A School for Tourists

"A School for Tourists" - Chapter 01, Aunt Amy by LoyalHound

Yes, I'm still working on chapter 7 of

The Cost of My Dreams,

and I hope to get it out by the end of the month, but I refuse to rush it. In the meantime, this story started as an exercise intended to improve my dialog and character interactions and took on a life of its own. For better or worse, it's another story in the 34th Amendment universe.

This is a work of Erotic Fantasy. As such, it is not real and does not depict real events or any real person. All characters, businesses, institutions, places, publications, and events in this story are either fictional or are used fictitiously as you might expect in a story where slavery is legally enforced throughout the modern United States. All characters are adults.

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"Yes, of course, I'll take you for your slave grading for your student loan. And pay for it, but there's more to this than just the grading," said my aunt. "If you sign up for a reversible auction, for instance, you'll have an actual certified bid you can show your lender. Of course, you'd need a block routine to get a good price."

I shuddered a little. Me on the block with no friends, no family, just slave meat for purchase and use. Aunt Amy was right though: An actual certified bid could help a lot.

"I don't have a block routine," I admitted. "My frenemy Shirley bragged about her parents getting her one-on-one remote learning time with a slave mistress to develop a routine. She says she's even thinking about some slave training to boost her grade. Well, she says she's thinking about it. I'm pretty sure her parents are kind of insisting."

Aunt Amy smiled and sipped her coffee. "They probably are. You're not your daddy's little princess when you're on the block and, from what you said about her, she'll probably benefit from a little attitude adjustment, quite apart from her slave grading. But rather than trying to develop a block routine remotely, have you ever heard of the Frostburg Slave Academy?"

"That's where Shirley said her parents would send her!" I exclaimed. "It's supposed to be a good school. Their website has a lot of endorsements."

Aunt Amy snorted, "Everyone has endorsements, Kira. Didn't they teach you about that in your smart consumer course?"

I squirmed a little and nodded, embarrassed. Yes, I knew that, but I hadn't connected it to real life.

She sounded more enthusiastic as she said, "It's a school for tourists rather than real slaves, but that's exactly what you need. You only want to improve your slave grade, not start life as a pleasure slave. You check into the market where you want to be graded, they'll ship you off to the academy and grade you after you're shipped back. It's totally immersive so you'll get the best grade possible."

"Shirly mentioned they have different options; she was talking about the deluxe two-week course, but said her parents suggested the three-week ultimate course."

"The two-week course is a good value, but I have to ask," said Aunt Amy, looking embarrassed, "are you a virgin? Only their basic one-week course is for virgins. That's advanced slave yoga, obedience training, enforced slave speak, service roleplaying, that sort of thing. You'd develop a block routine, of course, but their two-week course would really improve your price and it doesn't involve any actual sex, just penetrative training using dildos and similar things." She smiled as she said, "You'd even get basic ponygirl training. A lot of my friends pay good money for that and they don't even need a slave grade."

This was all moving so fast. I shook my head. "Aunt Amy, you know I'm not a virgin, but even the basic course sounds, well, like a lot. I'm grateful, of course, but I don't want to be treated like slave meat."

She touched my hand and said gently, "Kira, that's a problem that will hurt your grade and your auction price. That's another thing the two-week course will help you with. When you're being graded, you absolutely do want to be treated like slave meat. You need to revel in it. That's how you get the best grade, the best price, and the best loan terms."

Revel in it? I couldn't wrap my mind around that, but my aunt knew what she was talking about. She'd worked at a pony girl farm when she was at university and her husband was a master wrangler.

"Isn't that place rather expensive?" I asked. "Like, more than a year's worth of off-campus tuition at the state university?"

"Their ultimate course is, but I'm willing to pay it to see you get the best grade. You're wondering why I don't just pay for your school, aren't you?" she asked, a serious look on her face.

"Ah...", I said, groping for words.

"Because it would be too easy for you. None of us value what comes to us too easily and I remember university. Nothing will so focus your mind on your studies as the knowledge that, if you fail out, you could end up in the collar right there and then, just as soon as your lender forecloses."

I shuddered. My aunt meant what she said. She loved me and doted on me, but if I messed up school, she was not going to rescue me.

I thought of the cops coming for me after the lender foreclosed, like on those live-action police shows. I'd be in the middle of a shopping mall, say, and they would order "Backhands!" and then secure my hands behind me. They'd ID me and hold me still while they cut my clothes off as all the shoppers looked on, filmed me with their phones, and called words of encouragement to the officers. They'd strip me in front of my friends and neighbors and force me to my knees. Then they'd collar me like a real slave, which is what I'd be at that point. They would leash the new slave and lead me out to their cruiser and, like as not, have their way with me on the way to the slave court.

I forced myself to keep my hands on the table. It was a hot fantasy but it'd be a cruel reality and to keep it from becoming a reality, I needed the best loan terms possible. Aunt Amy would help me with that.

We were sitting on my dad's deck behind our house, drinking coffee after breakfast. I'd just graduated high school yesterday and I had applications in for college and scholarships I was still waiting to hear from. What I didn't have was money for anything more than community college. I needed a student loan if I was going to get a degree that would open doors.

"Aunt Amy," I said, twisting some strands of my hair, "tell me about this one-week course. You say I'd be shipped there? How?"

She smiled, happy, I suppose, that she had sold me on the one-week course and said, "You'll be processed as a slave, assigned a SIN, which would be tattooed inside your lower lip, chipped, given an enema, and so on, but you'd be placed in a chastity belt and a special shipping collar warning the wranglers you aren't for use. Since you'll be shipping from Frederick, you'll be held there until enough slaves going west arrive to make a trip worthwhile. There will probably be no change in shippers, though they might need to drop off or pick up some other slaves in Hagerstown or Cumberland, so you'll spend a few hours in a kennel except for rest breaks. It'll help you get in a slave state of mind."

"In the meantime," she continued, in a more demanding tone, "you need to drill in the advanced slave yoga class I'm paying for and I expect you to take it seriously. In a couple of weeks, I'll fly up and take you to the Frederick Slave Market for grading. Make sure you clear your calendar for a month."

I started rubbing one of my hands with the other. I wish I had moisturizer, but I didn't. By "take it seriously," she meant, wearing a shock collar controlled by the Slave Mistress in charge of the course. I hated the idea, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. In any case, I couldn't afford to waste Aunt Amy's gift.

"Why a month?" I asked. "Even with delays, with a week of slave training at the school, transport, and the grading, shouldn't the whole thing be done in less than two weeks?"

"I want you to consider the two-week course. It would help your price a lot and I know you'd love the basic pony girl training. After training and grading, you may need a couple of days, maybe even a whole week to adapt to being free again."

"Could I bring my boyfriend?"

She looked confused. "What, for your slave grading? Has he been graded?"

I shook my head and told her, "His dad's taking him to be graded next week. I meant for the trip when you drop me off at the Frederick Slave Market." It could be the last time I see him, if I went thru with the reversible auction, though I couldn't say that to Aunt Amy. She would reverse the auction, but what if she didn't? It was a real auction with a real chance of winding up in the collar.

She looked dubious. "If you like, but I won't bring him when I pick you up. That'd just be asking for trouble. You're more than a set of holes but, after your training and grading, you might think otherwise for a while."

I relaxed a little. "Thank you, Aunt Amy. My teachers say that your slave grade is a rite of passage, but I just keep thinking of all of the things that could go wrong. I'll feel better having him with me, at least as far as the Frederick Slave Market. There are so many stories of slave grades turning into unexpected slavery."

She sighed and reassured me, "It happens, but not nearly so often as you'd think from the news or those slave romance novels. Most people go in for a grading and come out with a grade." In a more serious tone, Aunt Amy added, "Just never let your spouse put you up for a reversible auction. Your sale price would end up being a community asset, which would devolve to your husband alone after your assets had been liquidated and your debts paid."

I smiled. Stories where that happened and the enslaved former spouse ended up glad to be out of her failed marriage and met the master of her dreams were a staple of drugstore novels.

Aunt Amy looked annoyed. "Wipe that smile off your face. You wouldn't end up with the master of your dreams."

"Sorry, Aunt Amy. It's a nice fantasy where everyone gets what they deserve."

She shook her head. "The reality is far different. If you want to play that kind of game, tell me now and I'll arrange a one-year indenture with real slave training so you can try and find the master of your dreams. Would you prefer to be auctioned in DC, Dallas, or LA? Or is there somewhere else you think you'd find a master that suits you? It would change you for life, maybe ruin you, and you'd need treatment afterward, but better to do that now than after you've established yourself."

"No, Aunt Amy, please don't," I pleaded. "I don't want to be a slave. Not ever. Not even a little. That's why I want to keep the course to one week. I know I need it, but the whole thing scares me."

"The whole thing is to get you terms on your loan so that you never end up on the open market," she said, still irritated. "You'll be a slave, a real slave, while you're at the market and the school, until I reverse the auction. But you'll never really be on the open market and it's a school for tourists; they won't treat you badly. You should even enjoy it."

I calmed myself and remembered how much I owed her. "Thank you, Aunt Amy. I will try to be worthy of this gift."

She relaxed and we changed the subject, talking about the schools I'd applied to and what I hoped to do with my life.

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"Present!" called slave mistress Naya, and I instantly stood with my feet spread, my hands laced behind my neck, and my head up.

"Backhands!" she ordered and I faced away from the manikin that represented her, crossing my wrists behind me, offering them for binding.

"Slave Spread!" she ordered and I spun to face the manikin and the POV camera and video screen where the manikin's head should be, and knelt with my knees spread wide and my hands laced behind my neck.

"Display, Turn, Prone, Over!" she called and I swiftly and carefully assumed the positions she ordered. There's a Zen quality to slave yoga when the slave mistress is calling positions quickly, but you have the skills to keep up. It becomes your whole world.

"Fetch the crop," she ordered and I stood and moved quickly to the back wall of my room, careful to keep my hands by my thighs until I reached the back wall. I lifted the riding crop from its hook on the wall and placed it in my mouth and turned, then, given the small size of my room, immediately dropped to all fours, crawling until I was just in front of the manikin, then going forward to my knees and elbows to press my head against the floor, then rising to a kneeling position and scooting forward lifting my ass off of my ankles and offering the manikin the crop in my mouth.

"Fours!" she commanded and I went to my hands and feet, and then dropped to my elbows, crop still in my mouth.

I'd been doing advanced slave yoga every day in my room while slave mistress Naya conducted class remotely, watching not just her POV camera, but two other cameras in the room. Right now, I was slave naked and wearing a shock collar, though I hadn't received a shock this session.

She paused and then said, "Good girls, you all have the makings of excellent slaves. This girl was honored to teach you and hopes some of you will accept that you have a calling for the collar. Naya thanks you for seeking her instruction and wishes you good luck and a good slave grade. This girl's owners will be contacting you to arrange for the return of the course hardware, but the crop, strap, dog whip, and cane are yours to keep, as is your shock collar. Goodbye class." Then the video display went dark.

I stood, returned the crop to its hock at the back of my room, made sure the cameras were switched off, then got the key to the small padlock holding the shock collar in place. It was not mandatory to lock it in place. I had started doing it after the first week. It had just seemed the thing to do.

It was also not mandatory to be naked and I had worn a bikini for the first three sessions. My frenemy Shirley was over and had helped me get ready for my fourth session, however, and when I started looking at myself in my full-length mirror before the session, she said. "That bikini's not right," and moved behind me. I was nonplussed as she unhooked the bikini top and removed it.

I started to blush and cover my breasts when she said "If you're going to be a slave, be a slave. Slaves have no modesty. Take your bikini bottom off. You're wearing a shock collar for crying out loud. Who do you think you're fooling with the bikini?"

Still blushing, I had pulled down my bikini bottom and posed before her. She looked me over carefully and smiled. "Now you're properly clothed for the course. It will help your performance." She was right. I was slave naked for that session and my performance improved. After I started locking the shock collar on for the session, my performance improved still more.

Aunt Amy was arriving later today and tomorrow morning we had an appointment with an attorney to finalize the paperwork for my training at the Frostburg Slave Academy, my grading, and a reversible auction with Aunt Amy as the holder of my Power of Attorney. Much of this was standard paperwork from the Frederick Slave Market and the Frostburg Slave Academy, but the lawyer could notarize everything, and Amy didn't want to make her final payment to the Academy until all the paperwork was done. It was a serious chunk of money, even for the one-week course, and she still wanted me to sign up for the deluxe two-week course.

I unlocked the shock collar, unbuckled it, removed it from my neck, and fingered it in my hands. It was mine to keep. So were implements of correction I leaned to fetch for Slave Mistress Naya. My boyfriend and I might role-play with the collar, and the strap and the crop might see some use, but what was I going to do with a dog whip or a cane, unless I purchased a slave I could not afford? Well, I suppose they might be of use if I ended up enslaved, but I wouldn't be providing my own equipment if that happened. Indeed, at that point, I wouldn't be providing my own anything. It was I, rather, who would be owned and provided.

I pulled open one of the doors at the bottom of my bookshelf, moved some books out of the way, and contemplated my secret stash: Five Years a Pleasure Slave, The Total Slave, Thirty Days to a Better Slave, The Ponification of the Crystal Princesses, and similar books, right near where I kept my vibrator. I rubbed myself and thought of how Shirley had made me strip before my fourth session with Slave Mistress Naya. Slavery was a dangerous fantasy; it only took a few words for it to become real and irreversible, at which point it would be far too late to object. It was a good thing Aunt Amy didn't know about my stash; she might just be tempted to let my sale go thru to get it all out of my system.

I carefully hid my stash, put on a robe, and went to shower. Aunt Amy would be here soon.

-----

I was dressed in a knee-length skirt, stockings, heels, and a modest top when Aunt Amy took me to the attorney to finalize the paperwork. Prim and proper while reading and signing the documents that would see me stripped and collared, fondled and felt up, caged, transported, trained, and auctioned. If Aunt Amy didn't reverse that auction, I'd be a slave for three years. Everything was in order and I only had one question. "Why does it say 'for the duration and of training, rating, auction, ordinary slave market processing until released, not to exceed one month from the day of check-in." Why one month?"

The paralegal helping us with the documents and notarizing them said, "That's standard language that allows for emergencies and adjustments to your training and processing while protecting you from an indefinite extension of your processing. Everyone uses one month as an upper limit for this sort of tourist school and it won't come to that. There's the substance of a lawsuit if anyone other than your aunt attempts to extend your training or processing without a good reason."

I had butterflies in my stomach as we finished the forms and I turned to Aunt Amy. "Do you still want me to take the two-week deluxe course?" I asked.

She hugged me and said "Yes, you'd really benefit from the two-week course. Have you changed your mind?"

"Aunt Amy, it scares the heck out of me, but I need the highest bid I can get. That means I need the best training I can get. The best you're willing to pay for."

"If that's what you want, I'll have to reschedule your check-in to Thursday or Friday. Probably Thursday, even though that means you'll have to kennel overnight in the market. I have a meeting Friday that I can't miss. The paperwork you signed is still good, but I'll have to sign and file a revised training contract for you."

I hugged Aunt Amy. "Thursday's great. That's when Shirley is checking in at the market. Maybe they'll ship us together."

She smiled as she said "I'm sure they will. Maybe you'll stop being frenemies and just be friends after the training."

No hope for that, but it would be nice to have her with me in the market and when we were shipped, even if she was getting the ultimate course and would train separately. That really wasn't time enough to go from frenemies to just friends, even if such a thing were possible between Shirley and I.

I liked Shirley but even her slave grading would be more of a status symbol for her than a necessity, like it was for me. Oh, she'd help me get the best grade I could, but if she scored prime and I didn't, she'd find a way to shove her naked ass with the Frederick fancy F brand she'd get right in my face. She'd expect me to do the same if I had the chance and, shameful as I found it to admit this, she wouldn't be wrong. Sometimes I wanted to take her over my knee in public and give her a bare-bottomed spanking she would not soon forget. Pity we weren't going to be training together as I might have gotten the chance if we were.