Hold On You People Are Real

Prologue

2 months prior:

MISTRESSPATRICE: For candidates like you dear katy, our organization offers extensive avenues of training. Ranging from service, both domestic and intimate, exhibitionism, manners and protocols.

And several times a year we host auctions with merchandise brought in from all over the globe.

katybdesperate: Merchandise? Like slaves? A real life slave auction?

MISTRESSPATRICE: You sound shocked lovely girl. Remember, you have every right to end this chat, block my account, and forget that people like me exist. At least you have that right for now.

katybdesperate: You're serious Mistress? You want to put me up on an auction block? And fucking sell me?

MISTRESSPATRICE: Watch your mouth, girl. I find vulgar language quite annoying from a girl in your position.

katybdesperate: Oh my God, YES. I want to be on that auction block. I want to be sold.

MISTRESSPATRICE: I believe you might have been drinking, katy. We should continue this discussion at another time. But your excitement is noted.

katybdesperate: Would it be for a contract or "permanent"?

MISTRESSPATRICE: We offer contracts for agreed on terms of service, seldom less than 18 months. And we do offer a permanent status. And let me assure you, the quotation marks are unneeded and frankly insulting. Permanent does, in fact, mean permanent. Though we strongly encourage inexperienced girls to fulfill at least one contract before asking to have her personhood taken away forever.

katybdesperate: Oh, I'm in, I'm so in. What would I be wearing on the auction block?

katybdesperate: Eighteen months. I'll go right now. Barefoot in pajamas. And I'm not inexperienced. I was 24/7 no limit for almost two years.

MISTRESSPATRICE: Oh, I would think an experienced girl like you knows exactly what she'll be wearing on the block.

MISTRESSPATRICE: I'll let you think this over. If you do decide to pursue a future with us I want you to record a video pleading your case for why you deserve this opportunity.

MISTRESSPATRICE: And lovely girl, I do believe that you'll know what to wear in that video?

katybdesperate: Yes, MistressPatrice.

CHAPTER 1: The True Part

Hi, my name is katy and this is my very first dirty story. That's right, scared little virgin right here. (Well, not that kind of virgin. More of a slut, honestly.) And this is a longtime fantasy of mine that I added a lot of detail to in my dirty little head. But let's start with the part of the story that actually happened.

When I was 19 I caught a drug charge and lost custody of my daughter for several years. She's with me now and we're doing well but I was in a very dark place there for awhile. So this girl I met in jail recruited me to the oh so complimentary worlds of stripping and BDSM. I might tell that story in detail at a later time but for now let's just say that what started as a Domme/sub relationship slowly turned into more and more of a Pimp/prostitute relationship. I eventually got out with the clothes on my back, a broken heart, and a raging fetish for fear and humiliation. And trust me, you want no part of a fear fetish. So I end up in San Antonio waiting tables at a chain Italian joint, (yep, that one), and living with a very nice, very vanilla, slightly nerdy guy. He's trying to play Captain Sav-a-Ho while I'm trying to subtly hint that he should be whipping me with his belt and passing me around to his friends.

So I'm, um,... frustrated, and I start spending way too much time on the old Collarspace website. It was apparent right off the bat that most of the profiles were either fakes or lonely virgins but I still enjoyed trading fantasies. (Did I mention how frustrated I was?) So anyway, I started chatting with this alleged girl who claimed to be involved in one of those Hellfire Club sex slave training and auction networks for the super elite. I didn't really buy it but I played along and begged her to get me on that auction block. I sent her nudes, I even made a video begging to be "found worthy". It was hot even though I was fairly certain that it was all bullshit and she was likely a fat middle-aged guy. She said that they were going to insist on snatching me off the street even though I was volunteering and she gave me a "secret name", and a password. And just that tiny, tiny sliver of a chance that this was real was a potent turn-on. I would turn down rides and walk home from work just to keep that fear fetish at a boil. Gotta give those white slavers a fair chance, right?

Alright, if anyone's still with me, that's the real life true backstory and all that follows was dreamed up by me and my eager little fingers.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You don't care about me.

You don't care about anybody.

I wish you were still in jail.

Don't call here anymore.

CLICK.

Harsh words from a six year old. But not undeserved. I had failed her. And failed her again.

I stumbled through my shift hoping to make enough on a slow Sunday to pay my phone, get cigs, and have enough left for some speed to try and forget the contempt and what sounded like finality in her little voice.

"KATY!! Get your head out of your ass and check on your 5 top!" bellowed my manager, Sister Sue the Heifer. She had liked me and constantly talked me up as a top server until she found out I had been a dancer. You can live down a lot of things in life but once a stripper always a stripper. Especially in the eyes of the, uh... big girls. I re-up their drinks and even manage to upsell a couple of coffees and desserts to go.

Sunday lunch is usually a big day but a $60 double is weak even when you're on the Heifer's shitlist. No money for speed to smoke but I know a DJ at a bar down the street who can always spare a big shard if I let him stick it up my butt. (The shard, that is. It seems this is quite scandalous outside of strip clubs. Who knew?) So I get my very personal bargain buzz, flirt for a drink or three, and accept an offer for a ride home from a couple of girls from work.

Back at the Ponderosa the Captain is asleep on the couch, I roust him and send his drunk ass off to bed with the promise of a blow job that I knew wasn't going to happen.

And then, right in the middle of replaying that awful conversation in my head for the 100th time, the phone rings with an unknown number. A 613 number? Where the fuck is that?

"Hello?"

"You weren't there slut."

"Who is this?"

"Don't play games with me. You know exactly who this is."

"I really don't. But feel free to fuck yourself."

"This is Mistress Patrice".

And my blood froze. How the fuck did she get my number from that throwaway email?

Once I recovered my composure enough to speak, I made my best attempt at a firm voice, "Where did you get this number?" Squeaky and scared. Great job, Katy.

"Where were you, slut? I am not the sort to play with. Every Sunday and Monday night from midnight till 1:00 AM until the pickup is made. That was our agreement, katy." How can I hear the lower case letter in her voice? The lower case letter that labels me a nonperson. The lower case letter that just soaked my panties.. "An agreement that we hold quite binding, dear. We do understand that this is a frightening moment for you so you may have a day. One day, little katy."

"I think you have the wrong number."

"I do not have the wrong number. You are katy delhomme. You were born in Bossier City, LA in 1994.Your mother is Leeanne Delhomme. Your father was a man named Randy Walker, though I don't think you even knew his name until now. You are 5'5 with shoulder length honey brown hair, though it was blonde in the pics you posted online. Striking hazel eyes, a C cup size, 28C, or perhaps 29C?. Shall I continue?"

"No, Mistress Patrice", I whisper. The truth is I was terrified but I wanted this. I had thought about little else since the offer was made. Well, until this morning when I called Gracie anyway. But she wants nothing to do with me at this point. Captain Sav-a-Ho needs to snore right through this and then move on to a vanilla girlfriend who will likely love him for being such a good man. Love him in ways that a broken little slut like me never could.

"Okay, if I do go through with this..."

"THIS IS NOT A NEGOTIATION.

You will be at the River Overlook we agreed on at midnight tomorrow night where you will be met by our acquisition team. And I'll warn you now, they are not happy at having their schedule disrupted by a little druggie slut and her lack of manners. I suggest you be on time and on your very best behavior."

"Yes, Mistress Patrice."

CHAPTER 3:

CHAPTER 4: Options Narrow

My main thought as I got dressed was that I'm even a failure as a drug whore. Two guys, a spanking, and all three holes for a $40 bag of speed and 3 Percocet and 2 bars? Okay, to be fair, I asked for the spanking. Not that it was much of a spanking. When you come right out and tell someone that you cum so hard when you're crying that it might as well be a superpower how the hell do they answer that with such a sad little kiddie spanking? And where the hell is my bra? Did those assholes steal my bra?

Back in the front Mikey the bartender slides me a Smithwick's Red. "You're off to an early start", he growls in that sexy, Texas black dude way.

"Yeah. I think I got fired last night."

"You don't know?"

"I'm kind of spun. Haven't slept in a minute."

"I've always liked you Katy girl so I'm gonna give ya some hard advice. Your looks ain't gonna last long running wide open on that rocket fuel. And without your looks, just what have you got?"

"Nothing. Mikey. I've got nothing at all."

I kill my beer and head for the door. "Hey, you're supposed to pay for that."

"I paid for it in the back."

"Yeah, we heard you payin' for it. Be careful, Katy."

I check my messages, about ten from Charles wondering where the hell I am. You're a fucking genius, k. Why not celebrate getting fired by getting kicked out of the house, too? Maybe the slavers will come tonight and I won't have to worry about this stuff.

Another message from Gracie's grandfather, (other side), telling me to stop calling. When she wants to talk to me they'll let her call but they're not going to force her.

Phone rings again, Charles again. He should know I won't answer when I'm out fucking up. The most messed up thing is that he's probably more worried than mad. He might not even notice how freshly fucked I am. He'll be leaving for work in an hour and I'll at least be able to get in there and get cleaned up. Walking down the street at 7:30 in the morning with the smell of jizz in your hair rarely portends a good day. It just cripples your job search.

I end up at the River overlook. Here I am, white slavers. Just what, 7 hours late? I bet that'll get me a real spanking. Or it would if those people existed.

How long has it been since I've even had the good, scary, weepy sex? Marisol, I guess? No, don't even say that name. Not even in your head.

Just killing time I check out all my messages from the pervert board. 400+ new messages. All from millionaires with stables of slave girls they'd like me to join. Hah. Bunch of losers. But I could definitely go for a meet and beat this morning. Damn shame.

Ah, a message from my friend Faiththeswitch.

Faiththeswitch: hey, slut

katybdesperate: hey, slut yourself. What up?

Faiththeswitch: you'll never guess where I am.

katybdesperate: the moon? Alderaan?

Faiththeswitch: Silly rabbit, Alderaan was destroyed in the '70s. I'm on I-35 headed to San Antonio. This couple I've been playing sub for had some business down there so I tagged along. They say I can have the day to hang with you.

katybdesperate: can we fuck?

Faiththeswitch: Maybe. I'll ask permission. I really do try to be obedient when I'm subbing. Still with tall, mild, and boring?

katybdesperate: he really is a good guy..., oh, I have an appointment to be kidnapped by white slavers at midnight but we can hang till then

Faiththeswitch: Well, you wouldn't want to be late for that. LOL

Freshly showered and shaved, I load the little pipe and wait for Faith. We'd only met once RL at a kink luncheon but we had really hit it off online. She was Canadian, I believe but had been spending time in Dallas for some murky reason.

She arrives in a whirlwind. I notice again that she's at least 5 inches taller than me. I guess it's the pixie cut that makes her seem so waifish online.

"So this is that creepy Patrice bitch that you told me about? I messaged her after you told me about it but she never offered to kidnap me and sell me at an auction."

"I have better boobs."

"Yeah, that must be it. But how did she get your number?"

"I don't know and it creeps me out. To be honest I thought she was probably a guy. Now she's kinda scaring me. Knew all kinds of shit about me."

"Katy's gonna get kidnapped, Katy's gonna get kidnapped."

"Shut up slut."

She grabbed my hair and yanked me off the couch and onto the floor, her other hand sliding down my top, my knees instinctively spreading scandalously wide. "Oh, these ARE nice. Why haven't I played with them before?"

"I've always wondered just that..., Mistress."

"Easy now, I told you they said no. But I think maybe they're angling to get you to the hotel later for a 4-way."

I sigh in frustration, "I really need to clear out before Charles gets home. I don't want to face him just yet."

"So is that over?"

"Well, I need to find a place to stay before I make the move."

"After tonight your new owners are gonna take of that, yeah?"

"Yeah, right. For two months she's been telling me to be at the overlook at midnight every Sun and Mon until they make the pickup. I went several times but kept my distance, just watching. No one who looked out of place. I had pretty much forgotten the whole thing until she called. Still freaks me out when I think about it."

"Well, we're definitely going tonight."

CHAPTER 4: Hear That Train a'Comin'

So Faith and I drink and smoke away the afternoon. Made all the spots in walking distance with just enough light make-out action at the bar to keep the free shots coming. Charles keeps calling and I keep not answering.

A little past 8:00 the conversation turns back to my upcoming "appointment" which is looming bigger and scarier with every tick of the clock. Could it be real? But Faith is with me and she's fearless. I show her my entire chat history with MistressPatrice which gets me felt up pretty aggressively.

"We're going. And when they don't show I'm taking you down beneath that pier and fucking your brains out, with or without permission.

Where's my Yes Mistress"?

"Yes, Mistress", I whisper. After months of boring vanilla sex only occasionally spiced up by the shame of tricking for drugs I was on fire. "But what if they really come for me?"

"This isn't the movies, katy."

"Is Charles at home? Can we swing by for a change of clothes?"

"I think he's there. These shorts are pretty skimpy. You think I need to dress up more?"

"I read the chat and you promised barefoot in pajamas so you're going barefoot in pajamas."

So we Uber over to Target and she picks me out some light blue, near see-through pajama pants and a satiny white top with just two lace ties near the top that flares open further down to leave my stomach exposed.

I change in the Whattaburger bathroom and we Uber back to the river. "Are you feeling sexy, katy?" But I'm too scared to speak. I can only give a timid little nod.

Back at the observation deck there's no one around. Faith takes the Target bag with my clothes in it. I've got no pockets so I'm holding onto my phone for dear life.

11:48 - just us.

A little kissing. We smoke the last of the speed and take a couple of bars that she magically produces and I start to calm down when there are no white slavers to be seen. At least I'll finally have sex with Faith. That's been on my list for awhile.

12:14 - just us

And I'm feeling much more relaxed.

Faith unhooks my bra and tries to snake it out from under my top and around my arms. "Try not to lose that. I lose a bra almost every day."

"Things Nice Girls Never Ever Say for $1000, Alex."

I giggle. Feeling so much better. Unemployed and borderline homeless but with a girl I've always felt a connection with.

12:41 - Truck full of teenagers pass through with rap music cranked up. I tense up but they simply catcall at the girl on girl action and pull to the other end of the parking lot.

12:53

"I can't wait any longer. We're going down under the pier."

""Yeah, we waited long enough. And I'm hornier than I've ever been. Maybe hornier than anyone's ever been."

She takes my hand and leads me around the railing. I notice that she somehow got my bra off and it's in her hand. The kissing resumes in earnest. Her hungry mouth trying to suck out my soul. She moves on to my throat. Kissing, biting. She turns me, kissing my neck while her hand goes down my pants. "Umm, I thought you were wet earlier but you've got a little swamp down here now. I turn you on, julie?"

julie?!! That's the name Mistress Patrice... I must have mentioned it.

i'm close. So close and she hasn't even penetrated me yet. "I love you, Faith." And she pinches my clitty savagely. "I LOVE YOU, MISTRESS! I LOVE YOU, MISTRESS!"

""How sweet."

And I explode as a tall black woman and two Middle-Eastern looking men step out of the shadows.

CHAPTER 5:

CHAPTER 6: Homer wrote kink?

I think I blacked out. Next thing I know I'm on my knees in the classic presentation pose. Muscle memory and instinct, I suppose.

"Y-y-y, y-youre..."

"I'm not Patrice, no. My name is Rebekah and I'm here to take you. As agreed."

"What's your name, girl? The name that Patrice gave you?"

"j-j-julie..."

"Very good. And the verse?"

"l-l-led hence a slave by some i-insulting sword f-forlorn and trembling to some f-foreign lord?"

"Close enough, I suppose. You weren't chosen for your brains. Any idea what that's from?"

My mouth works but nothing comes out. One of the scary guys speaks into a walkie-talkie in some language I don't recognize.

Faith leans in, "I'm sorry, julie, but I have to take your phone now."

My head bows on its own, sobbing. I have to run. I might never get another chance. But the two guys lift me roughly by my upper arms. Like they read my fucking mind. I hear a boat approaching. I try to turn my head but Rebekah grabs my chin painfully. "You agreed to this. I saw the transcript. Did you really think we would let you simply change your mind and walk away?"

She releases her grip and I look over at Faith, "We're friends. Please don't do this."

Faith simply smirks and turns away. Then I feel a rag pressed to my face. A string chemical smell and I'm vaguely aware of being lifted and handed into the boat.