(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 Slave Identification Number (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.
