Sold At The Mall Pt 04

Just a brief aside. I started writing this in 2024. This is a fantasy. To treat a person this way in real life would be morally wrong.

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My car sat in line in front of the border turnstile. With my air conditioning broken, I was boiling in the summer heat. I had a meeting with a client over the border, however, that I simply needed to attend. I sleepily let my foot off the brake and let my coupe slide forward one more car in the line, moving inexorably towards the land of the free.

Not that it had been that lately. I hardly believed any of the news about the regime that had been elected last year. Absolute free markets. A harsh judicial strictly interested in protecting capital interests. Enslavement for most crimes it deemed serious, such as drug trafficking, first degree battery, and grand theft. New slave training and distribution centers, slave stores, even slaves showing up on popular private sales websites and lists. Slaves of all colours and genders.

I thought back to my last night partying at a friend's mansion in West Van. I knew we had got up to some wild stuff, but I didn't remember very much before I passed out that night. Some grainy mental image popped up of a Russian girl with earrings, a dyed mullet, and a Hawaiian shirt getting something out in the back of the car while I drove her back to my apartment in upscale Kitsilano. My heart skipped a beat. Probably nothing.

I rolled up to the turnstile, the light on it was red. There was a flash of the camera, getting my license plate. I proceeded to the booth.

"Passport please."

"Of course."

"Purpose of your visit?"

"Business meeting in Seattle."

The border guard was a stocky man with tattoo sleeves. He peeked into the back seat.

"Okay, your car is a mess. I'm going to ask you to take the left lane when you enter, and we're gonna take a closer look."

"Sure."

Confidently, feeling dignified in my business suit and tie, I pulled into one of the parking lots by the Customs Center. Two security officers, their badges emblazoned with the logo of "Crossings Inc.", the private corporation that was contracted to control the border, eyed me as they approached.

"Can't see shit in that back seat, son. Tell you what, we're gonna grab a dog, if he don't bark, you can just go. Waste of our sweet time."

I nodded, and the other one went to grab a sniffer dog. I had been told to be as cooperative as possible when crossing the borders, most civil rights were just formalities now. I guess I felt tense, maybe a premonition. I kept trying to think back to the night before. The party had seemed innocent enough, there had been some characters though...

The dog barked.

"Unlock your vehice, right now!"

My heart fell out of the chest. The border guard opened the passenger door and rummaged in my back seat for a few minutes. In the side compartments, underneath. He reached down...

And pulled out a plastic Ziploc bag filled with white powder.

"GET OUT OF THE CAR! GET OUT OF THE CAR RIGHT NOW!"

The other officer had his gun out, pointed directly at me. Shaking, I opened the door, and stepped out.

"HANDS ON YOUR HEAD! NOW!"

He marched up to me, grabbed my wrists, and locked handcuffs on them. I began to protest, and in response he grabbed a gag from his belt, pulled my mouth open, and stuck it in my mouth, locking the strap on the back of my neck. It tasted rough and leathery. "New tool for disobedient fuckers."

"You're under arrest for drug trafficking and resisting arrest. Anything you say can and will be used against you. Per Crossings Inc. policy, you will be remanded to the courts for trial and sentencing. Do you understand?"

I tried to reply through the gag. The guard laughed, then grabbed me and walked me to the holding cell in my business suit. About an hour later, I was delivered to county jail. I won't bore you with the details, but I was in an orange jumpsuit when they locked my cell for the night.

With the reduction of so many layers in the judicial system, the trial was brief, occurring in a Seattle courthouse the very next day. My expensive lawyer, whom I had persuaded to rush down from Vancouver overnight, shrugged his shoulders multiple times throughout. He was not as aggressive as he might have been, but then again, even representing me carried its own risks. There was nothing he could do. It didn't matter that I was unaware of the baggie. It didn't matter that I was an upstanding citizen. It didn't matter that I didn't have intent.

"The defendant will rise."

I stood, shaking.

"I, the judge in this court, find you guilty of schedule one drug trafficking, and sentence you to be sold into slavery. The defendant will now strip."

I froze. My lawyer gave a wan smile and murmured "you'd better do what they say from now on."

A security officer approached me from either side, and I waved them off.

The courtroom was not packed, but contained a sheriff, the judge, my attorney, the district attorney, a few members of the public morality league. I hadn't even had a chance to reach my contacts, other than my lawyer. Justice in this new America moved quickly. I did, however, note a small news crew, with a well dressed reporter occasionally speaking to the cameras during gaps in the proceedings.

All eyes were on me, and I delicately removed my tie, my sport coat, my shirt. I have great pecs, but I hadn't ever considered that I would be showing them off to a bunch of legal eagles. Then I leaned down and removed my shoes, unbuckled my pants, removed them with my socks, and stood up hopefully. Maybe they would let me leave me semblance of dignity.

"The defendant will strip COMPLETELY."

Anxiously, I pulled down my boxer shorts. I now stood naked in front of the court, standing as straight and as confidently as I knew how. I felt the cool wind of the air conditioning, and shivered.

One of the guards commanded me to place my wrists behind me, crossed, and bow my head. With a click, a fitted metal collar was placed on my neck. I had been humiliated when they had measured my neck pre-trial, but not half as much as I felt now, naked and collared before a court. The metal was cold.

Cuffs were snapped on my wrists and leg irons placed on my ankles. I was no longer a person, just a recently sentenced slave. The two guards gripped my arms painfully, and I shook with anxiety. I tested the cuffs, and hung my head.

"I now pronounce you property of the Crossings Corporation, to be trained and sold as they see fit. This court is adjourned. May you suffer for the offense you have inflicted upon our god fearing nation.

The guard pulled the O ring on my collar roughly, clipping a chain leash to it. Equally roughly, he led me away with the other guard's hand on my cuffed wrist. It was official, I had been sentenced, and would now be sold and then trained as a slave. I could barely gasp for breath.

-

My chains clinked, and I felt the ever present touch of her whip on my backside. Almost calming, but threatening at the same time. I also felt the presence of the other stallions, and the shackles at my wrists and bridle in my mouth. The reins on my torso, so I could pull harder. I sensed the anxiety of the other stallions, the lesser anxiety of their owners. Blindfolded, I could see nothing.

"There's no winning this one, Anna-Belle. I have the stronger steed."

"Yet, he has the greater weight to carry, no?"

Anna-Belle's accent made the jibe all the more cutting, and I sensed her competitor bristle with anger. I could hear her steed breathing heavily already, either preparing or maybe experiencing a panic attack. The manual, Anna-Belle had informed me when we started, advised to punish a panicking stallion even more harshly. They should be concentrating, it claimed, "on being a good beast of burden and not on disobeying their mistress. Do not ever spare the whip on a fearful stallion, or he will become soft." I had panicked one day, and earned myself several marks of the horsewhip and an evening chained to the front porch. I had resolved never to panic again.

The whistle blew and Annabelle snapped her whip on my ass immediately, though it was unnecessary. We rushed forward and she started correcting me so that I didn't hit the other stallions. I ran and the chariot careened here and there and then steadied.

I felt a soft correction of the whip as I turned a corner. She pulled the reins slightly, clearly indicating for me to save my energy. I sensed that I was about in the upper third but we were spread out. I felt myself make a pass, though could not see what was going on but only feel her exploiting my reactions. This way, that way, and occasionally a callous whack on my backside. Must go faster.

"Nearly at the front now" she murmured after the first lap had gone by. She tapped my right thigh and I angled to the left, still breathing heavily and gasping under the weight of the chariot. She was petite but tall for a woman, about average weight. I pictured her seated on the chariot, leather boots idly crossed, holding my reins and her whip regally. The lady who owned me. My sexual conditioning was exacerbated by the tingle in my cock. She had placed a tight, vibrating ring there before the race, after removing the cage. A frustrated stallion galloped faster.

We turned a corner and when I didn't turn sharply enough she gave me a stinging crack on my right thigh, making me wince, though not slow. "Did I not rehearse this corner with you a million times, you useless whore!"

She liked to call me hoo-er when she was upset. I, of course, could not apologize or kiss her boots as I typically did, having a bit in my mouth and being chained to her chariot. Instead, I cursed myself and corrected my angle.

I passed one chariot, then the other, sensing them as I passed them by. Some charioteers laid the whip on regularly, others I could tell had more of an understanding with their naked, terrified racer. We were all mere slaves, and subject to the whims of powerful women.

I felt myself narrowly miss a chariot that was almost still. Possible panic, or accident?

The race was a single lap of the course, which was still a decently long run. Some mistresses made their stallions do the entire track twice a few days before, simply to train for stamina. Annabelle had decided that it was better for me to save my strength and not risk injury. She was so kind. I thought of how lucky I was that she had bought me.

On the straight, I ran and ran, ever away from her whip. I could not see, but it did not matter. I felt the grass of the course beneath my feet. I felt even more so her intimidating presence. She pulled my reins hard one way and I narrowly avoided one chariot as I passed him, causing our chariot's left wheel to depart the ground slightly.

I whizzed past another stallion who was huffing, struggling with the uphill stretch. I heard his mistress berating him. Then I started to be bogged down with it. Annabelle was apprehensive. I kept climbing, digging my feet into the grass, knowing the consequences of failure.

"Come on, come ON! There is only one stallion ahead of you. Keep going..."

I was tired already, and felt tension, but also a glimmer of hope. Second place. All I needed to do was pass him, and then... I dreamed of what she might do for me, the privileges I might get back. Clothes? Even a poor slave like me could be given them for a short time, on occasion. A break from the whip, definitely. I knew I deserved it when I got it, but still I dreamed of being free from being hurt for a day, maybe a week. And as her slave, her property, I would beg and kiss at her feet for that privilege.

She rested her whip on my backside, and I strained harder. Behind me I heard a few cracks and then the other stallion behind me crying into his bit. I strained even harder. I crested the hill, and Annabelle hurrahed me. I felt a thrill.

About fifteen minutes had gone by, and we began to reach the final straight. I anticipated how she might reward me if I won. She might give me an orgasm. She might let me wear clothes sometimes. I turned what I thought must be the second to last corner.

And slipped.

I slid sideways and crashed awkwardly into the ground, the handles of the chariot with my wrists chained to them pulled up along with my odd angle. I felt it tip sideways and I crashed that way, with Annabelle hopping out just before the chariot slid into me. Slowly, bruised but not seriously injured, I stood upright.

I felt a chariot whizz by, and another. We had lost. Next I felt her grab the chariot, and leap in. I knew she would be enraged now. She started yelling at me. "IDIOT!!!! YOU HAVE LOST US THE RACE!!!" I stood shaking in trepidation.

I felt a snap of the whip against my backside, and then another, harder one. I leaped forward in agony. I felt like such a useless slave. She cracked it again and I started sobbing beneath my blindfold. I ran faster and faster, in a futile attempt to escape her whip. I wanted to placate her, beg for mercy, but instead she drove me inexorably onward.

"MOVE YOU CRETIN!"

Sobbing, I sensed us reach the finish line, but she didn't let up.

CRACK!

I started to slow down due to weariness. My backside was on fire, and my legs would not move, but she was not done with me yet.

CRACK!

I got a ways past the finish line. I felt us whizz past the chariots currently being unsaddled.

CRACK!

Sobbing, I pulled and strained, but was exhausted. I had failed the woman who owned me, and she was showing me just how much that was going to cost.

CRACK!

With that, I almost collapsed, pulling the chariot slightly up as I lay in the dirt. She slowly got out of the chariot and started unbuckling me. Her rage was palpable. I lay naked in the dirt, still sobbing. She finished unbuckling my wrists and I sagged, then she removed everything else except the blindfold.

"Do NOT take this off. Do NOT move."

I knelt down pitifully, hearing her call to one of the attendants to remove the chariot. I must have been very dirty, my feet and knees digging into the dirt of the main stretch as I lay there. Finally, Annabelle came back for me, having sorted out the chariot.

CRACK!

I gasped, and instinctively covered the back of my neck. But I leaned forward and raised my ass so that she could hurt me more deeply and thoroughly. The horsewhip felt sharp on my exposed rear end. She owned me, and I had let her down. I started to apologize profusely.

CRACK!

"I'm s -- so sorry ma'am..."

CRACK!

*Sob* "Thank you m -- ma'am."

CRACK! CRACK!

"UP."

She leashed me, and led me to her van. I heard her open the cage.

"IN. RIGHT NOW!"

I tried to lean down and kiss her boots, but she held my leash tightly. She grabbed the cock ring and pulled it off roughly.

"I'm... I'm sorry. I'm so worthless."

I felt the metal of the truck on my poor bruised knees and touched the cage with my hands. Aggressively, Annabelle pushed me in and then shoved in my legs so the she could close the door which she did with a creak and a thud. She locked the wire metal door behind me with a padlock, and then slammed her trunk closed, making me shudder. I did not remove the blindfold. I had not been given permission.

I sat uncomfortably on the metal for about 20 minutes while she sorted some things out with the owners of the racecourse, and then heard her return and start her van. The welts on my backside touched the metal painfully, and I cried again as she pulled away.

When she returned to her mansion, she did not remove me from the cage as expected, but left me there. I stayed seated awkwardly, uncomfortably for hours. I did not dare remove the blindfold. I ruminated about what she would do.

Later that night, when I was bursting to relieve myself, Zara came, unlocked the cage, and grabbed my leash, taking me a few paces to the woods. I remained blindfolded, but felt the coolness of the night. She pushed me to the end of the lead, and then waited.

"She's definitely going to sell you now. Go relieve yourself slave."

Before, I had been allowed to relieve myself with some privacy. Now, she clapped her hands impatiently. I urinated away from her, into the grass. She grabbed the back of my head and pushed my face into my own urine.

"Eat piss."

I started to get up, and she kicked me down again. "Stay. Fucking. STILL!!"

I knew what was coming. I sensed her take out her whipping stick, the one she used for lasting punishments on her workers.

WHACK!

I started crying again, and begging.

WHACK!

"I'm soooo sorry mistress... I -- I'm just a..."

WHACK!

"AAAah, PLEASE mistress, I'm already so..."

WHACK!

Then, with her strapon, she used me. I knew I deserved it. I even enjoyed it, rearing up to feel more full, to feel more full. I needed this. I had failed, and that was the worst sort of disobedience. I felt the grass beneath my naked torso. At the end, I turned and crawled to her, covering her boots with kisses. "Thank you... Thank you mistress." I felt grateful. Maybe ma'am would feel I had learned my lesson:

Zara returned me to the van. That was how it was every day and night, for a week.

-

Annabelle gripped my leash tightly as we headed for the front door of a plain suburban home. The sun and pavement burned, and my tears melted quickly as they fell down my cheeks. She treated me like an animal, one hand at the end of the leash right by the collar, the other drawing the leash along. Beaten, I cried but did not dare resist. I still felt pain from the night before, and trepidation at what was to come. She had removed the blindfold.

"I've... Always been a good slave," I cried softly, pleading with her. "Please, I want you, please don't sell me. I thought, I thought..."

Wordlessly, suddenly, she halted, then snapped her fingers and pointed to the hot cement of the driveway. I knew I had gone too far. I knelt down, still crying, and she pushed me forward so that I was in whipping position. I knew I deserved this. My slave conditioning had taught me so.

I felt it before I heard the crack, and cried out in pain. I started pleading again as a car went by.

I knew at some level, that this event, which was traumatic for me, was fairly normal. A wealthy lady disciplining and then selling an unruly slave. I was property, and she had every right to discipline me in any way she liked. I, on the other hand, had been completely out of line in expressing my affection for her at this point.

CRACK!

"You are SO utterly incorrigible!"

She starting berating me as I openly cried in front of her, tensing for the next stroke.

CRACK!

"And now you are another woman's problem."

CRACK!

CRACK!

I yelped after each stroke. As expected, after my beating I crawled to her shoes and kissed them adoringly. "Th -- thank you for beating me, ma'am..." She kicked me away, then oddly, almost gently, she leaned down and wiped away a tear.

"See here. You must realize that you are not a person. It is most likely you will be sold often by powerful women. I was disappointed last week, and I have every right to dispose of you as I see fit. Including selling you."

I kissed her shoes one last time, naked on the pavement. "I know ma'am."

I stood and she walked me the rest of the way to the suburban home. It was very cookie cutter, all American, white picket fence with a pink SUV sitting out front. The soles of my feet burned, but I dared not complain.

She knocked and then snapped her fingers at me. I stood straight, fingers clasped on the back of my neck, elbows pointed outward. It was important to make a good impression. Every inch of me would be exposed for viewing. My cock stood to attention -- I was well conditioned.

A woman opened the door, tall and blonde, tan. She grinned and eyed me openly, teasingly.