AUTHOR'S NOTE:
If you haven't already read the prior chapters I strongly recommend you read all the prior "Naked in Public" stories first, so this makes more sense. If you're too impatient for that, let me give you a little context.
This story takes place in an alternate timeline where slavery is once again legal in the United States. It's different from Antebellum Slavery. Slavery at this point in America's history is only for people who are being sold to pay off debts or as an alternative to being sentenced to prison. Only persons between the ages of eighteen and thirty-six may be registered as slaves. And they must be certified by a medical doctor to be physically healthy enough to do strenuous physical labor. All slaves are forbidden from wearing clothing and slaves are often seen in public with their naked bodies pornographically on display.
Our main character is a wealthy 19-year-old male named Christoph Liebler. He was raised by nannies, tutors and personal trainers. Something about the way that he was raised had left him feeling emotionally empty, and in order to fill the emotional void inside of him, he has taken to impersonating a slave and his girlfriend is impersonating a slave owner. Christoph gets a huge emotional rush from being forced to display his naked body in public, being forced to sexually service strangers and being subjected to cruel corporal punishments.
He has obtained fake documents that claim that his real name is Joseph Butcher and that he is a slave who was purchased at a slave auction in Seattle.
_ _
I was taken to a suburban neighborhood in Alexandria. I was made to walk naked down sidewalk-lined streets where pet lovers, pedestrians, joggers and other exercise enthusiasts stared fixedly at my indecently exposed body. It was a serene, picturesque neighborhood with young married couples and retirees. They probably didn't have a lot of experience with young, naked men with conspicuous erections being led through their community on a leash.
It turned out being forced to walk naked past pedestrians and joggers was only the beginning of my humiliation.
Kate led me to an intersection of streets and a police cruiser pulled up and parked on the side of the street. Two officers in smart-looking uniforms got out and asked me what I was doing there on that street.
"I go where I'm told, officer," I said. "I'm a slave. I don't get top decide where I go."
One cop stood directly in front of me, the other to my right. They stood intimidatingly close, and I noticed they were both females. One was my height; the other was slightly taller. The exuded authority and I felt more helpless and cowed the more they stared at me with their stern look.
"You're trying to blame your owner?" The taller of the women asked. "I don't like men who refuse to take responsibility for their own actions. Place your hands on the side of the vehicle and spread your legs."
My heart pounded urgently in my chest, and I did as she said. The whole situation seemed ridiculous, especially the part where she ordered me to assume the position for frisking criminal suspects. I was naked! Exactly what was the point in frisking me? Where would I be concealing weapons or contraband?
They looked very official with their police cruiser, their guns and their badges. Even the Police Department emblems on their uniforms looked legit, however, the way that they were bullying me seemed like no official police procedure I'd ever heard of. Was this all part of some sort of elaborate prank? I had a hard time believing that it was part of their official duties to publicly abuse and humiliate me.
Being confronted by two authoritarian women with badges and guns while you yourself are naked and exposed is a daunting experience. Even though I doubted they were real cops, I responded to their strong, assertive personalities and quickly yielded. I resolved to do whatever they demanded, even if they might not be real law enforcement.
I placed my hands on the car, spread my legs and bent over at the waist. I stood like a felon waiting to be frisked, but instead of frisking me, one of the women snapped on a latex glove and the other grabbed my buttocks and spread them apart as wide as she possibly could.
There had been approximately thirty prurient spectators on the street before, however, the numbers increased as I was made to spread my legs and lean against the police car. The crowd roared with approval as my buttocks were spread apart to expose my delicate, pink anus.
I could feel the eyes of dozens of men and women burning holes into me as a large blob of cold, oily lubricant was worked into my tight hole and strong, insistent fingers were thrust inside of me. It took all my self-control to remain bent over and shamelessly exposed as that authoritarian woman thrust her fingers roughly inside of me and probed deep.
The fingers slipped out and I breathed a sigh of relief. Some of the tension went out of me, but then the fingers unexpectedly speared my asshole a second time and impaled me hard and deep.
"Uuhhhhhh,"
I gasped as she began to jam her fingers brutally in and out. I felt my legs getting rubbery as the fingers abused my delicate orifice and tears welled up in my eyes. I took long, deep breaths and tried not to listen to the comments of suburbanites who were enjoying my humiliation.
Men and women insisted that I deserved the brutal humiliation that was being inflicted upon me and several of them called out suggestions for other ways I might be abused. My legs felt weak as my ass was raped and dozens of sadistic spectators encouraged the policewoman to be cruel to me.
One of the women in the crowd yelled out, urging that my ass be spanked. At this point, the fingers were withdrawn from my ass and one of the policewomen demanded to know who it was that had demanded I be punished with a spanking.
I looked over my shoulder and saw a tall woman in a figure-skimming business suit raise her hand and admit that she was the one who had called for me to be spanked.
For a few moments the attention was taken away from me and everyone focused on the woman in the suit that had called out for the cops to redden my ass. The cops asked for her name, and she was asked if she lived in this neighborhood.
"My name is Rosie," the tall woman responded, "and I've lived in this neighborhood for ten years now."
"Well, Rosie," the policewoman said, "as you've lived here for so long, I appoint you as a representative for the neighborhood. And if you believe this naughty boy should be spanked, I think you should come forward and spank him yourself."
Rosie didn't require a lot of convincing. She took off her blazer, handed it to one of her friends and then ambled over and stood directly behind me.
"How many swats should I give him?" Rose asked, and the policewoman opined that as Rosie was representing the residents of her neighborhood, she should be the one to decide how many swats I received.
My buttocks tensed up as the tall woman told me that I deserved what she was about to give me and then I felt a sudden rain of stinging slaps.
Her friends and neighbors cheered her on and shouted out words of encouragement as she spanked me. It was a painful and humiliating public punishment with dozens of people watching my naked ass get reddened while I leaned against the side of the police cruiser with my legs spread wide.
The pain was all that registered at first, but as the humbling punishment continued, I embraced my feelings of helplessness and surrender and I was overtaken by an erotic, feverish heat.
Rosie was a strong, energetic woman and she showed no signs of tiring as she decorated my ass with stinging handprints. The blows came harder and faster, and my poor backside stung fiercely. Despite my desire to be stoic in front of the large crowd of spectators, I ended up crying out each time I my ass was smacked.
I began to sob about halfway through my very public punishment and hot, wet teared welled up in my eyes and slid down my face. My palms remained flat against the side of the police cruiser and my legs remained spread wide, but I sobbed and cried out in agonizing pain as my ass was cruelly reddened.
_ _
A woman named Jessica Moon sold sex toys and bondage gear and offered to pay Kate a sizable fee if she could use me as a prop when she next hosted a party at her home for potential customers.
"I could easily triple my sales if I could demonstrate some of my products on your slave. He's bewitching. He's got a deliciously magical quality to him. People will want to buy anything that I use to hurt him, impale him with or use to restrain him. Just having a product within proximity to his naked body will make it seem more desirable."
Kate negotiated a fee and then set a time and date for when Jessica could use me as a prop. I was delivered to Jessica's house at the appointed time and told what was expected of me.
"I'm a licensed distributor for Extreme Bondage Inc.," she explained. "I have a selection of products I'll be trying to sell today. Your job is to look sexy and let me use the products on you. The sexier you look as I use the products on you, the more products I should be able to sell."
Jessica showed me a few of the items she was trying to entice people into buying and I dreaded the prospect of having them used on me.
"Until I get started with my sales talk, I expect you to be in the waiting position. Are you familiar with it?"
Despite the fact that I had no formal slave training, I did a lot of independent study on how slaves were supposed to behave. I knew all about slave positions. The waiting position was when a slave stood with his legs spread far apart, his hands behind his back, and his hands grasping his opposite wrists. His shoulders should be pulled back and his chest should be thrust slightly forward. It leaves the slave very exposed and vulnerable.
I assumed the position and waited for whatever happened next.
A total of eight women showed up for the party. From looking at them, I surmised they ranged in age from twenty-two to fifty. Of course, they were all well-dressed, while I was shamefully naked and exposed. When these women's eyes focused on me, I felt ten times more naked than I had before.
When the room filled with strange women there was a massive influx of adrenaline flooding into my bloodstream. My fight or flight instincts kicked in and my heart pounded madly in my chest. The cocktail of emotions running through me was intense. I was embarrassed, excited, frightened, proud, sexually aroused, filled with fear, trepidation, humiliation and feverish, sexual heat.
"Who's the sexy boy toy?" one of the women asked as she pointed at my conspicuously naked body.
"His name is Joseph," Jessica explained. "He's a slave that I rented for the day. I'll be using his as a prop to demonstrate some of my products."
All of the women wanted to touch me. One of them grabbed me by the thigh and another one grabbed my buttocks and gave them a squeeze. A third woman slipped her hand around the shaft of my cock. Because of my submissive mindset, I stood still and maintained my vulnerable pose while my body was touched all over.
Jessica admonished the women with a good-natured reprimand and told them to take their hands off me so she could begin the planned sales presentation.
