This seems like a real news story that would run in the world of this forum.

[Eks]

[imreadonly2]

Good find!

Maybe someone fromThe Onion browses here?

[imreadonly2]

I had actually done some stories that referred to slaves being sold in the commodities markets, which would allow you to hedge them, buy long and short, and maintain a position. It's just another bit of the dehumanization, knowing that as you prepare for college in the fall there is already a broker who is placing a bet that you or one of your friends will fail so they can sell your pussy on the auction block.

[Some_guy]

I had actually done some stories that referred to slaves being sold in the commodities markets, which would allow you to hedge them, buy long and short, and maintain a position. It's just another bit of the dehumanization, knowing that as you prepare for college in the fall there is already a broker who is placing a bet that you or one of your friends will fail so they can sell your pussy on the auction block.

Any link to such stories @imreadonly2?

I would be very interested to read them. They are not on this website if i'm not mistaken.

[imreadonly2]

Here's a bit from HO THE HOLIDAYS PT 3. I also cranked out a quick story, FEARFUL FUTURE, and threw it up. It's been something I've been thinking of for a while. I wrote it fast, but when I write slow I never publish.

“Yes, but no. A lot of this is the market, so it’s silly to worry about. It’s way too complicated for you to understand.”

“Oh, really?” I said, sharply. “What was your score on the bar exam?” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

“This ayn’t that,” Mason replied. “But if you gotta know, the underlying price of your pussy will track to the futures price on the CBOT,” he explained.
“The CBOT?” I said.
Mason smiled, amused at my city girl ignorance. “The Chicago Board of Trade. We saw it when we visited Chicago for that Presidential Library Fundraiser with your dad. The CBOT is the big building at the end of LaSalle Street. Anyway, that’s where they set the futures price for slave pussy.”
I blinked at him, my mind racing. Futures? Basis? My brain scrambled to put together what he was saying, but nothing clicked. A building in Chicago was going to determine how much my pussy was worth?
"Uh… sure. Futures," I muttered, trying to bluff like the unprepared lawyer that I was. Mason smiled. It was obvious I didn’t know what he was talking about.
“Okay, stay with me. Futures are contracts that lock in prices for future delivery of pussy. The basis is the difference between the futures price and the actual cash price. So it’s all about hedging and managing risk. If you are going to ship a bunch of slave pussy to Dubai for the World Cup in six months, you don’t want to get screwed if the price zooms. A futures contract let’s you lock in the price. Of course, you can also just get an option, which is the right to buy a futures contract.”
I swallowed hard. "Right... uh-huh. That makes sense.”
I was supposed to get this. I was supposed to be smart enough to understand. I mean, I graduated from UCLA with top grades, I aced the bar exam, for heaven’s sake. I was no dummy. But sitting here in Mason’s truck in the middle of rural Alabama, I felt like I couldn’t even grasp the basics of pussy pricing. Was there something wrong with me, or was it this place? Was I getting stupider the longer I was naked?
"Don’t worry if it’s confusing," Mason said, his voice light, as if sensing my concern. “It’s not like any of the other girls in the slave pens will understand any of this.”
I tried to smile, but it felt strained. I was embarrassed. Really embarrassed.
“I wasn’t one of the girls in the slave pens,” I thought. I almost said it, before realizing that soon I would be in the pens, too.
"Let me break it down a little differently," he said, clearly trying to help. "You know how things used to be traded, right? On the floor, with the traders shouting in the pits? That was exciting. Pure chaos, honestly. It was all about gut instincts, knowing when to jump in, when to hold back." His eyes lit up. "The energy in that room—man, it was unbelievable. You could feel the pulse of the market just by being in the middle of it."
I could see it in my mind: a frenzy of men shouting, waving their hands, trying to make deals faster than the next guy. The image made me feel even more out of place. Mason had been a runner in Chicago as a summer job. He was part of that world, and I felt like I was just standing on the sidelines, watching him talk about it like it was the greatest show on earth.
"But now," he continued, "most of the trading is done electronically. The market’s gone global. People from all over the world can trade pussy contracts at the same time, no shouting, no hand signals. It’s quicker, more efficient, and, yeah, less fun. But it’s what works now. Progress, I guess.”
I nodded, even though I still wasn’t entirely sure I understood. I mean, I got that the market was bigger now and more efficient, but that didn’t help me grasp how they would price my pussy or what the hell futures and basis really meant. The fact that my pussy was now a fraction of a blip on some Hong Kong trader’s screen was both demeaning and exciting.
"Don’t worry about it too much, Jen," he said, his tone softening. "There are plenty of really smart fellas who handle that stuff, and you don’t have to worry your pretty little slave girl head over it. You know what they say: All of a slave girl’s brains are in her pussy, and those leak out.”
“Really smart fellas?”, I said my voice bristling with indignation. “What about me?”
Mason laughed. “Looking at you buck naked, with your tits bouncing around and spunk on your lips, rubbing your snatch on the truck seat my dog used to lay on, you’ll excuse me for saying you don’t look like a CBOT trader.”
It took everything in me not to snap at him. He was teasing me, I could tell, but it wasn’t funny. It wasn’t cute. It felt condescending, like he didn’t think I was capable of understanding anything.
I could feel my face burning, my pride smarting. I wasn’t a little girl to be patted on the head. I was a grown woman. A smart woman. But I didn’t say anything. I was a slave girl, and being patronized was part of the turn on, right? The thought of my pussy being sold like a bushel of corn, with some nameless man in Chicago using me for a hedge, or hedging me, or something, was a turn on. Feeling stupid made me feel all the more helpless.
Mason went on yapping, oblivious to the way I was silently stewing. “The fellas who run this yard have been doing this for years. Tag'em, scrub'em, brand'em, sell 'em. You just let the fellas handle it. You don’t have to get that pretty blonde hair of yours tangled up in the details."
“Yes sir," I said, staring at my dirty bare feet. ”I guess it’s best not to try to think about things, and leave everything up to the men.”
“Damn right. Mostly you need to worry about the whip.”
My eyes widened in shock. "They whip the slave girls at this place?" I asked, my voice trembling.

[Some_guy]

Love this small story!

That's why i like in this setting. The deshumanization. The ruthless efficiency. And the humiliation of a former smart woman.
Oh and the erotic elements of course

Now, imagine a story where a woman gets a loan with herself as a collateral for finance studies, and gets into courses of slavery economics....
Of course this smart woman would have submissive fantasies....