Chapter 6 - Showcase II
The Hotel Yorotani - Main Exhibition Room (Two Days Before the Hunt)
Amelia stood there, wrists already aching from the cuffs, feeling for all the world like meat on display in the butcher's shop window, only she wasn't ready to be sold by the pound. Mostly the spectators for the showcase stuck to the shadows, occasional puffs on cigars giving glows in the gloom to show where they stood, or quiet chatter hinting where they'd clustered. One or two paraded up and down the rows getting a good look at what they might have ended up paying to hunt; how much they paid must have been astronomical, Amelia thought, if it not only funded the hunt but the bulk of running an entire island resort to boot.
To Amelia's eye there seemed to be no pattern or style these men shared. Some of the men that she could see wore fatigues or hiking clothes, others suits, others just general casual attire. Dotted amongst them were women too, wives, slaves, girlfriends; it was hard for Amelia to tell when the only real lighting in the room was the plinths the girls stood on in their stark illumination; she had glimpses of shadows, or the few people who got close but nothing more.
One group in particular sent a chill down her spine as they approached. They were led by a lean man, slightly balding but with the gait of someone with an alarming turn of speed should they choose to use it. The man sported the kind of tan that said he spent a lot of his time outdoors, but his fashionable modern tieless suit and over-engineered chunky wristwatch said the outdoors was likely not for the professional part of his life. What worried her, though, was not the man as such, but the two women who fell in a pace and a half behind him as they moved from plinth to plinth. Both of them were tall and spectacular specimens of womanhood, platinum blonde hair tied back in tight ponytails, they wore combat trousers, and athletic sleeveless tops that matched their neckbands, and the first signs of age showed in the smallest creases of their otherwise impeccable skin. The particularly worrying part for Amelia was that instead of the normal regulation black these particular women wore the disarming powdery blue neckband of a retired slavecop.
These were women taken in by the BFA's Slavery Enforcement and Fugitive Retrieval unit at 18, usually they were volunteers but some were purchased from good breeding stock, or to break and retrain potential disruptive sluts. They had spent 12 years under the watchful eyes of their Master-Agents hunting, subduing, and recovering whoever the Bureau set them on like vicious guard dogs who rested at the feet of cruel masters. Amelia knew from her own time at the pleasure of the BFA that these girls didn't have it easy though, even while she was being raped senseless there was rarely a time where one of these girls wasn't warming up or finishing off a Master-Agent in the vicinity. The numbers of Slave-Agents were relatively few compared to the overall enslaved population but they were known for their ruthless devotion not only to the regime, but to their Master-Agents. Most Slave-Agents would march through hell and back if it meant that slaves were either returned to their true masters, or handed over to the BFA for more daunting forms of justice.
The man looked her up and down, walking around her. Amelia tried to keep a watchful eye on him as he circled her but the way her arms were suspended, and her ankles restrained there was a point where he was directly behind and out of sight, another way for this humiliation to drum in how weak she was, she thought. His eyes felt cold on her exposed skin, as though he could chill her to the bone with a mere glance; she could feel his gaze creeping over her hips and lower back, pausing for her breasts and neck. Not for the first time she wished her hands were free so at least she could feel like she had something to fend him off with if she needed. She realised it was futile, striking a member of the superior gender carried with it a minimum penalty of six months Community Service, if not instant and very permanent enslavement. She almost chuckled to herself as she remembered the island was largely outside Pussiana's laws, that was the point after all. She suspected that if she did strike him, though, her agreement with TopSlut had some very unpleasant penalty clauses she would never want to trigger.
He circled back around to her front still casting a critical eye over her body.
"Tell me, slut, how are your blowjob skills?" he said, his voice thin, sharp, and deeply unpleasant.
She glared at him. "Depends how deep you want the bite marks."
He snorted gently to himself. "Perhaps if you're going to threaten to bite then maybe a petgirl. A tailplug would suit your slutty little very nicely. Perhaps one with a nice stinging gel coating for extra lubrication." he said, a crooked smile veering into an ugly sneer across his face.
"Just try it and you'll be wearing it yourself" she answered back, desperate to make herself look imposing despite her bonds.
"You'll find your choices are a lot more limited when I put that lovely little black band around your neck. Especially if you want to keep said neck connected to that pretty little head of yours. Hmm, I like you, yes. You'll be a lot of fun to break, hopefully you won't make it too easy." He turned to one of the former slavecops, "Pussyhound, get this one if you can, but don't worry if you can't. 3rd choice so far."
One of the blondes produced a notebook and wrote something before inspecting Amelia herself. "She's in good fitness, toned, shouldn't be too much of a problem. Looks like she's trained for speed and stamina, Glimmerslut and I might need to go for an electroshock to fully immobilise her."
The man nodded as the blonde spoke, cradling his chin as if in thought. "Hmm,yes, fine, just try not to damage her ass too much, doesn't matter about her face, she'll be wearing a muzzle the rest of her life anyway." he replied, watching Amelia for the little spike of rage about where she might find herself.
