My Descent into Slavery (A rewrite and expansion of the first part of Ch 2 of Allison's Descent...

[Mr. Smith]

This is the second rewrite of this portion of the story. Hooked6 provided some helpful advice and I did a third rewrite below in yet another posting.

Bobby led me behind the counter to the SIN tattoo station and started setting it up, inputting my personal information into the machine.

“Did you know that about a third of the Any Chance bids are accepted? According to our client satisfaction surveys less than five percent of the clients intend to accept the bids but almost thirty-four percent accept them. Do you really trust your mother-in-law?” asked Bobby as he removed my bite gag.

“Yes, I trust Amelia, Master,” I replied.

That question itself planted a seed of doubt in my mind that I quickly shook off. My relationship with Amelia was strong. She had been there for me when my mother passed away quickly filling a void left by my mother’s death. We had grown close, with Amelia becoming something of a hybrid between a mother and a sister. Most importantly I trusted her implicitly.

“Last month a man brought in his MILF for a slave grading update and Any Chance auction to set her value as collateral for a home loan. She was Prime with Venus Academy training. Unbeknownst to her he had videotaped her in an orgy with the pool boy and the gardeners. She was doing her block routine with that video playing on the screen above her the whole time,” explained Bobby.

Bobby pulled my lip down and the machine quickly imprinted my SIN on the inside of my lower lip while he continued his story.

“The video demonstrated that she could enthusiastically swallow a sword and really enjoyed DPs and even an air-tight. I mean that was one talented slut and the auctioneer played to it to drive up her price. Everyone recognized the Venus Academy brand on her right ass cheek and her sexual skills definitely exceeded what you would expect from a Venus graduate. She didn’t need any more training if you know what I mean,” chuckled Bobby.

He then took the gag securing it back in my mouth.

“So the final bid came in really high and the auctioneer announced, ‘This is an Any Chance sale and the time starts now’ and before they got her off the auction block the bid was accepted. The auctioneer then announced that the bid had been accepted. The look of shock on her face was priceless,” laughed Bobby.

Why was Bobby telling me this story? Why was my pussy tingling as I listened to how this woman was betrayed into five years of slavery? Hearing about these women that walked into the Big D expecting to walk out free women and instead ended up enslaved should have horrified me. Instead they were inflaming my lust. What was wrong with me?

“Then she put up a struggle with the wranglers who collar shocked her, knocking her out to the laughter of the crowd. She came too strapped to the branding bench as the blacksmith burned the Big D logo into her left buttock. That was why I asked if you trusted your mother-in-law,” chortled Bobby.

Once the gag was back in place he grabbed my leash and let me down a hallway.

“First stop, the cattle wash, need to get rid of that pussy post stench and get you all dolled up for sale,” he said, with a knowing look in his eyes as he led me into the bowels of the Big D.

Amelia was right, I was not playing anymore, this was real and I was so aroused. Was I a submissive that needed to break free? How would I know?

We arrived at the cattle wash and my handler attached me to the coffle of slave girls waiting for their cleaning. Almost as soon as I was attached to the coffle, a different handler unhooked me, removed my gag, and took me to the front of the line for cleaning.

With my pussy tingling I was strung up off my feet, hosed down, soaped up with a green shampoo that was nice and gritty and smelled awful. When I was lowered to the ground, my feet were secured to the ground spread far apart and then a gaggle of eighteen-year-old boys went to work with brushes scrubbing my body.

“Need to make sure that we get rid of all of your crotch critters,” announced one young man.

He focused his attention on my ass, cunt and clit quickly honing in on my clit with the brush while jamming two fingers up my ass. I promptly arched my back dropping a big climax critter on him with a loud, “Yes!”

They untied me and directed me to bend over for my very first ever enema, quickly followed by two more to make sure there were no colon critters hiding within me. They then rinsed me off, blow dried me and handed me off to some women for a brush up consisting of combing out my hair and applying a little makeup. Once again, I needed to thank Amelia for the pre-grading beauty salon trip yesterday where I was waxed and prepped for today.

When my touch-up was complete, a slave handler whisked me in for my slave photos for entry into the national registry, once again skipping to the front of the line. My pussy was all tingly and dripping as I decided to enjoy bringing out my inner slave slut posing for the photos. I only recall one or two photos where my face was in the picture.

In one face picture, if you want to call it that, I was on my back with my legs behind shoulders held in place by my arms looking into the camera posing my sultry “come fuck me” look with my cunt and ass lewdly on display, pussy juice leaking down onto my puckered starburst. Did I mention that as a dancer and a ballerina I am very flexible? Then I rolled over for my ass shots onto my hands and knees, face on the ground, pulling myself open for the photographer.

“You have the wettest, drippiest cunt I have seen in months,” the cute twenty something photographer proclaimed.

“I bet you tell that to all the slave girls, Master,” I giggled, getting into character as a mindless pleasure slut in heat.

Silently wishing he would just drop his pants and fuck this horny pleasure slut, I could not believe how aroused I was wanting him to impale me with his hard cock. What was wrong with me?

Next thing I know he got his close ups of my spread open pussy and asshole and we were done, leaving my slave heat unsated. I wondered if Calum would enjoy the show I put on for the photographer when he saw the video.

Bobby quickly gagged me again and led me to the grading center where there was another coffle of girls lined up to go in for grading. He directed me to kneel at the end of the line of girls and attached my leash to the girl in front of me.

“Stay here, an official grader will come get you when they are ready,” he directed. Obviously, he was joking, I thought—I was gagged, cuffed, and leashed, so how could I go anywhere?

Literally minutes later, a cute bubbly twenty something brown-haired woman collected me wearing a pink polo shirt with the Big D logo identifying her as a Slave Grader. She unhooked me from the coffle, directed me to stand and checked my ear tag and SIN number.

“Lot 3927, I am Mandy, a certified and licensed slave grader. I will be conducting your slave grading today,” she advised.

Removing my bite gag, Mandy gave me a drink of water while continuing her introduction.

“We are going through your grading now in this order, blood draw and urine sample, slave yoga, body measurements, heat and fluid evaluation and the Vet will check you out. Do you have any special slave yoga positions in your block routine that you want me to incorporate?” she asked.

“I have a pirouette to tilt move that I use for my boyfriend,” I advised.

That had not been part of my game plan for my slave grading today. What possessed me to disclose THAT move I wondered as my pussy continued to tingle out of control.

“Ok, at the end of the slave yoga I will bring you to ‘stand’ and then command ‘tilt’ and you do your thing and then I will bring you to ‘present’. Let’s go,” as she led me into the grading bay.

Amelia had really come through for me by purchasing the Deluxe Reality slave-grading package and I guess the Any Chance auction I thought. I still had serious reservations about being sold on the auction block, even if the winning bid would not be accepted. It seemed that at every stop I was pulled to the front of the line and quickly processed through contrary to what I had expected. At the rate my slave grading was going I might be done before lunchtime.

The Big D was currently in category Pussy Premium Red (severe Prime pleasure slut shortage) for the auction this afternoon. A large shipment of slave girls was scheduled to arrive late this afternoon so all potentially available slaves were being expedited for this afternoon’s auction on Broadway at 2:00 pm. The Whiny Girl from the pussy post was getting the same treatment whenever I saw her. I figured her mother must have gotten her spoiled daughter the Deluxe Reality package with the Any Chance auction also.

Once inside the door the grading bay consisted of some preliminary stations and then a row of twenty-four grading stations all facing into the Big D shopping mall and food court with a railing two yards away from the grading stations that kept the public back. It started just like going into a doctor’s office, height, weight, blood pressure and temperature. Then off to the labs where a phlebotomist drew a blood sample for testing. Mandy then handed me a urine sample cup.

“Take this cup over to that grate in the floor in front of the railing, put the cup on the grate, facing the crowd, squat over the cup, fill it and stand. If you have more pee, once I have picked up the cup squat back down with your hands behind your head and finish. Stay in that position until I wipe you down, go now,” she directed.

Wanting to please her, I obediently walked over to the grate with my pussy tingling and blushing a deeper color of red than my hair; I put the cup down and squatted down while facing the crowd.

"This hot piece of tail is a carrot crotch," commented an older male voice as I squatted over the grate.

"Never heard that one before Dad. She sure has a hot pussy though," replied a younger voice.

"Carrot crotch refers to a woman with natural red hair," explained his father.

“That phrase is so old school Dad. Now we call a red haired carpet a ginger nookie, fire crotch, burning bush or a firecracker cooter,” responded the son.

I thought I heard Pixie Girl’s voice. I saw her looking intently at me from the crowd with her hand moving under her skirt in a manner that could only mean she was in the act of self-gratification. The sexual exhilaration of this place was having an effect on her also, fueling her arousal.

When Mandy picked up the cup, I put my hands behind my head, squatted back down and finished whereupon Mandy took a cloth and cleaned my legs and vagina. The dehumanizing way these men were describing me was igniting my slave heat. The whole time Pixie Girl and I stared into each other’s eyes.

"Most slave girls are kept bald down below but when selling a woman, you can determine their natural hair color by their pubic hair. For this one the carpet matches the curtains," advised the father.

“You mean the rug matches the drapes,” laughed the son.

I was already aroused after wanting the photographer to impale me. The humiliation of exposing myself while peeing in front of a crowd coupled by the guest commentary and Pixie Girl lustfully staring into my eyes fueled my slave heat.

Suddenly Pixie Girl had a faraway look in her eyes, biting her lip as she shuddered while her mother watched on with a bemused look on her face. I easily came with her when Mandy wiped my cunt, lingering on my clit a little too long as she played to the crowd. The whole time the crowd was jeering and cheering during my performance amplifying my arousal.

“Oh my god! She came squatting over the pee grate. What a tramp,” Pixie Girl squealed in delight trying to conceal her own climax. When she pulled her hand out from under her skirt it glistened with pussy juice and she blushed when her mother casually handed her a Palmpalm antibacterial alcohol wipe.

“Now that’s what I call a fire crotch,” chuckled the father.

“Nah, that’s a firecracker cooter due to its combustibility,” laughed the son as Pixie Girl looked worriedly at them thinking she had been caught until it dawned upon her that they were referring to me.

“Let’s watch the rest of her grading,” suggested the father.

Mandy led me over to the slave yoga demonstration site, drawing a crowd of spectators including Pixie Girl, her mother and my father and son fans. My pussy tingled and dripped as I began the show. Mandy ran me through a series of positions; present, squat, slave kneel, slave fours, roll over, and display. I gracefully moved through them instinctively responding to her commands while chanting appropriate mantras with accompanying facial expressions. My cunt was wet and leaking for the entire performance. Finally, Mandy ordered, “Stand” followed by “Tilt.”

Facing the crowd, I raised my right leg 180 degrees from my left leg with the knee bent toes on my right foot pointing to the ground. Still blushing profusely holding my arms over my head I then straightened my right leg until the toe pointed to the ceiling, my wet cunt and ass lewdly exposed.

With my right hand I grabbed my right foot holding the position when Mandy walked up to me running two fingers from her right hand through my dripping pussy lips. She scooped my cunt cream, then turned to the crowd holding up her wet juice covered fingers. She put the slick fingers in her mouth sucking off my juices, pulled them out and ran her tongue up and down her fingers to get any last drops to the roar of the crowd.

“Stunningly beautiful, graceful, dripping wet and she tastes good too,” she announced with a big smile.

“Stand,” she ordered and I returned my leg to the ground.

The rest of the grading was a blur. Mandy took body measurements using a measuring tape and a caliper. Then she strapped me into the table and spread my legs wide open for the crowd, lewdly displaying my juices dripping from my slit onto my winking browneye as I was panting on the verge of yet another orgasm during the entire time. Mandy used a series of different devices running them over my vagina and then probing both my vagina and anus. She stepped aside. The Vet quickly examined my vagina and we were done.

Mandy unstrapped me and stood me up, attached a leash to my collar as she ordered me to wave to the crowd and started leading me to the exit. I felt like Miss America walking down the runway as I waved to the cheering crowd all the way to the exit where she secured my hands in handcuffs behind my back.

After giving me a drink of water, Mandy excitedly showed me my profile on her iPad. The Public Display portion of my slave grading on the Big D slave profile read as follows:

Name: Allison Stevens
Status: For Sale -- Rush Processing Pussy Premium Red -- Debt Repossession
Slave Identification Number: US-ILS81-X9Z3
Lot number CZ-3927
Grade: Pending
Age: 22
Height: 5'7"
Weight 109 lbs.
Body measurements: 33-24-32
Bra size: 30C
Dress Size: 2
Hair: Red
Eyes: Deep blue
Body Fat: 18%
Slave Yoga Grade: A
Slave Heat: 98th percentile
Pussy Moisture: 99th percentile

Education: Bachelors of Fine Arts Dance, University of Texas, Austin. Three years participation in the Joffrey Ballet School Trainee program in New York City

Other Grader Comments: A redhead with blue eyes is the rarest hair and eye color combination. Extremely graceful and fluid moving through slave yoga positions. Magnificently shaped firm ass on a very fit toned yet feminine body. Very obedient and easily embarrassed; demonstrates all of the characteristics of a natural submissive.

“You are doing great. You might be my first Prime grade!” she exclaimed animatedly. Pulling out a can of Devox she said, “Open wide, I am going to spray this down your throat so you will not be able to talk for your public display. Remember to smile and nod, do not get upset when being groped, we will watch to make sure you are not abused. You are so aroused and wet I fully expect you to stay that way throughout this part of the grading. So just sit back and enjoy the rest of the process, the hard part is over,” she advised.

My cunt was on tingle overdrive when I saw that my profile had me available for sale. I needed to thank Amelia for the Deluxe Reality grading package that she had purchased. It was truly ratcheting up my arousal level feeling as if I really was up for sale being rushed to meet an auction deadline.

Mandy took me out onto the display floor, attached my feet to cuffs in the ground about two feet apart, secured my wrists in cuffs attached to a wire that ran up into the ceiling above my head. When she pushed a tab on her iPad my hands were pulled up over my head leaving my whole body on display, unable to move.

While I hung there on display for two hours I had time to reflect. What would it be like to really be sold on the auction block as a pleasure slut slave with no control over her fate? Actually living the uncertainty of not knowing who my master would be. Would he be cruel or kind? How would he sexually use my body for his pleasure? Would a bordello purchase me as a sex toy for clients? What would that really be like?

Part of me hated Amelia for doing this to me, forcing me to really examine my true feelings about slavery while I was also so deeply aroused by this prospect. Why was I so turned on right now?

The first people through were a bunch of young gawkers who pawed on me incessantly. One young man gave my clit a hard massage, sending me over the edge into a back-arching climax to everyone’s amusement. Little did they know that I was deep in thought contemplating my future life as a pleasure slut slave. This was becoming too real; even though I knew I was not going to be sold as a slave.

The father son tandem were back. It turned out that the father was a slave trader giving his son some on the job training evaluating the slave livestock. The father gently but firmly hefted my breasts and squeezed my already erect nipples, sending more tingles to my clit.

Looking over his shoulder I noticed Pixie Girl and her mother intently watching these men evaluate my attributes as slave pussy livestock available for sale. Once again Pixie Girl’s right hand was under her skirt, although this time I could not detect any movement. With her left hand she was holding onto her mother’s right hand.

“This is one fine piece of slave pussy son. Notice the shape and firmness of her breasts, the nipples are hard as diamonds. Her skin is not extremely pale meaning she can tan and spend time in the sun without burning,” lectured the father.

“The freckles are really nice, not too many or too few,” added the son.

“You can examine her body to evaluate her. Open your mouth for me honey,” the father directed.

When I opened my mouth he pulled my lips back examining my teeth like a horse. Why was this causing my pussy to leak like a sieve?

“Perfect teeth and no cavities. Her breath even smells good. Speaking of odors, can you smell her slave heat just standing next to her? I want you to gently feel her attributes and then check her for slave heat and moisture,” directed the father.

The young man started on my breasts massaging them, then lightly running his fingers on them until he arrived at my nipples. Instead of squeezing them he lightly ran his fingertips over my nipples sending shivers down my spine to my pussy as I moaned in pleasure. God that felt good!

Pixie Girl’s free hand started moving slowly under her skirt while her mother’s nipples were now protruding prominently.

“Willard Turner, how are you doing?” I heard the voice of another older man.

“Ed, good to see you. This is my son Bret, just finished his sophomore year at UT and he is learning part of the family business. Bret, this is my old friend Ed Jones,” announced Willard.

“Nice to meet you Sir. We were just evaluating this piece of slave pussy,” advised Bret.

“Ed is an old hand at this and can give you some unbiased feedback when you are done. Get to it,” directed Willard.

Bret continued his evaluation running his hands down my stomach to my mons; moving his hands to my ass as he stepped behind me. He squatted down behind me, pulling my cheeks apart and blew on my asshole. When I felt that breeze, I swear my rosebud winked at him as I groaned loudly in frustration followed by a sympathy moan from Pixie Girl that caught Ed’s attention.

Bret moved in front of me while he gently worked a finger into my pussy and pulled it out. Looking me in the eye he put his finger in his mouth and sucked my juices off as I whimpered in frustration badly needing relief even though I just had an orgasm fifteen minutes ago.

“So what do you think?” asked Ed.

“Mr. Jones, she is Prime or Prime Plus. She has a beautiful face, her blue eyes and red hair combination are extremely rare, her body is incredible from her breasts, to her ab crack, her natural thigh gap, a nice smattering of freckles on her face and body and a spectacular ass. She is extremely responsive with a nice soft and extremely moist pussy, good teeth and her pussy tastes delicious,” described the son in a monotone delivery much the way he would describe a car or computer for sale.

“Good job. Now watch and learn,” directed Ed as he stepped in front of me.

Ed put his finger into my molten pussy, pulled it out and then started circling around my clit. I started pushing my pelvis forward trying to connect my clit to his finger chasing yet another orgasm. Pixie Girl stared intently at me, her hand moving with greater urgency under her skirt as she clutched her mother’s hand.

Ed slowly pulled his finger away and I arched my back, standing on my toes, chasing contact with his finger until I could go no further with his finger unmoving on my clit as I moaned in frustration. Pixie Girl continued staring at me while feverishly working her hand while arching her back, almost mimicking my movements. Natasha had a bemused smirk on her face as she noticed her daughter’s back arching slightly while the crowd focused on me.

“Slut, if you want to cum you will have to massage your devil’s doorbell on my finger. I will hold it steady making contact but you need to do all the work. You only have a few minutes and then I am leaving,” Ed chuckled.

My slave heat ignited as I frantically humped his finger with my clit, somehow arching my back even further increasing the pressure of his finger on my nub. True to his word he held it steady as I desperately rubbed my clit on his finger striving for more friction on my nub to push me over the edge until I exploded in a frenzy on his finger moaning in pleasure with a smile of satisfaction on my face, the whole time watching Pixie Girl frantically service herself trying to catch up with me. I may even have squirted some dew when I erupted on his finger.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” squealed Pixie Girl as she joined me in orgasmic bliss erupting all over her hand, back arching slightly when her climax started. Soon she was bent forward somewhat at the waist, subtly shuddering in her frenzy, still clutching her mother’s hand. Once again the crowd’s attention was on me while her performance went unnoticed. All the while her mother looked on, shaking her head in amazement.

The applause and laughter of the audience that had gathered around me brought me back to my senses as it did for the now blushing Pixie Girl. Recovering from this intense orgasm I realized exactly how wanton a display I put on for everyone who observed it. The humiliation of what I had just done enveloped me as I realized exactly how much I looked like the needy little pleasure slut chasing orgasmic pleasure like my life depended on it as I discarded any shred of my remaining human dignity.

Natasha handed Pixie Girl another Palmpalm antibacterial alcohol wipe to clean her hand with. While Pixie Girl took care of business Natasha leaned down and appeared from a distance to be whispering in Pixie Girl’s ear. From the expression on both their faces it did not appear that Natasha was particularly pleased with her daughter’s recent behavior. Suddenly it dawned upon me that I was the only person besides Natasha to witness the masturbation.

“Good slut,” chuckled Ed as he sucked my juices off his finger while I recovered.

“That was really awe-inspiring Mr. Jones,” exclaimed a clearly impressed Bret.

“Son, that maneuver is what we in the business call the ‘Midas Touch’. When slave pussy reacts like this one did demonstrating the intensity of her slave heat she is golden,” laughed Willard.

“This slave pussy is clearly a Prime. I watched how she responded when you were lightly touching her nipples and the way she chased that last orgasm just demonstrates her responsiveness and the intensity of her slave heat. Once her slave mind takes over after obedience school and she gets trained at either Venus or Pearson’s, this pleasure slut will make some master a very happy man,” explained Ed, while I blushed in embarrassment listening to the men discuss my attributes like I was a piece of meat or a car.

“Bret, why don’t you check out that brunette strung up over there”—he was referring to Whiny Girl. “Ed and I will give you some more pointers,” advised Willard as he and his son walked away.

“I’ll catch up with you guys,” said Ed, pointing towards Sandy while glancing at Pixie Girl.

Ed suddenly eased over to Natasha and Pixie Girl with a knowing grin on his face. Trying to be discreet he engaged them in conversation as Pixie Girl finished cleaning her hand with the Palmpalm wipe.

“Young lady, you got a serious hitch in your get-along with that behavior in the public display section in a slave market while wearing a leather choker. That is not something that free women do,” Ed chuckled, while Pixie Girl just stood there blushing.

Natasha had a horrified look on her face looking around to see if anyone else noticed finally resting her eyes on me.

Turning towards Natasha he said, “Your daughter has a calling for the collar. I can tell. Just like I can tell that you’ve worn a collar, Ma’am. May I be of assistance finding you a good buyer for her?”

“Honey, go test Sandy’s slave heat and try to make her cum. Play nice, like you would want to be treated. Remember, next week that will be you strung up naked on display,” directed Natasha, pointing towards Sandy.

Pixie Girl’s eyes lit up when she saw her former babysitter’s predicament, the ever ebullient teen quickly hurrying over to Sandy. Fascinated, I watched Pixie Girl’s small hands manipulating Sandy’s prodigious breasts. Pixie Girl started gently massaging one breast with both hands, and then the other, while Sandy once again blushed red from her face to her chest from the touch of the teen that she used to babysit. Soon Pixie Girl was in a trance as her hands were gently massaging Sandy’s nipples as her former baby-sitter became flushed with excitement as she moaned in arousal, her large nipples as hard as diamonds. Pixie Girl’s efforts, coupled with Sandy’s response, soon drew a crowd of onlookers.

Then some other slave traders examined me as if I was really for sale, even checking my teeth again, and of course testing my cunt for moisture, inputting information on their iPads all while I listened in on Ed’s conversation with Natasha.

“My husband and I obtained a Preventative Enslavement Emergency Protective Order (EPO) for Becky the week before her eighteenth birthday to shield her from her slave tendencies that we observed during her senior year of high school,” explained Natasha as she watched her daughter work over Sandy’s breasts.

“A wise move getting that EPO,” responded Ed. “Most parents fail to recognize the danger until it is too late.”

"Senior year she became president of her school book club, turning it into a slave romance novel reading circle for girls. Her classmates voted her the most likely to wear a collar this year in the yearbook. The truly scary part was when she proudly announced it at the dinner table like it was a real honor. She is an "A" student in school, taking AP classes, a concert quality pianist, but became totally immersed in unrealistic slave fantasies. She even received a 100% on her slave yoga final last week after practicing naked for hours every night. Now I have to replace the carpet in her room due to the noxious pussy juice odors and stains, "exclaimed Natasha.

I continued to listen to their conversation as yet another slave trader checked my honey pot for moisture. It had remained a leaking sieve the entire time I was on display. Stepping behind me he started using my juices to lubricate my back door, working one and then two fingers up past my sphincter.

“Not an anal virgin,” he chuckled in my ear as I blushed in embarrassment thinking of the times Calum used my ass while I played his little slave girl.

"Then I found an entry in her diary where she described a plan to come to the Big D to voluntarily indenture shortly after her 18th birthday with another of her friends from the book club. She was accepted into Yale, Stanford and MIT. The foolish girl was going to throw it all away chasing a ridiculous slave girl fantasy," sighed Natasha.

“Self-Enslavement Syndrome is extremely rare, but every time I see it in a young woman it shocks me. I can sense her smoldering slave heat, her natural submissiveness, but I did not pick up on her condition,” exclaimed Ed.

“Now that Becky is technically a slave while the EPO remains in place she started masturbating in public because she knows as a slave this behavior is permissible. She demonstrates some discretion and is good at concealing her actions but as you can see she does not have any restraint when the mood catches her,” sighed Natasha.

“I have been observing your daughter. Becky is a beautiful, ebullient, graceful and captivating young woman who demonstrates a fun, mischievous attitude towards life. From what I can see, and I have been doing this over thirty years, she has a tight little body and more than enough slave heat to score in the Prime range next week,” appraised Ed. “Do not worry about the Self-Enslavement Syndrome hurting her grade, if anything it could lead to a higher score.”

“Thank you, I will take that as a compliment under the circumstances,” smiled Natasha graciously, with a relieved look on her face.

“What happened to her friend?” inquired Ed.

“She ended up a slave in a harem in Dubai. Her grandfather had the brilliant idea of getting her an Any Chance auction and when trying to cancel the sale on his smartphone accidently hit the ‘sell’ button,” said Natasha, shaking her head in disgust.

“All sales are final,” commented Ed.

“Right. The poor girl’s mother was fit to be tied when she found out. Right now she and her husband are planning a trip to Dubai to try and get her daughter returned. There is a pending lawsuit against the Big D and the app developer,” sighed Natasha.

Pixie Girl now had two fingers from her left hand inside Sandy’s pussy massaging her G spot while methodically manipulating her clit with the other hand. Poor Sandy was withering on the edge of orgasm moaning in need. It was clear that Pixie Girl was in no hurry to push Sandy over the edge into a frenzy.

“She is acting like kid in a candy store here,” grinned Ed.

“Standing in the display room brings back memories of being sold right here at the Big D over twenty years ago. I recall the utter terror of not knowing my fate, being pawed by strangers while strung up on display all the while the sexual exhilaration of this place fueling my slave heat,” sighed Natasha, trying to change the topic.

“You graded in the Prime range I suspect,” grinned Ed.

“Prime Minus, and I proudly wear the Big D brand on my left cheek letting the world know that I am a Sandy Foot Girl,” exclaimed Natasha proudly.

“I thought so,” smiled Ed.

“My husband knows that all he has to do to ignite my slave heat is too lightly trace his fingertips along my brands. Gets me going every time.”

“Many men like fondling the brands on their slaves,” chuckled Ed.

“You never forget the distinctive smell and feel of the sand between your toes and on your body on Broadway when performing your block routine. The gavel coming down as the auctioneer yells SOLD! To this day I remember the orgasm I had, laying on my back squirting in the sand like it was just yesterday,” groaned Natasha.

“She’s about to blow,” chuckled Ed, nodding in Sandy’s direction.

Sure enough, Pixie Girl had performed her own version of the Midas touch, pushing Sandy over the edge into a back arching, body shuddering, massive explosion of orgasmic bliss. Sandy even squirted a little on Pixie Girl’s hands.

Pixie Girl had a big, look what I did, grin on her face as she skipped back over to Ed and Natasha. For a moment there I thought she was going to offer Ed a taste of Sandy’s juices from her fingers. Natasha promptly handed Pixie Girl yet another Palmpalm antibacterial alcohol wipe to clean her hands with while talking to Ed.

“I was one of the lucky ones avoiding the horrors of being used as a pleasure slut slave. My owners purchased me as a consort for their son, sending me to Broadstone for training. We eventually fell in love getting married. My life could not have turned out better. The training I received at Broadstone shaped me into a stronger, more confident woman,” smiled Natasha.

“Mom, are you and Daddy planning on sending me to Broadstone this summer?” inquired Pixie Girl.

“Honey, we haven't decided yet. Remember we go to court in two weeks, after your slave grading next week, to discuss your Protective Enslavement with the Judge. Dr. Nikki Sheldon will have her recommendation for the judge by then,” answered Natasha, sounding like she was talking to a child, not a young woman that was accepted into MIT, Stanford and Yale.

“Well, it looks like you do not need my assistance then. Out of curiosity, when would you plan on matching her with her future master?” Asked Ed.

“Probably after she graduates from college when she is more mature and better understands the ramifications of being paired with her future husband. We will likely have her participating in Broadstone’s summer concubine program while attending college,” answered Natasha as she noticed me following the conversation as yet another slave trader checked my oil.

One professional trader told another that I was up for sale at the 2:00 p.m. auction as they examined me. I thought, “Boy they really do a good job making it seem real for you when you have the Deluxe Reality grading package,” as my pussy tingled, gushing more cunt cream on his fingers as he explored my pussy.

Natasha walked up to me, looking me in the eye asking, “Were you listening in on my conversation?”

I nodded yes.

“Good, I really hope you learned something. Based on my experience, if you are lucky you may end up at Broadstone. It saved my life. If given the opportunity, take it, you will become part of an elite sisterhood that takes care of their own,” she kindly advised with a knowing look in her eyes as she gently ran her fingers through my hair.

Natasha took Pixie Girl’s hand and steered her out of the display area. Pixie Girl turned and waved goodbye to me as her mother led her away.

"Mom, what's a Spinner? I overheard a man tell his friend I was a Spinner, born to wear a collar. What did he mean?" I overheard Pixie Girl ask, as they walked away.

Listening to Natasha gave me more to contemplate while hanging there. I tried to imagine the utter terror that Natasha felt not knowing her fate, strung up on display while being pawed for hours by strangers. The sexual exhilaration of this place was fueling my slave heat just as it had hers back then. I wondered what this Broadstone School was and what kind of parent obtained a Protective Enslavement order for a child. After observing Pixie Girl’s behavior I could see that there was some logic to the concept.

When you are strung up on display for two hours you have plenty of time to reflect on your life. Natasha’s comment that Broadstone shaped her into a stronger, more confident woman struck a chord with me. My problem as a dancer was a lack of confidence, not talent. I simply choked in front of large audiences or during auditions.

Whenever I accompanied Calum to large social engagements I always clung to his arm, not wanting to be left to my own devices. The truth was that these events intimidated me, I dreaded being on my own engaging total strangers in conversation. Early in our relationship we became separated at one of these events and Amelia rescued me. In hindsight she always seems to find me when I become separated from Colum, involving me in the group conversation, always making sure I am actively engaged in the event. How was she always so poised, ready for any situation that might arise?

My limited understanding of slave schools was that they trained slaves, especially pleasure sluts, to be docile and compliant, relying on their master for any and all guidance. Pleasure sluts did not make decisions, they existed to entertain their masters immediately obeying every request, regardless of how small, trivial, painful or disgusting. So how did a school designed to instill obedience and subservience also make Natasha strong and confident? And how does this elite sisterhood take care of their own if they are slaves? Could the techniques applied at Broadstone be used to help me with my confidence and make me a better woman, fiancée and wife?

So much for deep thoughts. Being strung up on display like a slave for sale had me fondly reliving one of my favorite slave girl episodes with Calum. One evening I had dinner all laid out on the table when he arrived home. I greeted Calum, or should I say my master, using my best slave speak, wearing only my favorite sexy black leather choker featuring grommet detailing, O-ring accents, and a long front black leather tassels, on my knees lewdly displaying my sopping wet pussy, informing master that dinner was served while this slave was available to meet any of master’s immediate needs.

Master was hungry so we proceeded with the meal but with a twist as my master sat his little slave upon his lap and proceeded to feed both of us. He would cut the steak into bite size pieces feeding himself using a fork. When he fed me he used his fingers making his slave lick her master’s fingers clean. Picking up a piece of broccoli or a mushroom with his fingers he would place the food into my open mouth. My master fed his slave what he wanted, when he wanted, throughout the entire meal. It was simply one of the most erotic experiences of my life leading to some of the best sex ever.

With our appetites sated I stood to clear the table when master noticed that my pussy juice had leaked all over his thigh, soaking through his pants. That led to a bare fanny spanking with tears streaming down my cheeks while also inflaming my slave heat. What followed was a passionate session of slave sex in our bed. This slave was honored with many orgasms, a deposit of my master’s sperm in this slave’s slave cunt and another deposit in this slave’s slave hole during which I actually had two anal orgasms.

Now I wondered what life would be like if I was sold at auction to Calum as his slave while yet another slave trader tweaked my nipples and checked my pussy for slave heat. I almost came yet again wishing he would ring my doorbell.

Breaking me from my thoughts, Mandy released me when my time was up, securing my hands behind my back in handcuffs and attaching a leash to my collar. She took me into a corridor, sprayed my throat with the Devox antidote and gave me some water to help get my voice back.

“Wow! That was one hell of display of out of control slave heat in there. Great job of selling yourself as a horny pleasure slut,” excitedly exclaimed Mandy. “Slowly drink the whole bottle of water please. It will help with the Devox.”

When I finished the water Mandy looked at her iPad.

“Good news, you scored a Prime rating, great job, you should be so proud of yourself and you are my first Prime,” she breathlessly cooed.

“Thank you for your help, Mistress,” I gushed in a raspy voice while smiling happily.

Mandy had been wonderful guiding me through my grading while bringing out the horny pleasure slut in slave heat in me. I don’t know what it is about this place but, I was still a leaking sieve needing sexual relief even after cumming twice while on display. It was hard trying to talk as the Devox antidote restored my ability to speak again. After re-checking my slave grade Mandy secured the bite gag back in my mouth.

Mandy was running her fingers gently through my hair when a sad expression came over her face. I wondered what could be wrong.

“Now for the bad news. You have been repo’d, your Any Chance auction has been revoked and you are scheduled for auction this afternoon where you will be sold for five years. This is for real; it is not part of the Deluxe Reality package. I did not want to tell you until your grading was complete to avoid upsetting you during your performance. Bobby here will take you to a room where our management will explain what happened and how they are proceeding. I truly hope a good kind master buys you,” Mandy advised as she handed my leash to the slave handler who led me down a corridor.

“I figured you were too fine a piece of slave pussy to be going home today. The only way a Prime pleasure slut like you leaves the Big D is collared, cuffed, gagged and in a poodle cage,” laughed Bobby as led me back into the bowels of the Big D slave market.

I was in shock. Where was Amelia and how had this happened? Was I really going to be sold? I was quickly enveloped with dread. The fear of actually being sold as a slave terrified me. Or was this part of the Deluxe Reality Package and the Any Chance auction promotion? The uncertainty heightened my arousal with my cunt tingling on overdrive now as I actively wondered what was really wrong with me.

(To be continued)

Once again I want to thank Carl for kindly editing this story.

[Mr. Smith]

Any feedback on the changes is appreciated. Did including the Self-Enslavement Syndrome concept detract from the story?  I was trying to use it to explain the slave tendencies justifying a Protective Enslavement EPO after Gary started the discussion on that topic.  Was Pixie Girl masturbating in the Big D over the top?  I am concerned that the syndrome and her masturbation made the story seem unrealistic, but then again this is a legal slavery society.  

[jeepster]

Love the story so far! It seemed to flow very well.

[Arcadian]

Great ideas in this revision.
Look forward to part 3.

[Carl Bradford]

Heartfelt congratulations on your literotica debut. yesterday. Wishing you great success - you have put a lot of work into your story and I'm glad it is now available to a wider audience.

Hooked6

[Mr. Smith]

(This story arc takes place in an alternative reality where legal slavery exists in the United States as depicted in the stories by Joe Doe, Carl Bradford, Gentlemanmariner and a number of others. Joe graciously allowed me to use the Big D slave market for this story so long as I avoided killing or maiming any of his characters which I somehow managed to avoid along with not burning down the place. I also want to thank Carl for editing much of my work, which greatly improved the final product while also allowing me to incorporate some of his characters, particularly Dr. Nicola Sheldon, and institutions in my stories. All persons enslaved, involved in slavery operations, or described in explicit sex scenes are aged 18 years or older. Feedback in the form of comments is greatly appreciated.)

Bobby led me behind the counter to the SIN tattoo station and started setting it up, inputting my personal information into the machine.

“Did you know that about a third of the Any Chance bids are accepted? According to our client satisfaction surveys less than five percent of the clients intend to accept the bids but almost thirty-four percent accept them. Do you really trust your mother-in-law?” asked Bobby as he removed my bite gag.

“Yes, I trust Amelia, Master,” I replied.

That question itself planted a seed of doubt in my mind that I quickly shook off. My relationship with Amelia was strong. She had been there for me when my mother passed away quickly filling a void left by my mother’s death. We had grown close, with Amelia becoming something of a hybrid between the mother I had lost and the sister I never had. Most importantly I trusted her implicitly.

“Last month a man brought in his MILF for a slave grading update and Any Chance auction to set her value as collateral for a home loan. She was Prime with Venus Academy training. Unbeknownst to her he had videotaped her in an orgy with the pool boy and the gardeners. She was doing her block routine with that video playing on the screen above her the whole time,” explained Bobby.

Bobby pulled my lip down and the machine quickly imprinted my SIN on the inside of my lower lip while he continued his story.

“The video demonstrated that she could enthusiastically swallow a sword and really enjoyed DPs and even an air-tight. I mean that was one talented slutty MILF and the auctioneer played to it to drive up her price. Everyone recognized the Venus Academy brand on her right ass cheek and her sexual skills definitely exceeded what you would expect from a Venus graduate. She didn’t need any more training if you know what I mean,” chuckled Bobby.

With my SIN tattooed on the inside of my bottom lip, Bobby pulled me away from the machine and then took the gag, securing it back in my mouth. The whole time he chatted about this slutty MILF.

“So the final bid came in really high and the auctioneer announced, ‘This is an Any Chance sale and the time starts now’ and before they got her off the auction block the bid was accepted. The auctioneer then announced that the bid had been accepted to the applause of the crowd. The look of shock on the MILF’s face was priceless,” laughed Bobby.

Why was Bobby telling me this story? Why was my pussy tingling as I listened to how this woman’s husband betrayed her into five years of slavery? Hearing about these women that walked into the Big D expecting to walk out free women and instead ended up enslaved should have horrified me. Instead of just being terrifying, these stories were also inflaming my arousal. What was wrong with me?

“Then the MILF put up a struggle with the wranglers who collar shocked her, knocking her out to the laughter of the crowd. She came too strapped to the branding bench as the blacksmith burned the Big D logo into her left buttock. That was why I asked if you trusted your mother-in-law,” chortled Bobby.

“First stop, the cattle wash, need to get rid of that pussy post stench and get you all dolled up for sale,” he said, with a knowing look in his eyes. He grabbed my leash and led me down a hallway into the bowels of the Big D.

Amelia was right, I was not playing anymore, this was real and I was so aroused. Was I a submissive that needed to break free? How would I know?

We arrived at the cattle wash and my handler attached me to the coffle of slave girls waiting for their cleaning. Almost as soon as I was attached to the coffle, a different handler unhooked me, removed my gag, and took me to the front of the line for cleaning.

With my pussy tingling I was strung up off my feet, hosed down, soaped up with a green shampoo that was nice and gritty and smelled awful. When I was lowered to the ground, my feet were secured to the ground spread far apart and then a gaggle of eighteen-year-old boys went to work with brushes scrubbing my body.

“Need to make sure that we get rid of all of your crotch critters,” announced one young man.

He focused his attention on my ass, cunt and clit quickly honing in on my clit with the brush while jamming two fingers up my ass. I promptly arched my back dropping a big climax critter on him with a loud, “Yes!”

They untied me and directed me to bend over for my very first ever enema, quickly followed by two more to make sure there were no colon critters hiding within me. They then rinsed me off, blow dried me and handed me off to some women for a brush up consisting of combing out my hair and applying a little makeup. Once again, I needed to thank Amelia for the pre-grading beauty salon trip yesterday where I was waxed and prepped for today.

When my touch-up was complete, a slave handler whisked me in for my slave photos for entry into the national registry, once again skipping to the front of the line. My pussy was all tingly and dripping as I decided to enjoy bringing out my inner slave slut posing for the photos. I only recall one or two photos where my face was in the picture.

In one face picture, if you want to call it that, I was on my back with my legs behind shoulders held in place by my arms looking into the camera posing my sultry “come fuck me” look with my cunt and ass lewdly on display, pussy juice leaking down onto my rosebud. Did I mention that as a dancer and a ballerina I am very flexible? Then I rolled over for my ass shots onto my hands and knees, face on the ground, pulling myself open for the photographer.

“You have the wettest, drippiest cunt I have seen in months,” the cute twenty something photographer proclaimed.

“I bet you tell that to all the slave girls, Master,” I giggled, getting into character as a mindless pleasure slut in heat.

Silently wishing he would just drop his pants and fuck this horny pleasure slut, I could not believe how aroused I was wanting him to impale me with his hard cock. What was wrong with me? Next thing I know he got his close ups of my spread open pussy and asshole and we were done, leaving my slave heat unsated. I wondered if Calum would enjoy the show I put on for the photographer when he saw the video.

Bobby quickly gagged me again and led me to the grading center where there was another coffle of girls lined up to go in for grading. He directed me to kneel at the end of the line of girls and attached my leash to the girl in front of me.

“Stay here, an official grader will come get you when they are ready,” he directed. Obviously, he was joking, I thought—I was gagged, cuffed, and leashed in the middle of a slave market, so how could I go anywhere?

Literally minutes later, a cute bubbly twenty something brown-haired woman collected me wearing a pink polo shirt with the Big D logo identifying her as a Slave Grader. She unhooked me from the coffle, directed me to stand and checked my ear tag and SIN number.

“Lot 3927, I am Mandy, a certified and licensed slave grader. I will be conducting your slave grading today,” she advised.

Removing my bite gag, Mandy gave me a drink of water while continuing her introduction.

“We are going through your grading now in this order, blood draw and urine sample, slave yoga, body measurements, heat and fluid evaluation and the Vet will check you out. Do you have any special slave yoga positions in your block routine that you want me to incorporate?” she asked.

“I have a pirouette to tilt move that I use for my boyfriend,” I advised.

That had not been part of my game plan for my slave grading today. Then again, neither had being publicly sold at auction. What possessed me to disclose THAT move I wondered as my pussy continued to tingle out of control.

“Ok, at the end of the slave yoga I will bring you to ‘stand’ and then command ‘tilt’ and you do your thing and then I will bring you to ‘present’. Let’s go,” as she led me into the grading bay.

Amelia had really come through for me by purchasing the Deluxe Reality slave-grading package and I guess the Any Chance auction I thought. I still had serious reservations about being sold on the auction block, even if the winning bid would not be accepted. It seemed that at every stop I was pulled to the front of the line and quickly processed through contrary to what I had expected. At the rate my slave grading was going I might be done before lunchtime.

The Big D was currently in category Pussy Premium Red (severe Prime pleasure slut shortage) for the auction this afternoon. A large shipment of slave girls was scheduled to arrive late this afternoon so all potentially available slaves were being expedited for this afternoon’s 2:00 pm sale on the famed Broadway auction block where only Prime slaves were sold. The Whiny Girl from the pussy post was getting the same treatment whenever I saw her. I figured her mother must have gotten her spoiled daughter the Deluxe Reality package with the Any Chance auction also.

Once inside the door the grading bay consisted of some preliminary stations and then a row of twenty-four grading stations all facing into the Big D shopping mall and food court with a railing three yards away from the grading stations that kept the public back. It started just like going into a doctor’s office, height, weight, blood pressure and temperature. Then off to the labs where a phlebotomist drew a blood sample for testing. Mandy then handed me a urine sample cup.

“Take this cup over to that grate in the floor in front of the railing, put the cup on the grate, facing the crowd, squat over the cup, fill it and stand. If you have more pee, once I have picked up the cup, squat back down with your hands behind your head and finish. Stay in that position until I wipe you down, go now,” she directed.

Wanting to please her, I obediently walked over to the grate with my pussy tingling and blushing a deeper color of red than my hair; I put the cup down and squatted down while facing the crowd. The commentary from the audience was difficult to ignore.

"This hot piece of tail is a carrot crotch," commented an older male voice as I squatted over the grate.

"Never heard that one before Dad. She sure has a sizzling pussy though," replied a younger voice.

"Carrot crotch refers to a woman with natural red hair," explained his father.

“That phrase is so old school Dad. Now we call a red haired carpet a ginger nookie, fire crotch, burning bush or a firecracker cooter,” responded the son.

I thought I heard Pixie Girl’s voice as I found her looking intently at me from the crowd. That evil little minx had her hand moving under her skirt in a manner that could only mean she was in the act of self-gratification. The sexual exhilaration of this place was having an effect on her also, fueling her arousal right along with mine.

When Mandy picked up the cup, I put my hands behind my head, squatted back down and finished remaining in position awaiting Mandy’s return. The dehumanizing way these men were describing me was igniting my slave heat. The whole time Pixie Girl and I stared into each other’s eyes adding fuel to the fire.

"Most slave girls are kept bald down below but when selling a woman, you can determine their natural hair color by their pubic hair. For this one the carpet matches the curtains," advised the father.

“You mean the rug matches the drapes,” laughed the son.

I was already aroused after wanting the photographer to impale me. The humiliation of exposing myself while peeing in front of a crowd coupled by the guest commentary and Pixie Girl lustfully staring into my eyes fueled my slave heat. Pushing me to the brink of another orgasm, just needing some stimulation to push me over the edge.

Mandy returned, took a cloth and cleaned my legs while lingering on vagina. I easily came while Mandy wiped my cunt, focusing on my clit a little too long as she played to the audience. Suddenly Pixie Girl had a faraway look in her eyes, biting her lip as she shuddered while her mother watched on with a bemused look on her face. The whole time the crowd was jeering and cheering during my performance amplifying my arousal.

“Oh my god! She came squatting over the pee grate. What a tramp,” Pixie Girl squealed in delight successfully concealing her own climax. When she pulled her hand out from under her skirt it glistened with pussy juice and she blushed when her mother casually handed her a Palmpalm antibacterial alcohol wipe.

“Now that’s what I call a fire crotch,” chuckled the father.

“Nah, that’s a firecracker cooter due to its combustibility,” laughed the son as Pixie Girl looked worriedly at them thinking she had been caught until it dawned upon her that they were referring to me.

“Let’s watch the rest of her grading,” suggested the father.

Mandy led me over to the slave yoga demonstration site, drawing a crowd of spectators including Pixie Girl, her mother and my father and son fans. My pussy tingled and dripped as I began the show. Mandy ran me through a series of positions; present, squat, slave kneel, slave fours, roll over, and display. I gracefully moved through them instinctively responding to her commands while chanting appropriate mantras with accompanying facial expressions. My cunt was wet and leaking for the entire performance. Finally, Mandy ordered, “Stand” followed by “Tilt.”

Facing the crowd, I raised my right leg 180 degrees from my left leg with the knee bent toes on my right foot pointing to the ground. Still blushing profusely holding my arms over my head I then straightened my right leg until the toe pointed to the ceiling, my wet cunt and ass lewdly exposed.

With my right hand I grabbed my right foot holding the position when Mandy walked up to me running two fingers from her right hand through my dripping pussy lips. She scooped my cunt cream, then turned to the crowd holding up her wet juice covered fingers. She put the slick fingers in her mouth sucking off my juices, pulled them out and ran her tongue up and down her fingers to get any last drops to the roar of the crowd.

“Stunningly beautiful, graceful, dripping wet and she tastes good too,” she announced with a big smile.

“Stand,” she ordered and I returned my leg to the ground.

The rest of the grading was a blur. Mandy took body measurements using a measuring tape and a caliper. Then she strapped me into the table and spread my legs wide open for the crowd, lewdly displaying my juices dripping from my slit onto my winking browneye as I was panting on the verge of yet another orgasm during the entire time. Mandy used a series of different devices running them over my vagina and then probing both my vagina and anus. She stepped aside. The Vet quickly examined my vagina and we were done.

Mandy unstrapped me and stood me up, attached a leash to my collar as she ordered me to wave to the crowd and started leading me to the exit. I felt like a newly crowned Miss America walking down the runway as I waved to the cheering crowd all the way to the exit where she secured my hands in handcuffs behind my back.

After giving me a drink of water, Mandy excitedly showed me my profile on her iPad. The Public Display portion of my slave grading on the Big D slave profile read as follows:

Name: Allison Stevens
Status: For Sale -- Rush Processing Pussy Premium Red -- Debt Repossession
Slave Identification Number: US-ILS81-X9Z3
Lot number CZ-3927
Grade: Pending
Age: 22
Height: 5'7"
Weight 109 lbs.
Body measurements: 33-24-32
Bra size: 30C
Dress Size: 2
Hair: Red
Eyes: Deep blue
Body Fat: 18%
Slave Yoga Grade: A
Slave Heat: 98th percentile
Pussy Moisture: 99th percentile

Education: Bachelors of Fine Arts Dance, University of Texas, Austin. Three years participation in the Joffrey Ballet School Trainee program in New York City

Other Grader Comments: A redhead with blue eyes is the rarest hair and eye color combination. Extremely graceful and fluid moving through slave yoga positions. Magnificently shaped firm ass on a very fit toned yet feminine body. Very obedient and easily embarrassed; demonstrates all of the characteristics of a natural submissive.

“You are doing great. You might be my first Prime grade!” she exclaimed animatedly. Pulling out a can of Devox she said, “Open wide, I am going to spray this down your throat so you will not be able to talk for your public display. Remember to smile and nod, do not get upset when being groped, we will watch to make sure you are not abused. You are so aroused and wet I fully expect you to stay that way throughout this part of the grading. So just sit back and enjoy the rest of the process, the hard part is over.”

My cunt was on tingle overdrive when I saw that my profile had me available for sale. I needed to thank Amelia for the Deluxe Reality grading package that she had purchased. It was truly ratcheting up my arousal level feeling as if I really was up for sale being rushed to meet an auction deadline.

Mandy took me out onto the display floor, attached my feet to cuffs in the ground about two feet apart, secured my wrists in cuffs attached to a wire that ran up into the ceiling above my head. When she pushed a tab on her iPad my hands were pulled up over my head leaving my whole body on display, unable to move.

While I hung there on display for two hours I had time to reflect. What would it be like to really be sold on the auction block as a pleasure slut slave with no control over her fate? Actually living the uncertainty of not knowing who my master would be. Would he be cruel or kind? How would he sexually use my body for his pleasure? Would a bordello purchase me as a sex toy for clients? What would that really be like?

Part of me hated Amelia for doing this to me, forcing me to really examine my true feelings about slavery while I was also so deeply aroused by this prospect. Why was I so turned on right now?

The first people through were a bunch of young gawkers who pawed at me incessantly. One young man gave my clit a hard massage, sending me over the edge into a back-arching climax to everyone’s amusement. Little did they know that I was deep in thought contemplating my future life as a pleasure slut slave. This was becoming too real; even though I knew I was not going to be sold as a slave.

Although I could not speak I could hear a number of conversations taking place all around me. Early in my display period seniors in a high school Slave Yoga class were touring the facility to view the slave grading process. There were a couple of mothers with name tags acting as chaperones for these young women even though they were all eighteen.

“It is amazing how many naive teenage girls grow up thinking those slave romance stories are real. There was a girl in my daughter’s class that had it bad. It was that slut Amber, who was in the news for being sold by mistake by her grandfather, she clearly had self-enslavement fantasies,” stated one chaperone named Mindy, according to her name tag.

Having read a number of the erotic slave romance novels I knew what they were talking about. I read my first one when my slave yoga instructor recommended that her students try a few of these books, strongly suggesting we diddle ourselves while reading, to get us into the right frame of mind for our block routines. The books were clearly fantasy so I always substituted Calum for the master in the book which helped with my arousal when reading and while on the block. These books were extremely popular with women, many of whom had secret slave girl fantasies which was fine so long as it was limited to role play or stayed a fantasy.

“There are slave psychologists that are calling this extremely rare phenomenon, where teenager’s act upon their fantasies about becoming a slave, Self-Enslavement Syndrome. Recently it became a recognized mental disorder. These young women voluntarily indenture to live out their unrealistic slave fantasy,” responded a chaperone named Amy.

“Did you guys see the Sixty Minutes segment just last month where Leslie Stahl interviewed Dr. Nikki Sheldon along with those two teenagers and their parents? When both were eighteen they tried to voluntarily indenture for six months together after graduating from high school. One succeeded while the other’s parents had obtained a Protective Enslavement Emergency Protective Order (EPO) and the slave market turned her away,” asked a chaperone whose nametag read Kristine.

“I saw it! That poor girl that was sold ended up in the Whips and Sticks Bordello, a low end, high volume, BDSM brothel, for two months before her parents could rescue her,” exclaimed Amy. “She and her parents clearly outlined how the reality of slavery, especially how being used as a pleasure slut, diverged from her fantasy.”

Calum had teased me about these books when he found them, laughing when I told him it was Slave Yoga homework. That 60 minutes segment terrified me even though I had no interest in becoming a slave. After watching it, I swore off reading any more Hillary Rodham slave romance novels forever and I have not touched one since.

“I thought Dr. Nikki Sheldon did a great job describing the believed origins and symptoms of the disorder that met the slave tendencies requirement for the Protective Enslavement EPO. Especially pointing out that the syndrome generally develops when these impressionable teens start their mandatory Slave Yoga training in high school senior year. For natural submissives, the mental conditioning inherent in Slave Yoga coupled with immersion in the slave romance novels and movies can lead to the development of this syndrome. Dr. Nikki was incredible working with the other girl’s parents to obtain the EPO that saved her,” continued Mindy.

“I really liked the way Dr. Nikki made the distinction between a healthy slave fantasy and the syndrome. Explaining that the majority of women, including herself, have some submissive tendencies which the slave romance can help fill that void. She was so down to earth and relatable, even admitting that she, herself, had ‘indulged’, as she put it. Even giggling that she tended to enjoy the stories with a BDSM theme. Telling parents not to freak out if they catch their daughters indulging in one of these fantasies because it was normal. Clarifying that the danger occurs when the young women start actively planning their enslavement which is when parents need to act quickly,” said Amy.

“Dr. Nikki did a great job covering the warning signs. It was almost like a public service announcement for parents,” said Kristine. “I recorded it and made my daughters watch it again with me as a warning.”

“So did I, after finding a number of those novels in the house. We need the PTA to bring up the issue since the Slave Yoga teachers recommend them to their students,” added Mindy.

“Right, Dr. Nikki advised parents to watch for their girls having a disproportionate fascination with slave romance novels, movies, and TV shows. Excessively masturbating to them in private,” said Amy. “I am so happy that my daughter hated those slave romance novels.”

“She also warned that the little sluts also displayed exhibitionist tendencies and risky behavior to include public nudity and masturbation,” snickered Mindy.

“One highlight for me was Dr. Nikki describing them slave grooming; shaving or waxing their pussies and asses, basically going hairless below the neck like a slave. One clear warning sign she described was using bleaching cream to lighten the color of their anuses. From Leslie Stahl’s reaction to the anal bleaching cream, that was clearly the first time she ever heard of that practice. I hear that really stings,” giggled Amy.

“My daughter heard that her classmate, that Amber slut, was caught by the gym coach bleaching her anus in the girl’s locker room after PE,” snickered Kristine.

“Are you serious,” laughed Amy. “That girl had it bad.”

“Who names their daughter Amber? It is such a slutty slave name right along with Brandy, Tiffany, Crystal, Bambi, Chastity, and Candi,” exclaimed Kristine.

“An Amber is going to be a stripper, porn star or slave. That girl didn’t have a chance,” agreed Amy.

The chaperones were now standing around checking me out, all three started pawing at my body. “It sure was the wrong interview for Leslie to wear that adorable gold choker with the seven inch gold tassels. She started pulling on it and blushing when Dr. Nikki warned that these girls often make a fashion statement wearing chokers, with tassels in front as imaginary collars and leashes,” laughed Mindy as she lightly twisted my nipples. “This one has really nice tits.”

“I wonder if she really does taste good?” giggled Kristine as she fingered my pussy. Holding slimy wet fingers up for all to see. “She really is a sopping wet mess.”

“Are you really going to taste her?” squealed Mindy.

“No, she is NOT tasting her. Our daughters will be crucified at school tomorrow if someone sees one of us test tasting the pussy juice of one of these sluts on display. Here, clean your hand with this sanitary wipe,” directed Amy, pulling a wipe out of her purse.

What was the name Dr. Nikki had for it? When the girls wore short skirts and no panties so they feel the draft of the air on their wet cunts as if they were slave naked? I forgot what she called it?” asked Kristine, while cleaning her hand.

“Slave Breeze,” giggled Mindy

“The interview was intense. The parents that obtained the EPO described following Dr. Nikki’s advice by putting up cameras all over the house. They captured on film their eighteen year old daughter running around naked in the house wearing nothing but her slave yoga training collar when nobody else was home. Masturbating in the kitchen, by the front door and in the backyard. She even tried eating food on her knees once out of a dog bowl in the kitchen emulating how some slaves are fed. The poor girl also displayed all of the classic slave grooming and fashion tendencies. She even rubbed her slave yoga training collar in her wet pussy soaking it in her vaginal fluids,” described Amy.

“Dr. Nikki suggested prohibiting the use of training collars when the girls turn eighteen and the practice of juicing the training collars when practicing at home. The look on Leslie Stahl’s face when Dr. Nikki explained the tradition of ‘Juicing’ was common in Texas where young women often practicing Slave Yoga naked at home would rub their collars in their sopping wet cunts, soaking their pussy juices into the collars adding their distinct aroma to the collar. When training in groups, women would juice their collars in their training partner’s wet snatches soaking up additional vaginal fluids adding to the variety of fragrances emitted from the collars with the goal of developing a strong, overpowering scent that enhances their slave heat,” stated Amy.

“My daughter confessed to juicing her training collar with her friends when they practiced slave yoga together at home while we watched the 60 minutes segment. She claimed that the smell of her collar fueled here slave heat helping her get an ‘A’ in her Slave Yoga final last week,” stated Kristine.

“Our daughters were juicing their collars with each other, regularly trading their collars overnight with each other and different friends for additional juice. She reported that the biggest juicer in their class was that Amber,” sighed Mindy.

“That’s not surprising. I bet Amber slept naked wearing only her training collar just like Dr. Nikki warned to look out for,” responded Kristine. “What did you think of the treatment options?”

“I was surprised when Dr. Nikki recommended as part of the treatment regimen, enslaving and sending the young women through a slave school, so that they could experience some of the negative consequences from enslavement while avoiding the danger of sale to an unknown master or to a place like the Whip and Stick Bordello,” continued Mindy. “I was shocked when she included sending a patient to work at the Ass to Mouth Lounge or similar glory hole establishments as shock therapy that would quickly destroy the fantasy.”

“I’m not. The life of a slave is difficult, and the hardships are best learned in person giving them an education of what slavery is really like. Trust me, the first time they have to orally service a male, or even a female, with really poor hygiene or that tastes like pussy and/or ass, their fantasy ends right there. Having to swallow fifty loads of cum in a day working at one of those places drives home the point. Did you see Dr. Nikki’s patient and her mother blush when the Ass to Mouth Lounge was mentioned?” contended Amy, with a knowing smile. “There is a difference between healthy role playing between consenting adults and what these girls were agreeing to.”

“The scariest part of the story was the self-branding some girls did to themselves or their friends. That girl that made a brand out of a metal hanger had real issues,” sighed Mindy.

“Horrifying,” responded Kristine.

“Did you see that cute blonde spinner with the pixie cut watching this slut paint the pussy post? The one wearing a narrow leather choker and a short skirt. Bet she’s not wearing any panties,” laughed Mindy, as the trio started walking away.

“I saw her and wouldn’t take that bet after listening to Dr. Nikki’s advice. Any girl that dresses like that in a slave market is clearly making a silent plea for help,” snickered Amy, as they walked out of earshot.

While hanging there I recalled the stimulating feeling of the “Slave Breeze” on my very moist kitty one night last month when Calum took me out for dinner. In the car outside the restaurant he dressed me in a black leather choker with long leather tassels that fell down to my breasts. Then he removed my panties telling me that I was his slave girl tonight whom he was taking out to dinner. It was the first, and only time that I ever went out in public going “Commando” as Calum put it. He kept checking my “slave heat” all night, in private or public, in the parking lot, elevator and under the table during our meal. The potential humiliation of being caught while he checked my “slave heat” had me on edge all night.

Thankfully we were in the back of the restaurant in a dark booth. Calum actually fingered me to an intense sloppy wet orgasm during dinner. I had to walk out of the restaurant with a big pussy juice stain; a big wet spot on the back of my skirt. He made me take off my skirt and sit on a towel for the drive home while he periodically checked my “slave heat”. When we got home he disciplined me with a bare fanny spanking for embarrassing him in public for staining my skirt even though he was to blame. Then he had me practice my slave yoga until he was ready to take me to bed. Awesome slave sex that night! Just because I ended up enjoying aspects of that one outing did NOT mean I wanted to end up as a real slave.

The father son tandem were back about twenty minutes later. It turned out that the father was a slave trader giving his son some on the job training evaluating the slave livestock. The father gently but firmly hefted my breasts and squeezed my already erect nipples, sending more tingles to my clit.

Looking over his shoulder I noticed Pixie Girl and her mother intently watching these men evaluate my attributes as slave pussy livestock available for sale. Once again Pixie Girl’s right hand was under her skirt, although this time I could not detect any movement. With her left hand she was holding onto her mother’s right hand.

“This is one fine piece of slave pussy, son. Notice the shape and firmness of her breasts, the nipples are hard as diamonds. Her skin is not extremely pale, meaning she can tan and spend time in the sun without burning,” lectured the father.

“The freckles are really nice, not too many or too few,” added the son.

“You can examine her body to evaluate her. Open your mouth for me honey,” the father directed.

When I opened my mouth he pulled my lips back examining my teeth like a horse. Why was this causing my pussy to leak like a sieve?

“Perfect teeth and no cavities. Her breath even smells good. Speaking of odors, can you smell her slave heat just standing next to her? I want you to gently feel her attributes and then check her for slave heat and moisture,” directed the father.

The young man started on my breasts massaging them, then lightly running his fingers on them until he arrived at my nipples. Instead of squeezing them he lightly ran his fingertips over my nipples sending shivers down my spine to my pussy as I moaned in pleasure. God that felt good!

Pixie Girl’s free hand started moving slowly under her skirt while her mother’s nipples were now protruding prominently.

“Willard Turner, how are you doing?” I heard the voice of another older man.

“Ed, good to see you. This is my son Bret, just finished his sophomore year at UT and he is learning part of the family business. Bret, this is my old friend Ed Jones,” announced Willard.

“Nice to meet you Sir. We were just evaluating this piece of slave pussy,” advised Bret, while referring to me.

“Ed is an old hand at this and can give you some unbiased feedback when you are done. Get to it,” directed Willard.

Bret continued his evaluation running his hands down my stomach to my mons; moving his hands to my ass as he stepped behind me. He squatted down behind me, pulling my cheeks apart and blew on my asshole. When I felt that breeze, I swear my rosebud winked back at him as I groaned loudly in frustration followed by a sympathetic moan from Pixie Girl that caught Ed’s attention.

Bret moved in front of me while he gently worked a finger into my pussy and pulled it out. Looking me in the eye he put his finger in his mouth and sucked my juices off as I whimpered in frustration badly needing relief even though I just had an orgasm thirty minutes ago, it now felt like an eternity.

“So what do you think?” asked Ed.

“Mr. Jones, she is Prime or Prime Plus. She has a beautiful face, her blue eyes and red hair combination are extremely rare, her body is incredible from her breasts, to her ab crack, her natural thigh gap, a nice smattering of freckles on her face and body and a spectacular ass. She is extremely responsive with a nice soft and extremely moist pussy, good teeth and her pussy tastes delicious,” described the son in a monotone delivery much the way he would describe a car or computer for sale.

“Good job. Now watch and learn,” directed Ed with a grin as he stepped in front of me.

Ed put his finger into my molten pussy, pulled it out slick with my juices and then started circling around my clit. I started pushing my pelvis forward trying to connect my clit to his finger chasing yet another orgasm. Pixie Girl stared intently at me, her hand moving with greater urgency under her skirt as she clutched her mother’s hand.

Ed slowly pulled his finger away and I arched my back, standing on my toes, chasing contact with his finger until I could go no further with his finger unmoving on my clit as I moaned in frustration. Pixie Girl continued staring at me while feverishly working her hand while arching her back, almost mimicking my movements. Natasha had a bemused smirk on her face as she noticed her daughter’s back arching slightly while the crowd focused on me.

“Slut, if you want to cum you will have to massage your devil’s doorbell on my finger. I will hold it steady making contact but you need to do all the work. You only have a few minutes and then I am leaving,” Ed chuckled.

My slave heat ignited as I frantically humped his finger with my clit, somehow arching my back even further increasing the pressure of his finger on my nub. True to his word he held it steady as I desperately rubbed my engorged clitoris on his finger striving for more friction on my pearl to push me over the edge until I exploded in a frenzy on his finger moaning in pleasure with a smile of satisfaction on my face, the whole time watching Pixie Girl frantically service herself trying to catch up with me. I may even have squirted some dew when I erupted on his finger.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” squealed Pixie Girl as she joined me in orgasmic bliss erupting all over her hand, back arching slightly when her climax started. Soon she was bent forward somewhat at the waist, subtly shuddering in her frenzy, still clutching her mother’s hand. Once again the crowd’s attention was on me while her performance went unnoticed. All the while her mother looked on, shaking her head in amazement.

The applause and laughter of the audience that had gathered around me brought me back to my senses as it did for the now blushing Pixie Girl. Recovering from this intense orgasm I realized exactly how wanton a display I put on for everyone who observed it. The humiliation of what I had just done enveloped me as I realized exactly how much I looked like the needy little pleasure slut chasing orgasmic pleasure like my life depended on it as I discarded any shred of my remaining human dignity.

Natasha handed Pixie Girl another Palmpalm antibacterial alcohol wipe to clean her hand with. While Pixie Girl took care of business Natasha leaned down and appeared from a distance to be whispering in Pixie Girl’s ear. From the expression on both their faces it did not appear that Natasha was particularly pleased with her daughter’s recent behavior. Suddenly it dawned upon me that I was the only person besides Natasha to witness the masturbation.

“Good slut,” chuckled Ed as he sucked my juices off his finger while I recovered.

“That was really awe-inspiring Mr. Jones,” exclaimed a clearly impressed Bret.

“Son, that maneuver is what we in the business call the ‘Midas Touch’. When slave pussy reacts like this one did demonstrating the intensity of her slave heat she is golden,” laughed Willard.

“This slave pussy is clearly a Prime. I watched how she responded when you were lightly touching her nipples and the way she chased that last orgasm just demonstrates her responsiveness and the intensity of her slave heat. Once her Slave Mind takes over after obedience school and she gets trained at either Venus or Pearson’s, this pleasure slut will make some master a very happy man,” explained Ed, while I blushed in embarrassment listening to the men discuss my attributes like I was a piece of meat or a car.

“Bret, why don’t you check out that brunette strung up over there”—he was referring to Whiny Girl. “Ed and I will give you some more pointers,” advised Willard as he and his son walked away.

“I’ll catch up with you guys,” said Ed, pointing towards Whiny Girl while glancing at Pixie Girl.

Ed eased over to Natasha and Pixie Girl with a knowing grin on his face. Trying to be discreet he engaged them in conversation as Pixie Girl finished cleaning her hand with the Palmpalm wipe.

“Young lady, you got a serious hitch in your get-along with that behavior in the public display section in a slave market while wearing a leather choker. That is not something that free women do,” Ed chuckled, while Pixie Girl just stood there blushing.

Natasha had a horrified look on her face looking around to see if anyone else noticed finally resting her eyes on me.

Turning towards Natasha he said, “Your daughter has a calling for the collar. I can tell. Just like I can tell that you’ve worn a collar, Ma’am. May I be of assistance finding you a good buyer for her?”

“Honey, go test Sandy’s slave heat and try to make her cum. Play nice, like you would want to be treated. Remember, next week that will be you strung up naked on display,” directed Natasha, pointing towards Sandy.

Pixie Girl’s eyes lit up when she saw her former babysitter’s predicament, the ever ebullient teen quickly hurrying over to Sandy. Fascinated, I watched Pixie Girl’s small hands manipulating Sandy’s prodigious breasts. Pixie Girl started gently massaging one breast with both hands, and then the other, while Sandy once again blushed red from her face to her chest from the touch of the teen that she used to babysit. Soon Pixie Girl was in a trance as her hands were gently massaging Sandy’s nipples as her former baby-sitter became flushed with excitement as she moaned in arousal, her large nipples as hard as diamonds. Pixie Girl’s efforts, coupled with Sandy’s response, soon drew a crowd of onlookers.

Then some other slave traders examined me as if I was really for sale, even checking my teeth again, and of course testing my cunt for moisture, inputting information on their iPads all while I listened in on Ed’s conversation with Natasha.

“Almost three months ago my husband and I obtained a Preventative Enslavement Emergency Protective Order (EPO) for Becky the week before her eighteenth birthday to shield her from her slave tendencies that we observed during her senior year of high school,” explained Natasha as she watched her daughter work over Sandy’s breasts.

“A wise move getting that EPO,” responded Ed. “Most parents fail to recognize the danger until it is too late.”

"We are moving forward with a five year Protective Enslavement. Senior year she became president of her school book club, turning it into a slave romance novel reading circle for girls. Since we obtained the EPO her classmates voted her the most likely to wear a collar this year in the yearbook. The truly scary part was when she proudly announced it at the dinner table like it was a real honor. She is an "A" student in school, taking AP classes, a concert quality pianist, but became totally immersed in unrealistic slave fantasies,” explained Natasha.

“How has she behaved since she turned eighteen?” asked Ed.

“She received a 100% on her slave yoga final last week after practicing naked for hours every night in her room. When she and her friend Anne turned eighteen they started practicing slave yoga naked in Becky’s room juicing each other’s collars. Now I have to replace the carpet in her room due to the noxious pussy juice odors and stains from her slave yoga training. Once that class was over I took away her training collar and threw it in the trash when I caught her wearing it to bed two days ago. The collar stunk to high heaven from all the juicing after only a little over two months of wear. She was even sleeping nude with the collar on our dog’s bed in her walk-in closet while the dog was on her bed when I caught her," exclaimed Natasha.

I continued to listen to their conversation as yet another slave trader checked my honey pot for moisture. It had remained a leaking sieve the entire time I was on display. Stepping behind me he started using my juices to lubricate my back door, working one and then two fingers up past my sphincter.

“Not an anal virgin,” he chuckled in my ear as I blushed in embarrassment thinking of the times Calum used my ass while I played his little slave girl wearing my training collar after practicing my Slave Yoga in front of him at night.

"I found an entry in her diary where Becky described a plan to come to the Big D to voluntarily indenture shortly after graduating from high school with another of her friends from the book club. She was accepted into Yale, Stanford and MIT. The foolish girl was going to throw it all away chasing a ridiculous slave girl fantasy," sighed Natasha.

“Self-Enslavement Syndrome is extremely rare, but every time I see it in a young woman it shocks me. I can sense her smoldering slave heat, her natural submissiveness, but I did not pick up on her condition,” exclaimed Ed.

“Now that Becky is technically a slave while the EPO remains in place she started masturbating in public because she knows as a slave this behavior is permissible. She demonstrates some discretion and is good at concealing her actions but as you can see she does not have any restraint when the mood catches her,” sighed Natasha.

“I have been observing your daughter. Becky is a beautiful, ebullient, graceful and captivating young woman who demonstrates a fun, mischievous attitude towards life. From what I can see, and I have been doing this over thirty years, she has a tight little body and more than enough slave heat to score in the Prime range next week,” appraised Ed. “Do not worry about the Self-Enslavement Syndrome hurting her grade, if anything it could lead to a higher score.”

“Thank you, I will take that as a compliment under the circumstances,” smiled Natasha graciously, with a relieved look on her face.

“What happened to her friend?” inquired Ed.

“Amber ended up a slave in a harem in Dubai. Her grandfather had the brilliant idea of getting her an Any Chance auction and when trying to cancel the sale on his smartphone accidently hit the ‘sell’ button,” said Natasha, shaking her head in disgust.

“All sales are final,” commented Ed.

“Right. The poor girl’s mother was fit to be tied when she found out. Right now she and her husband are planning a trip to Dubai to try and get her daughter returned. There is a pending lawsuit against the Big D and the app developer,” sighed Natasha.

Pixie Girl now had two fingers from her left hand inside Sandy’s pussy massaging her vagina while methodically manipulating her clit with the other hand. Poor Sandy was withering on the edge of orgasm moaning in need. It was clear that Pixie Girl was in no hurry to push Sandy over the edge into a frenzy.

“She is acting like a kid in a candy store here,” grinned Ed.

“Standing in the display room brings back memories of being sold right here at the Big D over twenty years ago. I recall the utter terror of not knowing my fate, being pawed by strangers while strung up on display all the while the sexual exhilaration of this place fueling my slave heat,” sighed Natasha, trying to change the topic.

“You graded in the Prime range I suspect,” grinned Ed.

“Prime Minus, and I proudly wear the Big D brand on my left cheek letting the world know that I am a Sandy Foot Girl,” exclaimed Natasha smugly.

“I thought so,” smiled Ed.

“My husband knows that all he has to do to ignite my slave heat is to lightly trace his fingertips along my brands. Gets me going every time,” smiled Natasha.

“Many men like fondling the brands on their slaves,” chuckled Ed.

“You never forget the distinctive smell and feel of the sand between your toes and on your body on Broadway when performing your block routine. The sound of the gavel coming down as the auctioneer yells SOLD! To this day I remember the orgasm I had, laying on my back squirting in the sand like it was just yesterday,” groaned Natasha.

“She’s about to blow,” chuckled Ed, nodding in Sandy’s direction.

Sure enough, Pixie Girl had performed her own version of the Midas touch, pushing her former babysitter over the edge into a back arching, body shuddering, massive explosion of orgasmic bliss. Sandy even squirted a few dewdrops on Pixie Girl’s hands.

Pixie Girl had a big, look at what I did, grin on her face as she skipped back over to Ed and Natasha. For a moment there I thought she was going to offer Ed a taste of Sandy’s juices from her fingers. Nixing that idea, Natasha promptly handed Pixie Girl yet another Palmpalm antibacterial alcohol wipe to clean her hands while talking to Ed.

“I was one of the lucky ones avoiding the horrors of being used as a pleasure slut slave. My owners purchased me as a consort for their son, sending me to Broadstone for training. We eventually fell in love getting married. My life could not have turned out better. The training I received at Broadstone shaped me into a stronger, more confident woman,” smiled Natasha.

“Mom, are you and Daddy planning on sending me to Broadstone this summer?” inquired Pixie Girl, with a childlike smile. “I think I would like that.”

“Honey, we haven't decided yet. Remember we go to court in two weeks, after your slave grading next week, to discuss your Protective Enslavement with the Judge. Dr. Nikki Sheldon will have her recommendation for the judge by then,” answered Natasha, sounding like she was talking to a child, not a young woman that was accepted into MIT, Stanford and Yale.

“Well, it looks like you do not need my assistance then. Out of curiosity, when would you plan on matching her with her future master?” Asked Ed.

“Probably after she graduates from college when she is more mature and better understands the ramifications of being paired with her future husband. We will likely have her participating in Broadstone’s summer concubine program while attending college,” answered Natasha as she noticed me following the conversation as yet another slave trader checked my oil.

One professional trader told another that I was up for sale at the 2:00 p.m. auction as they examined me. I thought, “Boy they really do a good job making it seem real for you when you have the Deluxe Reality grading package,” as my pussy tingled, gushing more cunt cream on his fingers as he explored my pussy.

Natasha walked up to me, looking me in the eye asking, “Were you listening in on my conversation?”

I nodded yes, figuring honesty was my best approach. Especially, strung up naked wearing a collar as I was while on display.

“Good, I really hope you learned something. Based on my experience, if you are lucky you may end up at Broadstone. It saved my life. If given the opportunity, take it, you will become part of an elite sisterhood that takes care of their own. As a slave you need to make new dreams and make the best of the opportunities you are presented with. Good luck and stay strong,” she kindly advised with a knowing look in her eyes as she gently ran her fingers through my hair.

Natasha took Pixie Girl’s hand and steered her out of the display area. Pixie Girl turned and waved goodbye to me as her mother led her away.

"Mom, what's a Spinner? I overheard a man tell his friend I was a Spinner, born to wear a collar. What did he mean?" I overheard Pixie Girl ask, as they walked away.

Listening to Natasha gave me more to contemplate while hanging there. I tried to imagine the utter terror that Natasha felt not knowing her fate, strung up on display while being pawed for hours by strangers. The sexual exhilaration of this place was fueling my slave heat just as it had hers back then. I wondered what this Broadstone School was and what kind of parent obtained a Protective Enslavement order for a child. After observing Pixie Girl’s behavior I could see that there was some logic to the concept.

When you are strung up on display for two hours you have plenty of time to reflect on your life. Natasha’s comment that Broadstone shaped her into a stronger, more confident woman struck a chord with me. My problem as a dancer was a lack of confidence, not talent. I simply choked in front of large audiences or during auditions while excelling during practice or while dancing on my own.

Whenever I accompanied Calum to large social engagements I always clung to his arm, not wanting to be left to my own devices. The truth was that these events intimidated me, I dreaded being on my own engaging total strangers in conversation. Early in our relationship we became separated at one of these events and Amelia rescued me. In hindsight she always seems to find me when I become separated from Colum, involving me in the group conversation, always making sure I am actively engaged in the event. How was she always so poised, ready for any situation that might arise? I longed to be a strong, confident woman like Amelia.

My limited understanding of slave schools was that they trained slaves, especially pleasure sluts, to be docile and compliant, relying on their master for any and all guidance. Pleasure sluts did not make decisions, they existed to entertain their masters immediately obeying every request, regardless of how small, trivial, painful or disgusting. So how did a school designed to instill obedience and subservience also make Natasha strong and confident? And how does this elite sisterhood take care of their own if they are slaves? Could the techniques applied at Broadstone be used to help me with my confidence and make me a better woman, fiancée and wife?

So much for deep thoughts. Being strung up on display like a slave for sale had me fondly reliving my Slave Yoga slave girl for a night homework assignment. One evening I had dinner all laid out on the table when Calum arrived home. I greeted Calum, or should I say my Master, using my best slave speak, wearing a sexy black leather choker featuring grommet detailing, O-ring accents, and a long front black leather tassels, on my knees lewdly displaying my freshly groomed sopping wet pussy, informing Master that dinner was served while this slave was available to meet any of my Master’s immediate needs.

Master was hungry so we proceeded with the meal but with a twist as my master sat his little slave upon his lap and proceeded to feed both of us. He would cut the steak into bite size pieces feeding himself using a fork. When he fed me he used his fingers making this slave lick her Master’s fingers clean. Picking up a piece of broccoli or a mushroom with his fingers he would place the food into my open mouth. My Master fed his slave what he wanted, when he wanted, throughout the entire meal. It was simply one of the most erotic experiences of my life leading to some of our best sex ever.

With our appetites sated I stood to clear the table when Master noticed that my pussy juice had leaked all over his thigh, soaking through his pants. That led to a bare fanny spanking inflaming my slave heat even further. What followed was a passionate session of slave sex in our bed. This slave was honored with many orgasms, a deposit of my Master’s sperm in this slave’s slave cunt and another deposit in this slave’s slave hole during which I actually had two anal orgasms.

Now I fantasized what life would be like if I was sold at auction to Calum as his slave while yet another slave trader tweaked my nipples and checked my pussy for slave heat. I almost came yet again wishing he would ring my doorbell.

Breaking me from my thoughts, Mandy released me when my time was up, securing my hands behind my back in handcuffs and attaching a leash to my collar. She took me into a corridor, sprayed my throat with the Devox antidote and gave me some water to help get my voice back.

“Wow! That was one hell of display of out of control slave heat in there. Great job of selling yourself as a horny pleasure slut,” excitedly exclaimed Mandy. “Slowly drink the whole bottle of water please. It will help with the Devox.”

When I finished the water Mandy looked at her iPad.

“Good news, you scored a Prime rating, great job, you should be so proud of yourself and you are my first Prime,” she breathlessly cooed.

“Thank you for your help, Mistress,” I gushed in a raspy voice while smiling happily. It was hard trying to talk as the Devox antidote restored my ability to speak once again.

Mandy had been wonderful guiding me through my grading while bringing out the horny pleasure slut in slave heat in me. I don’t know what it is about this place but, I was still a leaking sieve needing sexual relief even after cumming twice while on display. Then it dawned on me; I had seven orgasms so far today and I still craved more. How was that possible?

After re-checking my slave grade Mandy secured the bite gag back in my mouth. Mandy was running her fingers gently through my hair when a sad expression came over her face. I wondered what could be wrong.

“Now for the bad news. You have been repo’d, your Any Chance auction has been revoked and you are scheduled for auction this afternoon where you will be sold for five years. This is for real; it is not part of the Deluxe Reality package. I did not want to tell you until your grading was complete to avoid upsetting you during your performance. Bobby here will take you to a room where our management will explain what happened and how they are proceeding. I truly hope a good kind master buys you,” Mandy advised as she handed my leash to the slave handler who led me down a corridor.

“I figured you were too fine a piece of slave pussy to be going home today. The only way a Prime pleasure slut like you leaves the Big D is collared, cuffed, gagged and in a poodle cage,” laughed Bobby as led me back into the bowels of the Big D slave market.

I was in shock. Where was Amelia and how had this happened? Was I really going to be sold? I was quickly enveloped with dread. The fear of actually being sold as a slave terrified me. Or was this part of the Deluxe Reality Package and the Any Chance auction promotion? The uncertainty heightened my arousal with my cunt tingling on overdrive now as I actively wondered what was truly wrong with me.

(To be continued)

[imreadonly2]

Nice addition, and I liked the part about the juicing and the smell of the collars.

Some of the pet food manufacturers are dispensing with the fiction that slave chow and pet food are different, and have begin combining slave kibble and dried dog food together as a single product. Purina Bitch Chow has two happy, naked bitches, one with 4 legs and one with 2, both on all fours and with matching collars, with their tongues hanging out of their mouths as they salivate over the same bowl of food.