Here is the beginning of Bridgett's article about Slavery Games. Like the first part, this article is not intended for children. If you are an opponent of Slavery law, you should skip it.
*****
When I got home after the bet I made, Alejandra stared at me in shock.
"You realize that if you become a slave, I'll be auctioned off too as your property!"
Of course, I was just starting to realize what the anger and adrenaline had made me do. I'd wanted to fight Brittany, and an opportunity to make her a slave had seduced me. It was dangerous and I knew it.
A few days later, we met again with Patrick Saint Andrew.
The black girl who had won the day of Lana's participation was there with her coach. There was also Brittany and her coach, Kimberly.
"I would like to propose a special event. You all have experience, and I suggest that the winning team owns the losers: participants and coach." Patrick suggested to everyone.
"Why the coaches too?" Kimberly asked anxiously.
"Because Alejandra will inevitably be sold at the same time as Bridgett," Patrick answered.
"It's normal for a slave," Brittany interrupted smiling.
"I think it's normal for coaches to share the same fate. You need real guts to do what Alejandra did," added Helena's coach. [what a brave coach - I'd love to know why she's this cavalier/brave/stupid]
"However, it was a confrontation between Bridgett and Brittany that led to this. I'd rather go to the auction than become the property of one of them. If I win, I want them to be sold and I get the full amount if I win," Helena imposed.
"You all consider that there will only be one winner? There will be no second place available?" I clarified.
"It wasn't our idea," Bridgett and Patrick said.
"There is already a rule that you have to do a minimum of 60 minutes or become a slave, even though the record is 48 minutes. Beyond that limit the second competitor and her coach remain free," said Helena.
Everyone looked at each other.
"I think that's reasonable because if none of us can last up to one hour, Patrick will have six slaves to sell?" said Bridgett.
"Yes, but if one of you manages more than 60 minutes then it is they who take the slaves or the balance of their sale. I think that's very generous of me to be honest," Patrick said defensively.
The date for the special event was set for fourteen days later.
For two weeks Alejandra and I worked intensively on my strength and endurance. Holding on for at least 60 minutes was going to be the greatest challenge yet.
Alejandra wanted to work on my anus too because I was going to spend a lot of time on the sedula. I was scared but at least this time I knew a little more about what I was facing.
"Something worries me. Brittany is the one who has held out the least, and she is not afraid to stay on the cross for an hour. Don't you think that's strange?" Alejandra objected.
"I'm sure she'll lose. And I don't want to own her, just humiliate her by making her a slave. She's so naïve I'm sure she thinks she'll win," I replied.
"Be careful it's not us being humiliated as well. Besides, in my opinion, if she ends up on the stage, her father will buy her back."
"You have a point," I noted.
Every day we go running around doing squats and lunges. The same preparation as the time before but at a higher intensity. We had to beat a record. Any performance below that would be insufficient.
Then it was time to go and make ourselves prisoners. The six of us were there.
"The participants undress and go to these cells, the coaches to the ones opposite," explained Patrick.
I was shivering thinking that Alejandra would not come to relieve me. The situation was different from the previous time, and each of us wanted to show others that we were confident about our chances, and we seemed not to have any trouble getting naked. But once the cell door was closed, I cried with fear. So did the others, I think.
At least this time, I didn't need to see the hairdresser as I'd already shaved.
Time passed slowly. But finally, we had a hearty breakfast and then got into the trucks. There were six of us in them.
When the trucks arrived, the coaches went down first, then as they reached the pillars, we boarded, and received a beam each. Then we crossed to the square. This time, we had no boys playing.
Being raised on the cross was almost a formality. Alejandra lubricated my anus, and once again I sat on the sedula, the dildo that went up into my ass. It was a humiliation but also a tool that helped us to breathe and stay straight when we got upright.
I was on familiar ground. It was still difficult, but I knew what to expect, and I took some pleasure in letting this sedula slowly penetrate me without being able to oppose it. I found the frustration I had experienced a few weeks earlier had changed to somewhere between frustration and appreciation.
It seemed almost easy for me. It had to be for the others, too, didn't it?
In more than an hour, it was my purpose, things would be different, but I preferred to focus on the present moment and take advantage of Alejandra's encouragement.
"It's weird... it looks like a needle on your left arm," she said.
"Where?" I replied, trying to see. I had felt a sting earlier but hadn't thought anything of it.
"My God, Bridgett. Bridgett, no!"
"What?"
"You're bleeding."
It was a terrible shock to hear about this because I knew the consequences for both of us.
"It's no big deal, nobody will notice," I said. Alejandra was obviously not convinced, but no one else but the two of us seemed to have noticed it at that point.
'She wants me to be eliminated,' I thought. Quite quickly, I reacted. Our fates were linked. Alejandra was right. We could not ignore the bleeding.
"What to do?" I asked. Once again, my position limited my expression. I was thinking about seeing the doctor so he had to let me continue.
"How about I talk to the doctor to see if he can fix you up on the spot?" Alejandra proposed and I nodded.
"Get her down," he simply said. Hearing those words felt like being stabbed and I couldn't breathe.
"No, no, it's not much," Alejandra protested but they were already starting to take me down.
