TXR-92U-2280 -- Call Name: Sara -- Part IV
In a society that otherwise resembles our own, mass slavery has persisted into the 21st Century. It is a common and accepted feature of public and private life. Males and females of all ethnic backgrounds are held thrall, without status or legal rights. They are quite literally living property, and may be bought, sold and used for any purpose, including: hard labor, breeding, menial work and sexual servitude.
This series of stories, which is not presented in any particular order, explores the daily life of a prostitute-slave named Sara. Purchased at auction by a Las Vegas casino, she is tasked with fulfilling the sexual urges of its clientèle, who pay for her favors along with room service and Wi-Fi access. Subject to their every whim, she has known both anguish and delight, but most often casual exploitation.
When she is not engaged by a guest, Sara must contend with capricious and underpaid corporate overseers and occasionally vicious slave stable politics.
***
The board at the dispatch desk showed a one-night engagement with three male guests and one female guest -- all in a room with one king-sized bed.
The slave was going to have a bad night, and she knew it. She stood with her back to the door, watching traffic move grudgingly along the freeway while the sun slipped below the jagged mountains in the distance.
Movement in the fenced yard below caught her eye. A pair of skinny drones had discovered something edible while loading trash into the back of a truck. They ate it quickly, glancing nervously over their shoulders.
Sara decided that, at least for the next 18 hours, she would rather be a drone. Better to be hungry, exhausted and covered in grime than to be a slut locked in a discount room, mid-week, with four guests who obviously didn't intend to get any sleep.
She expected that they would be bikers: rough, filthy men covered with tattoos and high on drugs. No doubt she would be expected to service all three simultaneously. Then, after they had shot their loads inside her, they would demand that she perform sex acts with the woman -- who would be scarcely more than a slave herself.
In spite of that, she would be cruel -- urging the men on as they abused the slave, knowing that she was being spared every agony inflicted on Sara. It might even have been the woman who rented the room and paid for the slave, just so she could avoid the worst of their attentions for one night.
The men would stroke their cocks while watching the woman and the slave lick and suck each other, until they got hard again. Then, they would start in on Sara once more -- and that cycle would repeat over and over and over.
Any hesitation, any perceived lack of respect, would be instantly punished: a hard slap on the face, a heavy leather belt across the ass, or a brutal gut-punch that would leave her gasping for air.
The morning would find her bruised, bleeding and degraded. Her face, her hair, her breasts and her inner thighs would be encrusted with their spent seed -- and that would be the best that she could hope for, because she knew her night could be much worse.
It was possible that they would use her as a living urinal or employ her delicate tongue as a substitute for toilet paper.
She shivered.
Looking again at the freeway, she noticed that traffic was stopped. Although she had never been taught to pray to the gods or to seek their favor, Sara called to something beyond herself, desperate that these particular guests arrive late, if at all.
***
The sound of a key in the lock shattered the slave's hope that she might spend the night alone. She turned, stepped to the foot of the bed and dropped to her knees. The door swung open.
She did not expect what she saw next.
Four young people her own age walked in, bickering among themselves.
"Man, I told you that we shouldn't have taken the I-15," said the tallest of the four, his heavy black brows furrowed. "We've only got this bitch until noon tomorrow, and we've already wasted like four hours."
"Look, Steve, we're here now, okay?" said another young man with short, curly blond hair and bright blue eyes. "We've still got plenty of time. I mean, seriously, even if we all take a full dose of Erexor, how many times can each of us fuck her? Don't worry about it."
"All I'm saying is that you made a bad decision, so I think you should pay me and Jared back for part of our share -- that's all," said Steve -- the tall, dark-haired boy
"Knock if off," said a young brunette, who was holding hands with the blond boy. "Bryan's the one with the car, remember? Without him, you wouldn't even be here -- so just shut up."
Steve glared at her.
Last through the door was another young man, his face ruddy with acne. His eyes settled on Sara. He licked his chapped lips.
"Is that her?" he asked.
"That's her, Jared," Steve answered loudly. "That's the cunt that's going to pop your cherry."
"I swear, you are so gross," said the girl.
"She's just so beautiful, like out of a movie or something," said Jared, transfixed.
Sara raised her eyes to Jared's face, parting her painted lips slightly. His worn jeans betrayed a profound erection.
"Maybe we should let Jared go first," said Bryan, the blond boy. "We can go down to the arcade for a while, until he's finished. Jared, just call us when..."
"No, no -- wait!" said Steve. "I need to show him how to throat her first."
Bryan sighed.
"'Throat her?'" the girl frowned. "What does that even mean?"
"Watch and learn, Jennifer," Steve smirked. "She knows what it means -- don't you, cunt?"
"Yes, master," Sara answered, lowering her eyes.
"Steve, it's Jared's first time," Bryan said. "I really think we should just let him..."
"He needs to see how to handle a slave. Besides, it's not like she's his girlfriend or something. She's just fuck-meat," said Steve.
"It's okay," said Jared. "I want to see."
Resigned, Bryan and Jennifer sat down on the edge of the bed. Steve stepped in front of the slave, towering over her, his cock bulging inside his pants. Jared watched intently.
"Pull it out, cunt," Steve ordered. "I'm going to make your mascara run."
Sara unbuckled his belt and opened his fly, revealing the rigid pole beneath his cotton briefs. He was big -- but Sara had taken bigger.
She made a show of peeling back his underwear, her eyes fixed on the tip of his throbbing cock, shaping her face into a display of fearful anticipation. Accepting her expression as genuine, a huge smile spread across his face.
"That's right, cunt, and you're going to take every inch," he said.
"Master, please -- you're so big," the slave flattered him. "Sara can't..."
"Sure you can -- I'll help."
With that, he put a heavy hand on the back of her head and pushed her mouth down onto his shaft until her lips were pressed into his thick pubic hair. She creased her face in feigned misery and made a retching sound deep in her throat.
Taking a handful of her hair, Steve pulled her back off his cock. Sara gasped.
"Please, master! Don't throat..." her plea was cut off as Steve pressed her mouth back down onto his rigid organ.
"You see, Jared, if your dick is big enough, you can push it all the way down into her throat," said Steve, working Sara's face like a sex toy. "Of course, that means she can't breathe, so after a few seconds her throat goes into spasms and, man, it feels good."
