune so as to stay out of the display window, where the countless people my husband had introduced me to at the conference might see me.

Being in a foreign country, this is not without risk, although now that I am registered I would think that would offer me some level of protection. I feel like I can trust Omar, as he is very professional, and a proud businessman. Still, it's not like he makes his money selling toothpaste and batteries. Should I create a backup with my friend Selim, or the hotel Concierge, who during my time at the last convention also became a close friend? They were all quite respectful and friendly, but there's quite a difference between being the wife of the man who rented The Sulieman Suite and a naked girl hanging on hook with a price tag written on her ass. Should I play it safe, or is there a meathook in my future? Your advice and insights would be greatly appreciated.

Boston Prime

[jessmartin]

Great story as always.
I can imagine the husband selecting her as if she were just another slave, fucking her in the baths, and then using her as he does the rest of the slaves he buys as a gift to close his business deals.
Of course, only temporarily, taking her back to the United States with a submissive or obedient wife/slave, or maybe not?

[Mastergepetto]

Love the story! Can’t wait to hear Abner’s response.

When she has drunk with power, she would always find fault in the poor girls. But if she joins them, she will no longer be able to hide her own faults.

I wonder what faults a discerning buyer might find. Her inexperience and sheltered upbringing would be quite obvious. I’m sure her ass would be quite tight in more ways that one. And she may be available to please, but will she have learned the necessary skills with her privileged life?

Perhaps the faults she found in the other girls were a mirror of the faults she found in herself. Judging by how frequently she needed batteries, it sounds like she too would just rub herself all day. And all that time sitting around sipping tea and other delicacies may have broken her hourglass figure.

Nevertheless, I’d love to conduct my own inspection if given the opportunity