As long as she could remember, Samantha had always been the one in charge. In all her social groups, from school to university to adult life, she'd been the ringleader, the one others followed. Ambition and drive had propelled her up the corporate ladder straight out of university and soon she was the one giving the orders far more often than not. And while she enjoyed this life, had sought it out, part of her felt empty inside, like she needed something different.
She tried submitting in the bedroom, and it went someway there. But even as she serviced the whims of others, she realised she was still missing something. To all her partners, she was something special, something to be treasured. Samantha had always known others considered her a catch - not just socially and financially successful, but tall and willowy, with long blonde hair and a large bust, she'd always drawn eyes. But for the first time, she began to wish she didn't, that she could truly be used by those who saw her as nothing more than a way to sate their desires.
And it was then, as she pushed her boundaries and explored scenes that previously might have terrified her, that she came across it - a club that organised what it called a slave lottery. Volunteers for slavery were matched randomly with masters, and agreed to serve them for a full year. Oh, there was a system for trading - masters had preferences after all - but no choice for the slaves. As soon as Samantha heard about it, she knew she had to do it, had to give herself utterly to someone she did not know, someone she would not have chosen. The thought terrified her too, but she knew herself enough to know that fear would not win out.
As a yearly event, there was time between her discovery and the occasion, and Samantha made sure she knew exactly what she was signing up for. As it made arrangements between strangers, the club made sure to list what was being agreed upon quite specifically. There were a few limitations - she could not, for example, be kept from her work, though she could be given orders to follow whilst there - but mostly it was simple. If you require more limits, the club stated, this is not the arrangement for you.
On the day itself, fear and excitement warred within her. She wanted this, she needed this, but it was a big, unprecedented leap. But that had never stopped her before in other areas of her life, and it would not stop her now. Not knowing what her future master might want, she prepared herself, for possibly the last time in a year, according to her own preferences. Her long hair loose, her makeup elegant yet not overstated, and a long red dress. She chose one with a slit up the side almost to the top of the thigh - whoever won her might want immediate access after all.
Upon arrival at the club, Samantha was given a collar to wear with a simple number on it - 27 - and was told to present herself at a specific room at the time of the lottery. The building was large, but still it was packed for the occasion. Everyone, future slaves and masters alike, mingled. People and clothing varied massively - many, like her, were dressed stylishly, as if for a formal party. Others wore overtly kinky gear - leather, latex, and similar. A few slaves had gone completely naked but for the collars they were assigned. Samantha wandered through all this, eyeing everyone, knowing anyone without a collar could be her owner in but a few minutes time, loving the anticipation.
When she arrived at the designated room, there was a small open area, where a dozen slaves, including herself, were ordered to wait. Their masters would be here shortly, they were told, and they would know them by the numbered ticket - an example was waved at them - that they would have. Samantha and the other slaves stood there at attention, aware they were on display, as a succession of other people walked past, openly staring them up and down.
To Smantha's left, number 26, was a lithe dark haired man in his twenties, who wore an outfit almost entirely made of leather. He smiled and waved at those passing, blowing kisses at those who stopped to admire him. On her right, number 28, was a petite brunette with pale skin who had chosen to wear nothing at all. Rather than stand, she knelt, hands clasped behind her back, eyes down, a picture of complete submission. Without orders yet to follow, Samantha felt inclined more to follow the young man's example, but for the first time in a long time, she found herself unsure, unable to be as cocky and as confident as he seemed to be.
And then, the first masters came to claim what they had won. The first couple simply presented their tickets, ordered their slaves to follow, and left, but a few stayed for a while. The first to do so simply began a whispered conversation, held somewhere behind Samantha, but then a tall, middle aged gentleman with blonde hair and a well tailored suit marched up to 28 on her right. Immediately after presenting his ticket, he grabbed her by the hair, lifting, forcing her to her feet. He marched her over the wall and pressed her against it, spreading her legs as he unbuckled his belt. There was no introduction, no orders, no speaking of any kind before her moans spread throughout the room as he fucked her roughly against the wall. Samantha watched, rubbing her legs together, admiring the lucky slave.
"You!" a voice called, "27!"
Smantha's head snapped back around in front of her to see a ticket being presented. It was held by a woman about a foot shorter than her, dark skinned with dreadlocks, wearing an outfit dominated by a black corset and thigh high leather boots. Samantha was startled for a moment - despite the lack of guarantee, she'd subconsciously assumed she'd be serving a man - but she quickly recovered.
"At your service ... mistress," she responded.
"Hmph," came the non-committal reply. "Don't bother with formalities," her new owner said. "You're not really my type. But that does mean we get to have a different type of fun. Follow me."
She turned and left the room, walking quickly, and Samantha hurriedly followed. There was a lot of movement now, as masters sought their slaves, or left with them, and here and there one could see less patient owners publically using their new property. The woman in front of her led Samantha towards the section of the club where the trading happened, walking quickly through the crowded corridors in a manner that said she knew where she was going. When they entered a side room and shut the door behind them, the noise of the crowd abated.
The room was not empty, however, simply for the moment more serene. There was a round table in the middle of the room with chairs around it. As they approached, Samantha saw cards and chips upon the table and realised what was about to happen. Her ownership was not to be traded away, but gambled. Her current owner took a seat at the table, and Samantha followed the example of the other slaves present by standing behind her.
As she did so, she glanced around at the others present, focusing on those seated, on her potential future masters. Immediately to the right was an older man, with sharply styled greying hair and goatee, perhaps fifties or early sixties, though his handsome features made the words 'silver fox' spring to mind. He wore a white suit, and at the edges of his sleeves she could see tattoos peeking out.
Further around was a young, olive-skinned man, shirtless and muscled. His tight trousers left little to the imagination further down either. He winked at Samantha as she took her place, and she felt a flutter.
Next was a short woman, hair dyed bright pink, wearing a tight top and minidress in a matching shade. She was too busy making out with her slave, a man who towered over her, stark naked, to pay any attention to the new arrivals.
Finally, there was an overweight man with an unkempt beard, perhaps early twenties, dressed simply in a plain blue t-shirt and jeans. Here, his casual attire oddly made him stand out. His eyes flickered briefly to Samantha and her owner, before he went back to glaring across the table.
Immediately to Samantha's left sat the dealer, an adrogynous fellow in a white shirt and dark patterned waistcoat. As Samantha's owner sat, she was handed twelve poker chips, each with a number on it, rimmed in a light pink. The dealer stood, briefly, and clipped a small token in a matching shade to Samantha's collar.
"For any who are unfamiliar," the dealer then said, "these chips each represent one month of ownership, from today's date, in the order they are numbered. The different colour chips of course represent which slave each chip is for. As service has already begun, current ownership shall transfer as soon as the chip numbered one is won or lost. Rules are Texas Hold'em. Small blind is one month, large blind two. Any questions, or are we ready to begin?"
"Just a moment," the petite pink haired girl piped up. "I think I need a higher seat. You, sit down." She snapped her fingers and pointed, her naked slave slave taking her place in her seat. She lifted the miniskirt, and slowly lowered herself onto his erect member. "There you go. Now be a good boy, and keep still for me." A wicked grin spread across her face as she wiggled, and her slave clearly suppressed a moan.
Samantha's owner sighed. "Why are you even here when you're clearly happy with what you've got?"
The olive-skinned man laughed. "Clearly for the same reason none of us have simply gone to trade. The excitement of the risk, the possibility of getting more than we've already got."
The pink haired woman giggled. "You know me too well, Alejandro. Come on, let's get started." She slid two tokens in for the large blind, and to her right, the overweight young man slid in one for the small, as the dealer passed out cards.
Samantha looked over her owner's shoulder as she lifted the cards. Two of hearts and nine of clubs. Samantha was hardly an expert player, but she was unsurprised when her owner folded the round. Alejandro and the overweight man both met the large blind, and after a short time the pink haired lady won a small pot, grinning at her slave's reaction as she lent forward to claim the chips.
The next hand her owner had a pair of tens, spades and clubs, and went in. All but the pink haired lady folded soon. Round over roud, the pink haired lady raised slightly, and having gone in, Samantha's owner matched. She kept a decent face, but Samantha could see her hands clenching under the table as nothing helpful came up - until the last round, when the dealer flipped over another ten. The pink haired lady cried out in annoyance when her two pair was beaten, and especially when she realised she'd put in the number one token, and she was forced to give up her slave seat for now.
As the dealer prepared the next hand, Samantha's owner looked her new slave up and down. Stark naked but for his collar, he was a height with Samantha, with a shaved head and chiselled jaw. His erect cock jutted out around their seated mistress's head height.
"I could enjoy that," she said, her eyes on her new slave's cock leaving no ambiguity over what she was talking about, "but I'm not having it all messy like that. You," she pointed at Samantha, "clean it." She licked a finger, making her meaning clear.
