Price versus Cost
Posted: Thu Sep 11, 2025 10:24 am
Price versus Cost
By Cardman314
(This story set in the world of legalized slavery as set forth in the 34th Amendment. All ‘active’ characters are over 18 years of age and fictional, bearing no resemblance to anyone living or dead.)
People make all kinds of excuses, the most common one being, “The price is too high,” when in truth, they just can’t afford it. Price is a one-time thing but costs accumulate over time. When can you say, ‘the Price is Right’?
To outsiders, the Pearsons had to be good Catholics, passionate Protestants or amorous Agnostics. I mean, who has 3 sets of twins in this economy? Tyler and Tynan, now 20, were the first-born set, followed two years later by Vicky and Valerie, identical twins. Sarah and Susan, who were two years younger than their sisters came along, possibly completely by surprise. Really, with times tough, jobs few and salaries low, no one needed the burden of two more mouths to feed.
Typical of families with three kids, the first-born ruled the roost, the second was just second when the ‘baby’ came along. “The middle child” syndrome played out in stereo every day and everywhere as Vicky and Valerie vied for the attention they lost when Sarah and Susan came along. Competitive is an insufficient word to describe the way these two girls were driven to be top dog. It is tough to be the better sister when you are identical twins, although Vicky always thought she was more identical than Valerie.
Family reactions were all over the map, as you might expect. The older boys resented having taken beatings for lesser things they had done, but the girls just got put in ‘time out’.
The younger sisters were amused by their older sisters’ antics and were glad they weren’t the subject of their parents’ ire. What they didn’t like was the necessity of ‘hand-me-down’ clothes as they rarely got anything new.
Connie, who wed right out of high school, and never had a job, was beside herself worried about how to feed the family and pay all the bills on their limited budget. The boys had been able to find part-time work and that helped but they would have to live at home indefinitely if the economy didn’t change.
Paul, at 45, had hit the ceiling in his field and there were no more promotions to get. Being on a salary, working overtime still paid the same money; it was a dead end. Add to all of this, being cast in the role of family disciplinarian, Vicky and Valerie’s stunts had pushed him to the point of thinking, enough is enough, and looked for way out their strained circumstances.
Meanwhile at home, Vicky and Valerie were becoming increasingly insufferable. Vicky wanted to go to Tulane, and Valerie to NYU, even though their grades were nowhere near what they needed to be. "They would be if you remortgaged the house, and gave Tulane a big endowment!" Vicky suggested. Valerie agreed, but felt the money should go to NYU.
“Could they possibly be more self-centered?” Paul wondered. He didn't have enough equity in the house to pay the tuition at Community College, let alone bribe a top tier college into taking his academically average daughters. It was particularly annoying since Vicky and Valerie might have done better in school, if they hadn't spent the last two years pulling stunts to try and make the other one look bad, and nearly getting expelled in the process.
Paul could hardly wait for Thursday night league bowling as the company team was within striking range of first place, and it gave him an escape from his financial concerns.
"I've seen this problem before," his bowling-buddy, Bill said, as they enjoyed a beer after the game. "Vicky and Valerie aren’t stupid. Most of their friends have been graded as collateral for student loans but neither wants to be the one securing the loan. They think that by making the other one look bad, it will back you into a corner where slavery for one of them is the logical solution. I don’t just mean collateralizing a loan; I mean, actually selling one for a few years to pave the way for the others. Let’s face it, in two more years, you’re going to have to lick this calf all over again. Sarah and Susan are going to need financial aid for college, if they want to go, and you’ll be back with same problem."
"Are you seriously suggesting that I sell one of my daughters?" Paul asked.
“To me it seems to be a ‘no-brainer’. It’s a small price to pay, a few years of slavery, in order to get your family’s finances in order, and at the same time provide for future educational needs.” Bill reached into his bowling bag and pulled out his iPad Pro. A couple of clicks later, Paul watched in shock as Vicky gyrated her body through the sluttiest block routine, he had ever seen... until a minute later, when it switched to Valerie, who took her sister's performance and built upon it.
Paul was stunned and asked, “What did I just watch?”
"I didn't mean to shock you," Bill said, putting the iPad away, much to Paul's relief. "My daughter, Cindy, and yours belong to a social group at their high school; they call themselves, ‘The Untouchables’. They had a ‘girl’s only’ graduation party in our backyard, and each of the members, who had been graded, was paired up with a girl, who hadn’t yet. The leaders wanted to show the girls what they would be facing when they went to the Big D.”
“Each girl was made to strip and the ‘COLLAR’ command was given. The girls assumed the position on their knees while zipties were loosely put around their necks to represent slave collars, and their hands zipped behind their backs. Fake SINs were written on their chins with a red sharpie. They were told to make themselves wet for inspection by rubbing against each other. The ‘slaves’ seemed to enjoy this a little too much, from my point of view, looking out the upstairs, bedroom window, but I kept recording anyways. They were then run through block moves before being tied to the backyard fence for inspection.”
Paul’s mouth dropped open as he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“The leaders poked and prodded the ‘slaves’, squeezed tits and sampled ‘slave honey’. In the end, none of the ‘slaves’ earned a grade below Choice+, and Valerie and Tonya were graded Prime, which thoroughly irked Vicky. Her mood improved though when the leaders used wide-tipped, black, permanent markers to draw the Big D brand on Val’s and Tonya’s asses, which would take weeks to fade or a lot of painful scrubbing to remove.
Paul blanched at the idea of the videos ending up in the Cloud, as everything was these days. “I hope that’s not going to get posted online, is it?” asked Paul.
"Not to worry. I have the only copy. If a judge saw this footage, it would be grounds for self-enslavement for all of them. You could see though that neither of your girls was shy about being naked in a group. They jumped right into character, like they were ‘hot for the collar’ and didn’t balk when the leaders made the ‘slaves’ service their pussies after grading. Just know that if the girls refuse to go along with whatever you and your wife decide is best, I can edit the recording to show their best slave behavior, and you can take them before a magistrate.”
“I’m glad Connie didn’t see this video; it will be tough enough broaching this subject with her as it is,” Paul mused.
“Just remember the videos and how unashamedly they exhibited this slutty behavior, eager to show each other up. Maybe you could suggest some kind of competition around getting graded that would entice them to go for it."
“I’ll think about it. Thanks for the beer, Bill. I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow in the break room.” What kind of competition would differentiate between identical twins?” Paul wondered as he drove home.
Paul couldn’t wait to leave the office; Friday was date night, and he finally knew he had to bring up the slavery idea to Connie. Bill had even picked up a copy of the Big D’s New Buyers Guide, on his way into work, which he passed along over lunch. Paul’s eyes glazed over when he saw the average sales prices for Prime-graded girls; this slavery thing just might be the answer they have looking for.
“….EMMY LOU HARRIS, C’MON DOWN! You’re the next contestant on ‘The Price is Right!’” The announcer’s voice blared in Paul’s ears as he came through the front door.
“TURN THAT THING DOWN!” he shouted over the television to no one in particular.
Immediately, Sarah, the ever-obedient one, hit the MUTE button. “Hi, daddy,” she chirped happily, “We’ve found a channel with reruns from old game shows from 10 or more years ago. Susan and I are killing Vicky and Valerie. We’ve played Jeopardy, Wheel of Fortune, and Hollywood Squares so far and The Price is Right is just starting. Can you play with us?”
“Sorry, Sweetie, I have to clean up; I’m taking your mom to Ventano’s for dinner tonight. I remember this show though; your mom and I used to play along, guessing the prices. Since she did most of our shopping, she used to beat me badly.” As he dashed up the stairs, he said, “Tell your mom I’ll be ready in twenty. Thanks.”
The conversation over dinner was spicier than the food. Connie was initially shocked at the suggestion of losing one of their daughters, but Paul assured her it wouldn’t be forever, maybe four years at the most. He was about to show her the guide, when the waitress wheeled around the dessert tray.
The waitress was a little on the Rubenesque-size, wearing only a shiny collar, bib apron and flat-black shoes with white, thigh-high stockings.
“Tell me…..”
“Amy, mistress.”
“Tell me, Amy, how did you come to be a slave and how do you feel about it?’ asked Connie with great interest.
“To be honest, mistress, it is the best thing that could have happened to me. When I went for grading, I only scored Select+ which limited how much of a loan I could get, so I settled on Culinary College with a major in breads and pastries. At graduation, we had to prepare several samples of our finest recipes for tasting and judging of our presentation. The school invited all the chefs and owners of the major restaurants around the Dallas-Fort Worth area and Mr. Ventano loved my tiramisu. He was thrilled to find out my indenture price was so low; he paid my debt, and immediately took me on for two years. I am doing what I love, I have a room in the basement, I get to eat the best food, and I am learning the business from the inside out. I hope to stay here when my indenture is up.”
“That’s great but don’t you have to offer sex also? Isn’t that degrading?” Connie said, trying not to sound condescending but honestly interested in Amy’s well-being.
“Yes, mistress. Sometimes one of master’s good customers will ask for me but I am flattered and happy to oblige. Remember, mistress, I only graded Select+ and I have put on twenty-five pounds since then. Besides, a girl has certain needs from time to time.”
Connie was seeing slavery in a whole new light and her demeanor shifted as she decided on a cannoli, while Paul picked the tiramisu and asked for an espresso. As Amy turned and pushed the pastry cart away, Paul smiled at the big, floury, hand-print on Amy’s rump. “It looks like the chef has been sampling Amy’s wares,” Paul observed with a smirk.
“So, if we go with your idea, how do we decide which one to sell?” asked Connie, “Neither one is going to volunteer.”
“We don’t decide, we let them compete; the loser gets sold, the winner goes to community college for a start, and we get our financial house in order. Maybe you can even get a new ‘soccer-mom’ van. I already have a competition in mind.”
“Okay, you’ve sold me. Now take me home and sample my wares, you brute.”
Connie rubbed her wrists and pulled the sleeve of her bathrobe down to cover the rope marks Paul had bestowed on her as he ravished her last night. The memory of the waves of orgasms brought a subtle smile to her face as Vicky and Valerie dragged themselves into the kitchen.
“Where is everybody?” asked Val, as she headed for the coffee pot.
“Tyler and Tynan went to the lumber yard; they are going to repair the railing on the back porch today,” replied Paul, looking up from his morning paper. Sarah and Susan left for their piano lesson. How late did you stay up watching those game show reruns anyways?”
“I think we quit somewhere around 3:00; those old Japanese shows are completely insane,” said Vicky. “Is there any orange juice left, mom?”
“I think Tyler drank the last of it but check the freezer, I think there is a can of concentrate left you can mix up.”
“Have a seat, girls, it’s time to get serious about your futures,” Paul insisted. “Sacrifices are going to have to be made if you have any plans of going to college. Your brothers have been fortunate in being able to get into an apprenticeship program with Filmore Construction that also pays them minimum wage while they are learning. In three to four years, they will both have a trade to fall back on while they study for their desired degrees. What are your plans going forward?”
Vicky and Valerie just stared at each other in silence.
“Girls,” Connie said, “Hoping is not a plan. Money is not just going to magically appear.”
“Here are your options as I see them,” Paul began to list them. “First, you can give up on going to college and get jobs, although most jobs today are done by robots or slaves, who don’t get paychecks. Second, you could be registered and graded to collateralize a school loan like many of your friends and be in debt for the next ten or more years as you try to pay it back, always at risk of being repossessed.”
“Oh, please no….”
“Now, Vicky, please let your father finish,” Connie chided.
“As I was saying, third, you could try to find a sponsor for a self-indenture but that could require a longer term of service to bring in enough money for school and you would still be a slave for all intents and purposes. Finally, one or both of you could sell yourselves as pleasure slaves, which would bring in the most money.”
Both girls looked like they were on the verge of tears as their dreams just came face to face with reality.
Connie announced with a grin, “There is a fifth option; you could find a rich husband and sit around eating bon-bons all day.” This temporarily broke through the tension in the room and everyone had a laugh.
Paul resumed control of the discussion, “Anyway you look at it, if college is really what you want, sacrifices are going to have to be made. Your sisters are going to have to face the same issues in just two years unless something changes. I have been studying this Buyer’s Guide from the Big D and if one of you would sell herself for a period of four years, it would be enough to pay for all four of you to get through a decent school, not NYU, but maybe Liberty or Hillsdale, they are both viable options. The ‘slave sister’ would just be starting school at twenty-three instead of nineteen.”
Dead Air. That’s what they call it when the “talk show” goes silent. The silence continued as the girls stared at their parents like they had just sprouted a third eye in the center of their foreheads.
Finally, Valerie spoke up. “I’m not going to volunteer for slavery and you’re not either, are you, Vickie?”
“Not a chance, but I’ll volunteer you!”
“Way to stick together, sis,” Valerie sneered in return, “Next thing you’ll be suggesting is that we do Rock-Paper-Scissors to see who becomes a slave.”
“Now girls, don’t start in on each other now,” Connie scolded, “You have been given a lot to think about. Go to your room and talk it over. Maybe you will just have to set aside college plans in favor of some lesser goals.”
The girls finished their breakfast in silence and after doing the dishes, headed upstairs, taking the guide with them.
“This is insanity,” Vicky muttered to herself as she stepped out of the shower.
“Did you leave me any hot water?” asked Val. “What’s insanity?”
“How could they even hint at selling one of us?” Vicky said raising her voice to be heard over the running water. The question hung in the air, unanswered, and both girls retired to their room to dress in silence.
Valerie was the first to speak, “Look at these prices. Did you ever think that being virgins would add up to $100,000 to our value? I guess joining ‘The Untouchables’ wasn’t such a bad idea after all.”
“Are you telling me that you are actually considering selling yourself?”
“No, not exactly. I was just thinking about Sarah and Susan and finding some way to keep them out of slavery,” Valerie answered.
“Yeah, I hadn’t considered that possibility. I’d still rather it be me than them,” agreed Vicky; the two of them finally thinking of someone other than themselves, for once.
“You know, I really didn’t mind playing slave girl at the graduation party,” confessed Valerie.
“Yeah, we all could tell by the way your juices ran down your leg or how eagerly you dove between Jade’s thighs. I think the only reason you got Prime, and I didn’t was your ‘slave heat’. Real slavery isn’t like that. What if you had to suck twenty cocks a day and get banged in the ass by any Tom, Dick, or Harry?”
“You’re right, of course, but it still sickens me thinking about that happening to Sarah, in particular. Let’s go for a walk and clear our heads,” Val encouraged.
Two hours later the girls returned home and asked the big question of the day, “Dad, neither one of us wants to volunteer but we will do it to save Sarah and Susan. How are you going to decide who is enslaved?”
“Your mother and I aren’t going to decide, you are. I propose a competition, loser gets sold. We use the format of a ‘Best Chance’ auction, setting a reserve so high you won’t actually get sold. You will each make a guess on your final bid and whoever comes the closest, without going over, wins. If we don’t get at least $300,000, neither one will be sold and we will have to come up with another plan. Agreed?”
Valerie and Vickie looked at each other and then at their mom.
Connie shrugged her shoulders and said, “Don’t look at me, it’s your decision.”
They turned back to their dad and said, “Agreed.”
“If you are really going to do this, you need to be clean shaven from your neck down,” instructed Connie.
“FIRST!” shouted Valerie and dashed for the upstairs bathroom, once again pissing Vicky off to no end.
“You’re going down, bitch,” Vicky muttered under her breath, “Your impulsiveness will be your undoing.” Entering their room, she looked at the Buyers Guide sitting on their desk, and quickly scooped it up. “It’s time to figure out exactly how this system works.”
It looked simple enough; it had the Big D logo with a picture of the Big D’s neon cowboy on the cover. Inside was a step-by-step list explaining how to register to bid. Opening the guide, at the first fold, she found a description of the inspection period, the auction and instructions on how to claim your slave if you won the bid.
“That’s pretty simple,” she thought until she opened the next fold and the pamphlet opened like a map from Rand-McNally. Her eyes almost glazed over. “I wish I had paid more attention in statistics class,” she moaned quietly as she stared at the number of full-color charts, graphs and tables. They were separated by stage, “Broadway” and “Off-Broadway. There were graphs showing the “mean” bid values based on grade, further broken down by ethnicity, cup size, height, weight, eye and hair color; “Virgin” status being a huge bonus on top of everything else. There were tables showing numbers of sales based on type, e.g. “Any Chance” auctions, “Best Chance” auctions, “Invitation Only” auctions, and “Self- Indentures”. There were even charts based on the time of year, as well as, on the days of the week; Tuesdays being the slowest and Saturdays the busiest.
What stunned her was the ridiculous amounts bid during “Invitation Only” auctions, as the “high rollers” vied for dominance. What was the most unnerving to her though, was the percentage of times the “reserve” was exceeded during “Best Chance” auctions, guaranteeing enslavement. This was too much to absorb in one sitting, so she refolded it, noticing that the back cover had bidding “Does-N-Don’ts” and a web address for more information. A scream coming from the bathroom, told her that Val had just waxed herself, so she slipped the booklet under her pillow to study it further when Valerie wasn’t around.
Valerie stumbled into their bedroom rubbing her angry, red pussy and fell backwards on to her bed. “FUCK, that smarts,” she moaned.
“That’s nothing, wait ‘til they brand that big ass of yours,” Vicky gloated, certain that she had this bidding game in the bag.
“I’ve got a news flash for you, Miss High-N-Mighty. Prime slaves who are auctioned on Broadway, all get the brand, whether they end up sold or not. SO THERE!”
Vicky gulped and ran into the bathroom; the revelation creating an emergency in her bladder. She managed to reach the toilet with barely a couple of drips running down her thigh and then the dam broke. She shuddered in fear, wondering how she could escape the trauma to come. She briefly considered trying to throw the grading so she wouldn’t be Prime but the thought of Valerie lording it over her for the rest of her life was untenable. “Even if I win, I’m screwed,” she realized.
She took one look at the nasty, hair-covered wax strip sitting on the vanity and wanted to scream, “Valerie, you’re a pig,” but grinned as she thought about the whipping Val would get if she left a mess like that for her master. Vicky sprayed some shaving foam into her hand, grabbed her razor, and stepped into the shower. The waxing that followed left her as smooth as a billiard ball, but wasn’t anywhere near as bad as her “drama queen” sister made it out to be.
Vicky got dressed and headed down to the kitchen. Valerie was making hamburger patties, Sarah was cutting up tomatoes and onions, Susan was mixing up lemonade, and Connie was setting the table. She turned to Vicky and said, “Take your brothers some ice water and find out how soon they will be finished with the railing so your dad knows when to light the charcoal grill, please.”
Two minutes later, Vicky returned. “Tyler said they just needed to finish touching up the paint; it will be fifteen minutes or so.”
Vicky and Valerie fidgeted silently in their seats all through lunch hoping neither parent would mention anything about grading or their bet; the nervous tension causing them both to soak their panties.
Connie gave them a knowing look that caused them both to blush and avert her gaze. She spoke matter-of-factly, “You two should clear the table and do the dishes, since Susan and Sarah have been slaving away all morning making the beds and doing the laundry.”
At the word “slaving”, Valerie lost her grip on her drink and spilled half of her cola in her lap.
Connie’s smile was unnerving as she said, “Oh my, it looks like you’ll have to take that dress off sooner than you had planned, now won’t you.” That remark went completely by all the others, except Paul, who quipped, “Maybe you should just go naked, it would certainly save on laundry bills.” Connie laughed.
Valerie bolted for the bathroom to change her sun dress and Vicky quickly began picking up plates and putting them in the sink.
Connie couldn’t resist another jab and said, “My, my, Vicky, what’s the hurry? We’ve barely finished eating,” drawing out the word “barely”. Vicky grabbed hold of the edge of the sink as she nearly fainted. Connie smirked, “Are you okay, dear? You and Val seem a little flustered today.”
The boys got up from the table and put their dishes in the sink. Tynan said, “Mom, Tyler and I are going to watch Collin College play DBU this afternoon. They’ve got a pitcher who is ready for the majors, it should be a good game.”
“Okay, boys, have fun. I hope you don’t get rained out; they are calling for possible thunder storms later,” she replied.
Susan spoke up as the two of them helped Vicky by rinsing their plates and loading the dishwasher, “May, Sarah and I ride our bikes over to cousin Megan’s? She’s got a new guinea pig that she wants us to see.”
“That’s fine, just be sure to take your house key; your father and I will be out for most of the afternoon.”
Upon hearing this, Vicky pushed the start button on the dishwasher and ran upstairs.
Twenty minutes later, the plan was set in motion. “Girls, come down here, right now!” mom commanded. “There’s no point in putting this off. If we wait too long, you may not get graded today and have to stay overnight in the kennels. We have to stop on the way and get these POA’s notarized, so bring me your driver’s licenses when you come down.”
Reluctantly, Val came down first, while Vicky snuck another peek at the Buyers’ Guide knowing she had to win this game or spend the next four years in slavery.
“Vicky, NOW!” shouted Paul.
“Coming,” replied Vicky as she slipped the guide into her desk drawer and scurried down the stairs. Her eyes bugged out at the sight that greeted her. Valerie was standing, head-down, “slave naked” in flip-flops with Bruno’s dog collar around her neck and her hands tied crudely behind her back with one of Paul’s old ties.
“What’s with the clothes? Slaves don’t get clothes. Strip.”
“Yeah, strip, bimbo,” Valerie chimed in, “You may as well start getting used to it. Just imagine the great tan you’ll have after four years in the Texas sun.”
“Oh yeah! Well, you won’t be getting any sun, chained to a bed in a Mexican brothel,” bristled Vicky.
“God, I wish I had a can of Devox. Stop this bickering, right now,” said Paul. “No body is being sold outside of the U.S., I’ll promise you that. One of the conditions of a potential sale will be “No International Sales”. You still might spend a lot of time tied to a bed if a BDSM club buys you,” he grinned.
“Eeeewwww, gross,” the girls squealed in unison.
“Sorry, we only have one dog collar,” Connie said as she snapped Tyler’s old bicycle lock around Vicky’s neck, “but we do have plenty of old ties. BACK HANDS.”
Vicky flinched as her mom cinched the tie much tighter than she thought necessary but the worst was yet to come. Paul had put the back seats down in their SUV and there sat Bruno’s kennel.
“No way,” the girls protested, “We can’t both fit in there.”
“Sure, you can and you can lather each other up en route. You’ve got to get that ‘slave heat’ going, if you want to get graded ‘Prime’,” laughed Connie. “Now get in there, Val, you first.”
It was a tight fit but they made it. It was a side-by-side, 69-fit which disgusted both girls; not because they had never done it before, but because their mom had put them like this, implying what was expected of them. Could their humiliation be more complete?
The storm clouds grew more ominous as they drove west on the 635 toll-way. It started to sprinkle about four miles before the Big D off-ramp. “I hope the boys baseball game isn’t rained out,” Connie said with a smirk as she gave Paul a knowing wink. No sooner had she said that than it came down in buckets, a real gully washer. Visibility went to near zero and Paul pulled to the side of the road and stopped. Before he could say, “This won’t last long,” it stopped.
Steam was rising from the parking lot blacktop as they pulled into the Big D. “Good news, girls, the rain has cooled off the pavement, so you won’t burn your feet. Time to get out,” said Paul as he opened the hatch and swung the kennel door wide. It took a few minutes to untangle the two of them and get them on their feet but at least they had managed to achieve some level of arousal during the trip. Paul clipped Bruno’s leash to Val’s collar and headed for the entrance. Connie hooked a short piece of rope on Vicky’s collar and dragged her along. Connie’s embarrassment almost matched the girls’, thinking about how she must have looked like trailer trash dragging a slave wearing a bicycle lock instead of a proper looking collar.
“Maybe coming on a Saturday afternoon wasn’t a great idea,” Paul said. “With this mob, we could be here all day. The girls could be waiting to grease the bollards for an hour.”
“Do what? Are you insane? Val shouted over the commotion.
“Polishing the bollards is a tradition. It is supposed to bring you luck and really get your juices flowing,” Paul replied.
“As much as I would love to see them debase themselves further, I can tell by their smell, they are juicy enough already. Let’s see how bad the line is at check-in,” Connie insisted. The girls breathed a sigh of relief.
As they approached the desk, Vicky squealed, “Oh, my God. Who is that hunk?”
There on the wall behind the check-in was an almost life-size poster of a trainer and his ponygirl. The caption read “Pinkie, 2032 Grand National Showpony, with trainer, Richard Jameson. Vicky was mesmerized by Richard’s Adonis looks, though slightly graying at the temples, his broad shoulders, tapered shirt, and tight waist implied a level of raw, masculine fitness that would be the envy of young men half his age. Even though, he was just on a poster, his image command the room. Vicky couldn’t take her eyes off from him….and the $100,000 First Place check he was holding. If she hadn’t been tied, her hands would have gone straight to her pussy.
Valerie and her dad stared at the stunning red-headed ponygirl standing at attention with her perky, gold-ringed tits sticking proudly out of her trimmed in black, red, patent-leather bustier. The red-laced, black, thigh-high pony boots made her stand taller than her trainer, and the black, bushy plume sticking up from her headdress added to her Amazonian stature. Instead of a metallic, slave collar, she wore a tall, leather posture collar which perfectly matched her bustier. She proudly smiled as she held her hoof-gloved hands even with her chest; an impressive display of confidence and pageantry elegance.
“Quite the pair, aren’t they?” queried Rebecca, the Director of Marketing and CFO, startling Paul out of whatever fantasy he was having in his mind. “Sorry, that didn’t come out right; when said ‘pair’, I was referring to Richard and Pinkie, not her magnificent breasts.”
Valerie giggled.
“This poster marks the beginning of a new scholarship program we are testing. We have partnered with several pony ranches to help them find suitable candidates for racing, dressage or showpony competitions. If a girl is athletic and grades Prime or Prime+, she is eligible to apply for a self-indenture from 2-4 years. We send out a link with her SIN and the ranchers have one hour to review her details in the National Slave Registry before the online auction begins, by-passing the need to display oneself on Broadway, and dispelling any worries about where the slave is going to end up. The bids start at $50,000 per year of service and can only go up.”
“Does she still have to put out to anyone on demand?” asked Vicky, who was now engrossed in the discussion.
“Well, yes, dear. Afterall, in the end, you’re still a slave but you’re out in the fresh air a lot, not stuck in a brothel or glory hole. This is a win-win for everyone. Besides pre-qualifying slaves for the ranchers, we have all of their brands on hand, and can take care of any brandings, piercings, shavings, chipping, or tattooing requested, all under the supervision of our veterinarian. We can kennel the ponies-to-be for pick-up or ship them directly for an extra fee,” Rebecca said, smiling to herself at the thought of an extra fee.
“Well, if you have to be a slave, that certainly would seem to be a sensible choice,” responded Valerie, looking back at the regal beauty in the picture. She certainly seems to have adapted well to the lifestyle.”
“I’m sure you will qualify; can I sign you up now?” Rebecca said, smelling and easy sale.
“Yeah, go ahead and sign up, Val, so I can get the Hell out of here,” urged Vicky.
“Fuck off, loser. I’ll be the one walking out of here. Uunngh.h.h.h,” Valerie moaned as she slumped to the floor from the shock of a baton wielded by a nearby wrangler.
“Now, Billy Joe, you know you’re supposed warn slaves before you zap them, and technically she isn’t in the inventory yet, so you just zapped a free woman,” Rebecca chided with a smirk.
Connie piped up, “She deserved it. I hate vulgar language. Nice job, Billy Joe. Where can I get one of those?”
“Sorry, ma’am, these are not for sale to the public as they can cause permanent damage if used improperly,” replied Billy.
“Next in line, please,” the wrangler behind the desk said.
Connie handed him the notarized POAs and girl’s I.D.s; he turned to make copies, then handed the originals back to her. “Who’s first up?” he asked.
Vicky moved to the front while Rebecca continued to try to suck Valerie into a self-indenture.
“Please look up at the camera over my left shoulder and answer the following questions for the record. “Do you affirm that Connie is in fact your guardian and, of your own free will, has your consent to have you graded and possibly branded or sold, solely at her discretion? If so, please answer, “Yes, Sir.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Mrs. Pearson, if you would be so kind as to remove her collar and ties, I need to put an official collar and cuffs on her for processing.”
The attendant came picked up a cuff and collar set and began the formal address, “Collar!” to which Vicky dropped to her knees and assumed the position. “The collar I am putting on you now is capable of delivering a severe, electric shock. All Big D employees are authorized to use any means deemed necessary to compel you to comply with all orders given to you, and those means include, but are not limited to, electrical shock and whipping. If you obey promptly, you will not be harmed. Do you understand?
"Yes, Sir, I don’t want to get zapped like Val. I’ll be good.” Vicky announced nervously.
“Good. Back Hands!” the attendant said as he handed a tablet to Connie. “Please check any additional items you may wish to add after her grading and sign in the box at the bottom.” While Connie worked on the form, Vicky was cuffed and handed over to Billy Joe.
Paul dragged Valerie away from Rebecca and the process was repeated, ending with Val being handed over to Billy Joe as well, since there weren’t enough wranglers to handle the crowd individually. As Paul was handed a tablet, he looked over to a confused Connie trying to figure out what the abbreviations meant. Rebecca seeing an opportunity to further ingratiate herself with the Pearsons, stepped between the two of them. “Here, let me help. I know this can be a stressful and confusing time. What are your desires?”
“We are planning on selling one of them but have to decide who,” said Paul, matter-of-factly. We thought two ‘Best Chance’ auctions would be the way to go.”
“You do realize that if you sell them as a pair, you will get way more than double, most of the time, don’t you?”
“Yes, but the idea was to sell one so the other could go to college. We have planned to use the auction as a competition, so they have to be bid on, separately. Whoever comes closest to her bid price, is the winner.”
“I must say this is a first for the Big D. Okay, check the box, BCA, on your tablets.”
As soon as they did, two new boxes popped up asking, “Reserve?” and “Term.”
“We were thinking $500,000 with ‘no overseas sales’ should be a high enough amount to prevent having to sell both of them, only the loser, with a term of four years,” indicated Paul as Connie and the girls nodded in agreement.
“I’ll tell you what I will do for you since one of the girls is being sold, I will comp the grading and registration fees along with any extras you choose. Let’s finish checking the boxes and I’ll sign off on the fees,” offered Rebecca with a disarming smile.
Paul and Connie huddled to the side out of earshot of the girls as they checked off a few, optional extras. They handed the tablets back and the wrangler quickly uploaded the information to their files, then wiped the tablets clean for the next user. Connie went to Vicky, who whispered her guess to her, “$370,000.” Paul leaned into Valerie who whispered, “$340,000”.
“Okay, girls, we will see you after the auction, Thanks for your help, Rebecca. We will be back to claim the winner later,” Paul said, taking Connie’s hand and heading for the parking lot. “They are going to want to kill us in our sleep later, aren’t they?” asked Connie. “Yes, but it will be worth it when we watch the video later.”
By Cardman314
(This story set in the world of legalized slavery as set forth in the 34th Amendment. All ‘active’ characters are over 18 years of age and fictional, bearing no resemblance to anyone living or dead.)
People make all kinds of excuses, the most common one being, “The price is too high,” when in truth, they just can’t afford it. Price is a one-time thing but costs accumulate over time. When can you say, ‘the Price is Right’?
To outsiders, the Pearsons had to be good Catholics, passionate Protestants or amorous Agnostics. I mean, who has 3 sets of twins in this economy? Tyler and Tynan, now 20, were the first-born set, followed two years later by Vicky and Valerie, identical twins. Sarah and Susan, who were two years younger than their sisters came along, possibly completely by surprise. Really, with times tough, jobs few and salaries low, no one needed the burden of two more mouths to feed.
Typical of families with three kids, the first-born ruled the roost, the second was just second when the ‘baby’ came along. “The middle child” syndrome played out in stereo every day and everywhere as Vicky and Valerie vied for the attention they lost when Sarah and Susan came along. Competitive is an insufficient word to describe the way these two girls were driven to be top dog. It is tough to be the better sister when you are identical twins, although Vicky always thought she was more identical than Valerie.
Family reactions were all over the map, as you might expect. The older boys resented having taken beatings for lesser things they had done, but the girls just got put in ‘time out’.
The younger sisters were amused by their older sisters’ antics and were glad they weren’t the subject of their parents’ ire. What they didn’t like was the necessity of ‘hand-me-down’ clothes as they rarely got anything new.
Connie, who wed right out of high school, and never had a job, was beside herself worried about how to feed the family and pay all the bills on their limited budget. The boys had been able to find part-time work and that helped but they would have to live at home indefinitely if the economy didn’t change.
Paul, at 45, had hit the ceiling in his field and there were no more promotions to get. Being on a salary, working overtime still paid the same money; it was a dead end. Add to all of this, being cast in the role of family disciplinarian, Vicky and Valerie’s stunts had pushed him to the point of thinking, enough is enough, and looked for way out their strained circumstances.
Meanwhile at home, Vicky and Valerie were becoming increasingly insufferable. Vicky wanted to go to Tulane, and Valerie to NYU, even though their grades were nowhere near what they needed to be. "They would be if you remortgaged the house, and gave Tulane a big endowment!" Vicky suggested. Valerie agreed, but felt the money should go to NYU.
“Could they possibly be more self-centered?” Paul wondered. He didn't have enough equity in the house to pay the tuition at Community College, let alone bribe a top tier college into taking his academically average daughters. It was particularly annoying since Vicky and Valerie might have done better in school, if they hadn't spent the last two years pulling stunts to try and make the other one look bad, and nearly getting expelled in the process.
Paul could hardly wait for Thursday night league bowling as the company team was within striking range of first place, and it gave him an escape from his financial concerns.
"I've seen this problem before," his bowling-buddy, Bill said, as they enjoyed a beer after the game. "Vicky and Valerie aren’t stupid. Most of their friends have been graded as collateral for student loans but neither wants to be the one securing the loan. They think that by making the other one look bad, it will back you into a corner where slavery for one of them is the logical solution. I don’t just mean collateralizing a loan; I mean, actually selling one for a few years to pave the way for the others. Let’s face it, in two more years, you’re going to have to lick this calf all over again. Sarah and Susan are going to need financial aid for college, if they want to go, and you’ll be back with same problem."
"Are you seriously suggesting that I sell one of my daughters?" Paul asked.
“To me it seems to be a ‘no-brainer’. It’s a small price to pay, a few years of slavery, in order to get your family’s finances in order, and at the same time provide for future educational needs.” Bill reached into his bowling bag and pulled out his iPad Pro. A couple of clicks later, Paul watched in shock as Vicky gyrated her body through the sluttiest block routine, he had ever seen... until a minute later, when it switched to Valerie, who took her sister's performance and built upon it.
Paul was stunned and asked, “What did I just watch?”
"I didn't mean to shock you," Bill said, putting the iPad away, much to Paul's relief. "My daughter, Cindy, and yours belong to a social group at their high school; they call themselves, ‘The Untouchables’. They had a ‘girl’s only’ graduation party in our backyard, and each of the members, who had been graded, was paired up with a girl, who hadn’t yet. The leaders wanted to show the girls what they would be facing when they went to the Big D.”
“Each girl was made to strip and the ‘COLLAR’ command was given. The girls assumed the position on their knees while zipties were loosely put around their necks to represent slave collars, and their hands zipped behind their backs. Fake SINs were written on their chins with a red sharpie. They were told to make themselves wet for inspection by rubbing against each other. The ‘slaves’ seemed to enjoy this a little too much, from my point of view, looking out the upstairs, bedroom window, but I kept recording anyways. They were then run through block moves before being tied to the backyard fence for inspection.”
Paul’s mouth dropped open as he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“The leaders poked and prodded the ‘slaves’, squeezed tits and sampled ‘slave honey’. In the end, none of the ‘slaves’ earned a grade below Choice+, and Valerie and Tonya were graded Prime, which thoroughly irked Vicky. Her mood improved though when the leaders used wide-tipped, black, permanent markers to draw the Big D brand on Val’s and Tonya’s asses, which would take weeks to fade or a lot of painful scrubbing to remove.
Paul blanched at the idea of the videos ending up in the Cloud, as everything was these days. “I hope that’s not going to get posted online, is it?” asked Paul.
"Not to worry. I have the only copy. If a judge saw this footage, it would be grounds for self-enslavement for all of them. You could see though that neither of your girls was shy about being naked in a group. They jumped right into character, like they were ‘hot for the collar’ and didn’t balk when the leaders made the ‘slaves’ service their pussies after grading. Just know that if the girls refuse to go along with whatever you and your wife decide is best, I can edit the recording to show their best slave behavior, and you can take them before a magistrate.”
“I’m glad Connie didn’t see this video; it will be tough enough broaching this subject with her as it is,” Paul mused.
“Just remember the videos and how unashamedly they exhibited this slutty behavior, eager to show each other up. Maybe you could suggest some kind of competition around getting graded that would entice them to go for it."
“I’ll think about it. Thanks for the beer, Bill. I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow in the break room.” What kind of competition would differentiate between identical twins?” Paul wondered as he drove home.
Paul couldn’t wait to leave the office; Friday was date night, and he finally knew he had to bring up the slavery idea to Connie. Bill had even picked up a copy of the Big D’s New Buyers Guide, on his way into work, which he passed along over lunch. Paul’s eyes glazed over when he saw the average sales prices for Prime-graded girls; this slavery thing just might be the answer they have looking for.
“….EMMY LOU HARRIS, C’MON DOWN! You’re the next contestant on ‘The Price is Right!’” The announcer’s voice blared in Paul’s ears as he came through the front door.
“TURN THAT THING DOWN!” he shouted over the television to no one in particular.
Immediately, Sarah, the ever-obedient one, hit the MUTE button. “Hi, daddy,” she chirped happily, “We’ve found a channel with reruns from old game shows from 10 or more years ago. Susan and I are killing Vicky and Valerie. We’ve played Jeopardy, Wheel of Fortune, and Hollywood Squares so far and The Price is Right is just starting. Can you play with us?”
“Sorry, Sweetie, I have to clean up; I’m taking your mom to Ventano’s for dinner tonight. I remember this show though; your mom and I used to play along, guessing the prices. Since she did most of our shopping, she used to beat me badly.” As he dashed up the stairs, he said, “Tell your mom I’ll be ready in twenty. Thanks.”
The conversation over dinner was spicier than the food. Connie was initially shocked at the suggestion of losing one of their daughters, but Paul assured her it wouldn’t be forever, maybe four years at the most. He was about to show her the guide, when the waitress wheeled around the dessert tray.
The waitress was a little on the Rubenesque-size, wearing only a shiny collar, bib apron and flat-black shoes with white, thigh-high stockings.
“Tell me…..”
“Amy, mistress.”
“Tell me, Amy, how did you come to be a slave and how do you feel about it?’ asked Connie with great interest.
“To be honest, mistress, it is the best thing that could have happened to me. When I went for grading, I only scored Select+ which limited how much of a loan I could get, so I settled on Culinary College with a major in breads and pastries. At graduation, we had to prepare several samples of our finest recipes for tasting and judging of our presentation. The school invited all the chefs and owners of the major restaurants around the Dallas-Fort Worth area and Mr. Ventano loved my tiramisu. He was thrilled to find out my indenture price was so low; he paid my debt, and immediately took me on for two years. I am doing what I love, I have a room in the basement, I get to eat the best food, and I am learning the business from the inside out. I hope to stay here when my indenture is up.”
“That’s great but don’t you have to offer sex also? Isn’t that degrading?” Connie said, trying not to sound condescending but honestly interested in Amy’s well-being.
“Yes, mistress. Sometimes one of master’s good customers will ask for me but I am flattered and happy to oblige. Remember, mistress, I only graded Select+ and I have put on twenty-five pounds since then. Besides, a girl has certain needs from time to time.”
Connie was seeing slavery in a whole new light and her demeanor shifted as she decided on a cannoli, while Paul picked the tiramisu and asked for an espresso. As Amy turned and pushed the pastry cart away, Paul smiled at the big, floury, hand-print on Amy’s rump. “It looks like the chef has been sampling Amy’s wares,” Paul observed with a smirk.
“So, if we go with your idea, how do we decide which one to sell?” asked Connie, “Neither one is going to volunteer.”
“We don’t decide, we let them compete; the loser gets sold, the winner goes to community college for a start, and we get our financial house in order. Maybe you can even get a new ‘soccer-mom’ van. I already have a competition in mind.”
“Okay, you’ve sold me. Now take me home and sample my wares, you brute.”
Connie rubbed her wrists and pulled the sleeve of her bathrobe down to cover the rope marks Paul had bestowed on her as he ravished her last night. The memory of the waves of orgasms brought a subtle smile to her face as Vicky and Valerie dragged themselves into the kitchen.
“Where is everybody?” asked Val, as she headed for the coffee pot.
“Tyler and Tynan went to the lumber yard; they are going to repair the railing on the back porch today,” replied Paul, looking up from his morning paper. Sarah and Susan left for their piano lesson. How late did you stay up watching those game show reruns anyways?”
“I think we quit somewhere around 3:00; those old Japanese shows are completely insane,” said Vicky. “Is there any orange juice left, mom?”
“I think Tyler drank the last of it but check the freezer, I think there is a can of concentrate left you can mix up.”
“Have a seat, girls, it’s time to get serious about your futures,” Paul insisted. “Sacrifices are going to have to be made if you have any plans of going to college. Your brothers have been fortunate in being able to get into an apprenticeship program with Filmore Construction that also pays them minimum wage while they are learning. In three to four years, they will both have a trade to fall back on while they study for their desired degrees. What are your plans going forward?”
Vicky and Valerie just stared at each other in silence.
“Girls,” Connie said, “Hoping is not a plan. Money is not just going to magically appear.”
“Here are your options as I see them,” Paul began to list them. “First, you can give up on going to college and get jobs, although most jobs today are done by robots or slaves, who don’t get paychecks. Second, you could be registered and graded to collateralize a school loan like many of your friends and be in debt for the next ten or more years as you try to pay it back, always at risk of being repossessed.”
“Oh, please no….”
“Now, Vicky, please let your father finish,” Connie chided.
“As I was saying, third, you could try to find a sponsor for a self-indenture but that could require a longer term of service to bring in enough money for school and you would still be a slave for all intents and purposes. Finally, one or both of you could sell yourselves as pleasure slaves, which would bring in the most money.”
Both girls looked like they were on the verge of tears as their dreams just came face to face with reality.
Connie announced with a grin, “There is a fifth option; you could find a rich husband and sit around eating bon-bons all day.” This temporarily broke through the tension in the room and everyone had a laugh.
Paul resumed control of the discussion, “Anyway you look at it, if college is really what you want, sacrifices are going to have to be made. Your sisters are going to have to face the same issues in just two years unless something changes. I have been studying this Buyer’s Guide from the Big D and if one of you would sell herself for a period of four years, it would be enough to pay for all four of you to get through a decent school, not NYU, but maybe Liberty or Hillsdale, they are both viable options. The ‘slave sister’ would just be starting school at twenty-three instead of nineteen.”
Dead Air. That’s what they call it when the “talk show” goes silent. The silence continued as the girls stared at their parents like they had just sprouted a third eye in the center of their foreheads.
Finally, Valerie spoke up. “I’m not going to volunteer for slavery and you’re not either, are you, Vickie?”
“Not a chance, but I’ll volunteer you!”
“Way to stick together, sis,” Valerie sneered in return, “Next thing you’ll be suggesting is that we do Rock-Paper-Scissors to see who becomes a slave.”
“Now girls, don’t start in on each other now,” Connie scolded, “You have been given a lot to think about. Go to your room and talk it over. Maybe you will just have to set aside college plans in favor of some lesser goals.”
The girls finished their breakfast in silence and after doing the dishes, headed upstairs, taking the guide with them.
“This is insanity,” Vicky muttered to herself as she stepped out of the shower.
“Did you leave me any hot water?” asked Val. “What’s insanity?”
“How could they even hint at selling one of us?” Vicky said raising her voice to be heard over the running water. The question hung in the air, unanswered, and both girls retired to their room to dress in silence.
Valerie was the first to speak, “Look at these prices. Did you ever think that being virgins would add up to $100,000 to our value? I guess joining ‘The Untouchables’ wasn’t such a bad idea after all.”
“Are you telling me that you are actually considering selling yourself?”
“No, not exactly. I was just thinking about Sarah and Susan and finding some way to keep them out of slavery,” Valerie answered.
“Yeah, I hadn’t considered that possibility. I’d still rather it be me than them,” agreed Vicky; the two of them finally thinking of someone other than themselves, for once.
“You know, I really didn’t mind playing slave girl at the graduation party,” confessed Valerie.
“Yeah, we all could tell by the way your juices ran down your leg or how eagerly you dove between Jade’s thighs. I think the only reason you got Prime, and I didn’t was your ‘slave heat’. Real slavery isn’t like that. What if you had to suck twenty cocks a day and get banged in the ass by any Tom, Dick, or Harry?”
“You’re right, of course, but it still sickens me thinking about that happening to Sarah, in particular. Let’s go for a walk and clear our heads,” Val encouraged.
Two hours later the girls returned home and asked the big question of the day, “Dad, neither one of us wants to volunteer but we will do it to save Sarah and Susan. How are you going to decide who is enslaved?”
“Your mother and I aren’t going to decide, you are. I propose a competition, loser gets sold. We use the format of a ‘Best Chance’ auction, setting a reserve so high you won’t actually get sold. You will each make a guess on your final bid and whoever comes the closest, without going over, wins. If we don’t get at least $300,000, neither one will be sold and we will have to come up with another plan. Agreed?”
Valerie and Vickie looked at each other and then at their mom.
Connie shrugged her shoulders and said, “Don’t look at me, it’s your decision.”
They turned back to their dad and said, “Agreed.”
“If you are really going to do this, you need to be clean shaven from your neck down,” instructed Connie.
“FIRST!” shouted Valerie and dashed for the upstairs bathroom, once again pissing Vicky off to no end.
“You’re going down, bitch,” Vicky muttered under her breath, “Your impulsiveness will be your undoing.” Entering their room, she looked at the Buyers Guide sitting on their desk, and quickly scooped it up. “It’s time to figure out exactly how this system works.”
It looked simple enough; it had the Big D logo with a picture of the Big D’s neon cowboy on the cover. Inside was a step-by-step list explaining how to register to bid. Opening the guide, at the first fold, she found a description of the inspection period, the auction and instructions on how to claim your slave if you won the bid.
“That’s pretty simple,” she thought until she opened the next fold and the pamphlet opened like a map from Rand-McNally. Her eyes almost glazed over. “I wish I had paid more attention in statistics class,” she moaned quietly as she stared at the number of full-color charts, graphs and tables. They were separated by stage, “Broadway” and “Off-Broadway. There were graphs showing the “mean” bid values based on grade, further broken down by ethnicity, cup size, height, weight, eye and hair color; “Virgin” status being a huge bonus on top of everything else. There were tables showing numbers of sales based on type, e.g. “Any Chance” auctions, “Best Chance” auctions, “Invitation Only” auctions, and “Self- Indentures”. There were even charts based on the time of year, as well as, on the days of the week; Tuesdays being the slowest and Saturdays the busiest.
What stunned her was the ridiculous amounts bid during “Invitation Only” auctions, as the “high rollers” vied for dominance. What was the most unnerving to her though, was the percentage of times the “reserve” was exceeded during “Best Chance” auctions, guaranteeing enslavement. This was too much to absorb in one sitting, so she refolded it, noticing that the back cover had bidding “Does-N-Don’ts” and a web address for more information. A scream coming from the bathroom, told her that Val had just waxed herself, so she slipped the booklet under her pillow to study it further when Valerie wasn’t around.
Valerie stumbled into their bedroom rubbing her angry, red pussy and fell backwards on to her bed. “FUCK, that smarts,” she moaned.
“That’s nothing, wait ‘til they brand that big ass of yours,” Vicky gloated, certain that she had this bidding game in the bag.
“I’ve got a news flash for you, Miss High-N-Mighty. Prime slaves who are auctioned on Broadway, all get the brand, whether they end up sold or not. SO THERE!”
Vicky gulped and ran into the bathroom; the revelation creating an emergency in her bladder. She managed to reach the toilet with barely a couple of drips running down her thigh and then the dam broke. She shuddered in fear, wondering how she could escape the trauma to come. She briefly considered trying to throw the grading so she wouldn’t be Prime but the thought of Valerie lording it over her for the rest of her life was untenable. “Even if I win, I’m screwed,” she realized.
She took one look at the nasty, hair-covered wax strip sitting on the vanity and wanted to scream, “Valerie, you’re a pig,” but grinned as she thought about the whipping Val would get if she left a mess like that for her master. Vicky sprayed some shaving foam into her hand, grabbed her razor, and stepped into the shower. The waxing that followed left her as smooth as a billiard ball, but wasn’t anywhere near as bad as her “drama queen” sister made it out to be.
Vicky got dressed and headed down to the kitchen. Valerie was making hamburger patties, Sarah was cutting up tomatoes and onions, Susan was mixing up lemonade, and Connie was setting the table. She turned to Vicky and said, “Take your brothers some ice water and find out how soon they will be finished with the railing so your dad knows when to light the charcoal grill, please.”
Two minutes later, Vicky returned. “Tyler said they just needed to finish touching up the paint; it will be fifteen minutes or so.”
Vicky and Valerie fidgeted silently in their seats all through lunch hoping neither parent would mention anything about grading or their bet; the nervous tension causing them both to soak their panties.
Connie gave them a knowing look that caused them both to blush and avert her gaze. She spoke matter-of-factly, “You two should clear the table and do the dishes, since Susan and Sarah have been slaving away all morning making the beds and doing the laundry.”
At the word “slaving”, Valerie lost her grip on her drink and spilled half of her cola in her lap.
Connie’s smile was unnerving as she said, “Oh my, it looks like you’ll have to take that dress off sooner than you had planned, now won’t you.” That remark went completely by all the others, except Paul, who quipped, “Maybe you should just go naked, it would certainly save on laundry bills.” Connie laughed.
Valerie bolted for the bathroom to change her sun dress and Vicky quickly began picking up plates and putting them in the sink.
Connie couldn’t resist another jab and said, “My, my, Vicky, what’s the hurry? We’ve barely finished eating,” drawing out the word “barely”. Vicky grabbed hold of the edge of the sink as she nearly fainted. Connie smirked, “Are you okay, dear? You and Val seem a little flustered today.”
The boys got up from the table and put their dishes in the sink. Tynan said, “Mom, Tyler and I are going to watch Collin College play DBU this afternoon. They’ve got a pitcher who is ready for the majors, it should be a good game.”
“Okay, boys, have fun. I hope you don’t get rained out; they are calling for possible thunder storms later,” she replied.
Susan spoke up as the two of them helped Vicky by rinsing their plates and loading the dishwasher, “May, Sarah and I ride our bikes over to cousin Megan’s? She’s got a new guinea pig that she wants us to see.”
“That’s fine, just be sure to take your house key; your father and I will be out for most of the afternoon.”
Upon hearing this, Vicky pushed the start button on the dishwasher and ran upstairs.
Twenty minutes later, the plan was set in motion. “Girls, come down here, right now!” mom commanded. “There’s no point in putting this off. If we wait too long, you may not get graded today and have to stay overnight in the kennels. We have to stop on the way and get these POA’s notarized, so bring me your driver’s licenses when you come down.”
Reluctantly, Val came down first, while Vicky snuck another peek at the Buyers’ Guide knowing she had to win this game or spend the next four years in slavery.
“Vicky, NOW!” shouted Paul.
“Coming,” replied Vicky as she slipped the guide into her desk drawer and scurried down the stairs. Her eyes bugged out at the sight that greeted her. Valerie was standing, head-down, “slave naked” in flip-flops with Bruno’s dog collar around her neck and her hands tied crudely behind her back with one of Paul’s old ties.
“What’s with the clothes? Slaves don’t get clothes. Strip.”
“Yeah, strip, bimbo,” Valerie chimed in, “You may as well start getting used to it. Just imagine the great tan you’ll have after four years in the Texas sun.”
“Oh yeah! Well, you won’t be getting any sun, chained to a bed in a Mexican brothel,” bristled Vicky.
“God, I wish I had a can of Devox. Stop this bickering, right now,” said Paul. “No body is being sold outside of the U.S., I’ll promise you that. One of the conditions of a potential sale will be “No International Sales”. You still might spend a lot of time tied to a bed if a BDSM club buys you,” he grinned.
“Eeeewwww, gross,” the girls squealed in unison.
“Sorry, we only have one dog collar,” Connie said as she snapped Tyler’s old bicycle lock around Vicky’s neck, “but we do have plenty of old ties. BACK HANDS.”
Vicky flinched as her mom cinched the tie much tighter than she thought necessary but the worst was yet to come. Paul had put the back seats down in their SUV and there sat Bruno’s kennel.
“No way,” the girls protested, “We can’t both fit in there.”
“Sure, you can and you can lather each other up en route. You’ve got to get that ‘slave heat’ going, if you want to get graded ‘Prime’,” laughed Connie. “Now get in there, Val, you first.”
It was a tight fit but they made it. It was a side-by-side, 69-fit which disgusted both girls; not because they had never done it before, but because their mom had put them like this, implying what was expected of them. Could their humiliation be more complete?
The storm clouds grew more ominous as they drove west on the 635 toll-way. It started to sprinkle about four miles before the Big D off-ramp. “I hope the boys baseball game isn’t rained out,” Connie said with a smirk as she gave Paul a knowing wink. No sooner had she said that than it came down in buckets, a real gully washer. Visibility went to near zero and Paul pulled to the side of the road and stopped. Before he could say, “This won’t last long,” it stopped.
Steam was rising from the parking lot blacktop as they pulled into the Big D. “Good news, girls, the rain has cooled off the pavement, so you won’t burn your feet. Time to get out,” said Paul as he opened the hatch and swung the kennel door wide. It took a few minutes to untangle the two of them and get them on their feet but at least they had managed to achieve some level of arousal during the trip. Paul clipped Bruno’s leash to Val’s collar and headed for the entrance. Connie hooked a short piece of rope on Vicky’s collar and dragged her along. Connie’s embarrassment almost matched the girls’, thinking about how she must have looked like trailer trash dragging a slave wearing a bicycle lock instead of a proper looking collar.
“Maybe coming on a Saturday afternoon wasn’t a great idea,” Paul said. “With this mob, we could be here all day. The girls could be waiting to grease the bollards for an hour.”
“Do what? Are you insane? Val shouted over the commotion.
“Polishing the bollards is a tradition. It is supposed to bring you luck and really get your juices flowing,” Paul replied.
“As much as I would love to see them debase themselves further, I can tell by their smell, they are juicy enough already. Let’s see how bad the line is at check-in,” Connie insisted. The girls breathed a sigh of relief.
As they approached the desk, Vicky squealed, “Oh, my God. Who is that hunk?”
There on the wall behind the check-in was an almost life-size poster of a trainer and his ponygirl. The caption read “Pinkie, 2032 Grand National Showpony, with trainer, Richard Jameson. Vicky was mesmerized by Richard’s Adonis looks, though slightly graying at the temples, his broad shoulders, tapered shirt, and tight waist implied a level of raw, masculine fitness that would be the envy of young men half his age. Even though, he was just on a poster, his image command the room. Vicky couldn’t take her eyes off from him….and the $100,000 First Place check he was holding. If she hadn’t been tied, her hands would have gone straight to her pussy.
Valerie and her dad stared at the stunning red-headed ponygirl standing at attention with her perky, gold-ringed tits sticking proudly out of her trimmed in black, red, patent-leather bustier. The red-laced, black, thigh-high pony boots made her stand taller than her trainer, and the black, bushy plume sticking up from her headdress added to her Amazonian stature. Instead of a metallic, slave collar, she wore a tall, leather posture collar which perfectly matched her bustier. She proudly smiled as she held her hoof-gloved hands even with her chest; an impressive display of confidence and pageantry elegance.
“Quite the pair, aren’t they?” queried Rebecca, the Director of Marketing and CFO, startling Paul out of whatever fantasy he was having in his mind. “Sorry, that didn’t come out right; when said ‘pair’, I was referring to Richard and Pinkie, not her magnificent breasts.”
Valerie giggled.
“This poster marks the beginning of a new scholarship program we are testing. We have partnered with several pony ranches to help them find suitable candidates for racing, dressage or showpony competitions. If a girl is athletic and grades Prime or Prime+, she is eligible to apply for a self-indenture from 2-4 years. We send out a link with her SIN and the ranchers have one hour to review her details in the National Slave Registry before the online auction begins, by-passing the need to display oneself on Broadway, and dispelling any worries about where the slave is going to end up. The bids start at $50,000 per year of service and can only go up.”
“Does she still have to put out to anyone on demand?” asked Vicky, who was now engrossed in the discussion.
“Well, yes, dear. Afterall, in the end, you’re still a slave but you’re out in the fresh air a lot, not stuck in a brothel or glory hole. This is a win-win for everyone. Besides pre-qualifying slaves for the ranchers, we have all of their brands on hand, and can take care of any brandings, piercings, shavings, chipping, or tattooing requested, all under the supervision of our veterinarian. We can kennel the ponies-to-be for pick-up or ship them directly for an extra fee,” Rebecca said, smiling to herself at the thought of an extra fee.
“Well, if you have to be a slave, that certainly would seem to be a sensible choice,” responded Valerie, looking back at the regal beauty in the picture. She certainly seems to have adapted well to the lifestyle.”
“I’m sure you will qualify; can I sign you up now?” Rebecca said, smelling and easy sale.
“Yeah, go ahead and sign up, Val, so I can get the Hell out of here,” urged Vicky.
“Fuck off, loser. I’ll be the one walking out of here. Uunngh.h.h.h,” Valerie moaned as she slumped to the floor from the shock of a baton wielded by a nearby wrangler.
“Now, Billy Joe, you know you’re supposed warn slaves before you zap them, and technically she isn’t in the inventory yet, so you just zapped a free woman,” Rebecca chided with a smirk.
Connie piped up, “She deserved it. I hate vulgar language. Nice job, Billy Joe. Where can I get one of those?”
“Sorry, ma’am, these are not for sale to the public as they can cause permanent damage if used improperly,” replied Billy.
“Next in line, please,” the wrangler behind the desk said.
Connie handed him the notarized POAs and girl’s I.D.s; he turned to make copies, then handed the originals back to her. “Who’s first up?” he asked.
Vicky moved to the front while Rebecca continued to try to suck Valerie into a self-indenture.
“Please look up at the camera over my left shoulder and answer the following questions for the record. “Do you affirm that Connie is in fact your guardian and, of your own free will, has your consent to have you graded and possibly branded or sold, solely at her discretion? If so, please answer, “Yes, Sir.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Mrs. Pearson, if you would be so kind as to remove her collar and ties, I need to put an official collar and cuffs on her for processing.”
The attendant came picked up a cuff and collar set and began the formal address, “Collar!” to which Vicky dropped to her knees and assumed the position. “The collar I am putting on you now is capable of delivering a severe, electric shock. All Big D employees are authorized to use any means deemed necessary to compel you to comply with all orders given to you, and those means include, but are not limited to, electrical shock and whipping. If you obey promptly, you will not be harmed. Do you understand?
"Yes, Sir, I don’t want to get zapped like Val. I’ll be good.” Vicky announced nervously.
“Good. Back Hands!” the attendant said as he handed a tablet to Connie. “Please check any additional items you may wish to add after her grading and sign in the box at the bottom.” While Connie worked on the form, Vicky was cuffed and handed over to Billy Joe.
Paul dragged Valerie away from Rebecca and the process was repeated, ending with Val being handed over to Billy Joe as well, since there weren’t enough wranglers to handle the crowd individually. As Paul was handed a tablet, he looked over to a confused Connie trying to figure out what the abbreviations meant. Rebecca seeing an opportunity to further ingratiate herself with the Pearsons, stepped between the two of them. “Here, let me help. I know this can be a stressful and confusing time. What are your desires?”
“We are planning on selling one of them but have to decide who,” said Paul, matter-of-factly. We thought two ‘Best Chance’ auctions would be the way to go.”
“You do realize that if you sell them as a pair, you will get way more than double, most of the time, don’t you?”
“Yes, but the idea was to sell one so the other could go to college. We have planned to use the auction as a competition, so they have to be bid on, separately. Whoever comes closest to her bid price, is the winner.”
“I must say this is a first for the Big D. Okay, check the box, BCA, on your tablets.”
As soon as they did, two new boxes popped up asking, “Reserve?” and “Term.”
“We were thinking $500,000 with ‘no overseas sales’ should be a high enough amount to prevent having to sell both of them, only the loser, with a term of four years,” indicated Paul as Connie and the girls nodded in agreement.
“I’ll tell you what I will do for you since one of the girls is being sold, I will comp the grading and registration fees along with any extras you choose. Let’s finish checking the boxes and I’ll sign off on the fees,” offered Rebecca with a disarming smile.
Paul and Connie huddled to the side out of earshot of the girls as they checked off a few, optional extras. They handed the tablets back and the wrangler quickly uploaded the information to their files, then wiped the tablets clean for the next user. Connie went to Vicky, who whispered her guess to her, “$370,000.” Paul leaned into Valerie who whispered, “$340,000”.
“Okay, girls, we will see you after the auction, Thanks for your help, Rebecca. We will be back to claim the winner later,” Paul said, taking Connie’s hand and heading for the parking lot. “They are going to want to kill us in our sleep later, aren’t they?” asked Connie. “Yes, but it will be worth it when we watch the video later.”
