Sold At The Mall

A fantasy I had. All of this would be morally wrong in real life and should only exist in our imagination or a consensual adult BDSM context.

Geared towards either gender. Like me it gets a bit bisexual in service of fun power dynamics.

Here goes -

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"Out, slave" barked the handler. A 6'5 man of perhaps 40 with rippling muscles pressing against a company polo shirt, I swiftly scurried out of the cage and knelt. His accent was southern, harsh. I had worn my shock collar for weeks, but every second that the button could be pressed gave me anxiety.

I was naked apart from the collar and a ring around my cock that could vibrate powerfully. I have blue eyes and brown wavy hair, and am 30. In front of me stood a rather austere looking woman in heels and a navy blue power suit. She spoke in a sophisticated New England accent, almost like one of the feigned Atlantic accents from 1940s movies. She could have been 20 or 50 from what I could tell.

"I need these heels cleaned. Make him lick them to start, and then perhaps I shall retire and consider the purchase."

The handler clapped his hands close to my face. "You heard her. They'd better be spic n' span by the time yer done."

Oh how I loved those Texas folkisms. Spic n' span, what was this the 50s? I guess I hadn't intended to hear them under these circumstances...

Swiftly I leaned down and started to lick. I knew that a moment's hesitation could mean an absolutely excruciating shock from the collar on my neck, or worse. I licked and kissed like my life depended on it, not even daring to look up at the two free people towering over me.

"How new is he to the collar?"

"Enslaved for drug trafficking. This sum bitch tried to bring COCAINE into our great nation about three months ago? Don't worry though, he's a major pussy, especially with this thing on."

He leaned down and pulled on my collar, causing me to stop licking briefly. I strained and as soon as he let go I kept on licking. I knew that was expected. I stayed focused on reaching every inch of dirt on her stylish heels.

Internally I wanted to protest his gross misrepresentation of the facts, but knew that that wouldn't end well. I kept licking.

"What a scoundrel. I trust he received some physical correction for that, before he was sold to your store?"

With a grin, the handler snapped his fingers. "You, bitch. Lean down, ass in the air, far up as you can go."

I followed his instructions, turning red with embarrassment. With my backside in the air the stripes on it would be evident, and the brand. I still felt one of them very dully. I still didn't know exactly what they looked like -- as an item for sale I wasn't exactly permitted to dawdle in front of mirrors.

"Now get back to yer shoe cleaning slut."

"Whilst I consider this animal, I would simply adore a coffee."

While the handler went to grab a coffee, I continued to lick the stilettoes.

My cage was one of 16, in two rows mounted against the wall. At the front of each cage was fitted a remote, which buyers could unhook and play with. It contained two buttons, one for pleasure and one for pain. All slaves wore collars, but female slaves had dildos inserted whilst male slaves had a cock ring.

A slave girl in one of the cages started moaning and begging. The man in front of her cage was having fun with her remote. Her resistance was clearly long gone - she pitifully begged him to buy her. She had a beautiful, high voice. Her moans were a distraction but I licked furiously, checking every inch of the woman's shoes, leaning down and licking the sole. Any shame or disgust was long gone, all that was left was terror should I fail in my task. She moved her foot away.

"Stand."

I stood instantly, clasped my fingers on the back of my neck, elbows pointed outward, legs spread, eyes downcast. My cock, as usual, stood to attention. They drugged us to keep us aroused through business hours. But my fear kept me from touching it -- the handlers liked when we broke the rules, the better to make an example.

"You appear terrified."

I wasn't sure how to answer that, or if it was even a question. I did surreptitiously notice her stance, her pale skin, her deep, blue eyes. Her jet black hair was in a strict ponytail which complemented the suit.

"Umm... Y -- yes mistress" I stumbled through a reply. "I -- I've had a c -- customer shock me today b -- because I was slow to answer." I quickly corrected myself. "B -- but that was right, I was being slow." I stand about 6 feet tall. But being collared and broken, her 5'9 and thin frame made her no less intimidating to me. If she wanted, she could send me into convulsions for the rest of the day until I went insane.

With a certain primness, she approached me and clipped a leash to an eyehook on my shock collar. "When your handler is back, I think I shall take you for a walk."

The slave girl in the cage behind me was crying now. She hadn't been bought, and they would likely put her through a punishment and discipline regimen for that. At the end of the day, if we seemed as though we had had a lacklustre performance, we would be fitted with a virtual reality headset. This put us through eight hours of position and obedience training through the night, regulated by shocks where we went wrong. Of course, the next day that same exhausted slave would be expected to perform better. Sleeping during the day, seen as lazy, could earn physical punishment. I tried to avoid either.

I hated being walked around the mall from the slave retailer. The occasional look of pity was even more embarrassing in some ways than the majority who dismissed me as an object. The laughter and gawking were equally unbearable.

The handler came back with coffee for the lady, and she thanked him with a nod of the head. After taking a sip, she turned to him.

"I hope you don't mind, good gentleman, if I take him for a stroll."

"Be my guest."

The handler grabbed my wrists and forcefully pulled them behind me, locking them in cuffs. He then unclipped my remote from its' holder on the cage and handed it to the lady.

"If he misbehaves, use it. And let me know, we pride ourselves on our disc'plinary measures."

He was a bit more formal than usual when speaking to her, perhaps sounding even a little intimidated. He turned to me and squeezed my nipple.

"Right now, she is god. You suck up to her like your damn life 'pends on it. It does. Also, friendly remind'r, you can't leave this mall without that collar electocutin' your ass." I nodded.

I heeled the woman as she led me around the mall. It had that new tiled finish floor, many outlets, mini cafes, the works. We turned a corner and a young, possibly European couple gawked. The man took a photo. I hung my head shamefully, but ensured that I kept the pace.

The woman squeezed my cock. It was painful, but not out of the ordinary for me now. I grimaced but tried to hide it.

"That's one for ladies' night to be sure. Your price is steep, but it is, after all, a matter of taste. I keep only the finest slaves, of both sexes. It is not that I need the money, I have plenty of that, it is merely for entertainment. Oh, and I'm Annabelle, from the great state of Georgia. What was your name, slave?"

I gulped. "I... I'm not allowed to say it. Th -- they told me not to." My conditioning was fighting against this, hard.

"It does not matter in any case, now you are just, slave. And you can call me -- ma'am."

"Yes, ma'am."

She tugged my leash, and led me to a shoe store. Her accent felt out of place in this 21st century mall with it's 21st century accompaniments, but I assumed she was from some wealthy family that had taught her to speak that way. The store had a glass window and the same regular assortments -- slippers, formal, stilettos...

"Kiss that one, slave. I want to judge how your lips look upon it."

Obediently, I did so. The store owner, a woman, came over. Her accent was southern, like the handler's. She was dressed in a standard polo shirt with the store logo and a mildly annoyed expression.

"What the hell do you think yer doin? We don't allow slaves in this store. Chain him up outside."

Annabelle gave a "hmmph" and pulled me outside. "My word. But not everyone is used to these new laws yet, are they slave?"

I assumed that my silence would be taken as tacit agreement. It was not.

I felt a numbing, brutal shock start on my neck and work throughout my body. It was pain on an indescribable level, like it was every time. I barely stopped myself from collapsing. I gasped.

"No, no they're not ma'am, no they're not, I'm sorry ma'am." She smiled slightly as I rambled, afraid of being shocked again. She had an inscrutable expression on her perfect face.

She pushed the button again, pressing it down harder. This time I did fall to the floor, stopping the impact with my hands and whimpered. "Wh -- why m -- ma'am. Why would you..."

She shocked me again, and I convulsed on the floor, in shock, pain, and terror. I was unable to speak for a few moments. A couple people in the mall turned and stared, but most passed an increasingly commonplace occurrence. A slave being corrected.

"I wanted, mainly, to see how you respond to pain. But also, I think that you owe me an apology."

In my past life, my free life, I would have laughed at something so outrageous. It was clear that I was tacitly agreeing with her. In my new life, as a slave, and a slave located in the "Sexual Use" section of Thrallz, a standard retail store vending slaves, I was sorry. To not be sorry for the most trivial offense to a free person meant pain beyond imagination.

I knelt down, gazing up at her, my wrists fastened behind my back. "I'm s- so, so very sorry ma'am" -- I pleaded-- "f -- for not a -- answering when I should. I gazed into her eyes worshipfully. "P -- please feel free to correct me, or perhaps take a whip to me?" -- I had been trained to say that line, and if this came up and they found out I hadn't, it would get worse -- "I -- I'm just a worthless slave." I was still tearing up from the pain as I finished by kissing her shoes.

She laughed, and snapped her fingers, indicating for me to stand. With my hands cuffed quite tightly behind me, she had a view of my entire body. I was shaking mildly from panic, which she noticed appreciatively. She stepped towards me and grabbed me chin, forcing me to look into those cold blue eyes.

"When I buy you, slave, I think I shall use your collar often. I do like how it renders you both physically immobile and most obsequiously obedient. HOWEVER, when it comes to the whip, I would be most careful what you wish for. I hire a slave breaker most every weekend for more... mmmm... Serious correction."

"Yes, ma'am" I replied almost instantly. She smiled in a satisfied sort of way and pulled me along again by the leash.

We came to the CorrectMe, a store in the mall with a wall painted black facing the mall and a tinted glass door so as not to offend the public. I shivered -- that was where slaves were usually taken for extra correction. I panicked when she strolled over, still holding my leash, and opened the door. She did have the decency, with me shackled as I was, to hold the door open as I scurried in.

To the right of the door was a checkout desk, and there was a wall at the end of the room with hallways on either side labelled "Merchandise" and "Punishment." Against said wall was, shackled to an X shaped cross, was a very attractive young slave girl of perhaps 30 years crying her eyes out. She was naked and her back and ass were criss crossed with welts. From behind, I could see she had chestnut brown hair and a round ass. The room was lit in red, perhaps to be suggestive.

The cashier at the front was nude and collared. From the sound he made when he moved I could tell his ankle was chained to the front desk somewhere. He was attractive, tight pecs and thick black hair, maybe Italian? He greeted Annabelle instantly.

"Welcome to CorrectMe, mistress. Are you purchasing gear, turning in a slave for punishment, or just browsing?"

"I am just browsing at the moment, thank you." Annabelle was very polite to him given how she treated me. She tugged my leash primly, palm pointed upward, and I followed her further into the room. I kept my head bowed but glanced up occasionally, filled with anxiety.

Annabelle walked up to the crying slavegirl. Getting closer, I could see the CorrectMe logo branded on her ass, which the cashier must have as well.

"Oh, dear, well what have we done to deserve this?"

The slavegirl was a mess, still sobbing and blubbering. "I..." *sniff* "I d -- dropped a r -- remote controller for a c -- customer and it broke. I w -- was just showing them." She sobbed again. "W -- we only had one Pain Dildo in stock. Now m -- m -- master is u -- using me for buyers to test m -- merch."

A male voice with a slight southern drawl rang out. "One moment."

The slavegirl continued sobbing. A man popped his head out from a room in the Merchandise hall and came to greet Annabelle. "Hi, I'm the manager. Looking for anything in particular? Want to try something on her? I'm using her as a painslut for... I dunno, as long as I like."

With that the slavegirl began to cry even harder. The man grabbed his phone from his pocket and pressed a button. He had a tall, skinny, almost nerdy look with a bald head and wireframe glasses. He wore a company shirt.

Suddenly, the crying stopped. The slavegirl started gasping a little. The man pressed some more buttons on the phone's touchscreen, and the slavegirl started moaning and gyrating her hips almost involuntarily. The manager grinned at Annabelle, obviously enjoying showing off his high tech merch.

"But she does looove working for us, don't you?" He started rubbing the slave's clit with his fingers, and touching her breasts delicately from behind. The slavegirl replied in a whisper. "Yes... master." For that, he upped the vibrations slightly. Annabelle smiled appreciatively at the spectacle.

"At this moment, I am merely in search of a cock cage, good sir."

"I have just the thing, follow me." As the man led us to one of the other rooms, he pressed a button on his phone app causing the slave girl to give a frustrated moan and lean over in her cuffs to see us go down the hall. She looked absolutely desperate but knew better than to beg for anything. She would be left hanging until it was time to toy with her again.

We entered a room in the Merch hallway with an array of cock cages of various sizes and shapes. Some had extra features such as a "monitor" cage that beeped when a slave was aroused. Annabelle selected a regular one quickly and then stuck it on my cock.

"He can be aroused, that would be acceptable, but I do not want this animal touching himself. Oh, look how hard this stallion is! I am of the opinion that this shall work splendidly."

She removed the cock cage, and grabbed my shaft with her hand. She rubbed me, almost expertly. I could tell from her demeanour that she was enjoying the absolute power she had over me. The manager grinned.

"Your new stud?"

"Well, sir, I have not purchased him yet. At the moment he is still inventory."

I felt a little embarrassed still, but was getting used to thinking of myself as merchandise. She rubbed me almost to orgasm, which at this point wasn't difficult, then let go. I gasped a little in frustration, and she thanked the manager and led me to the front desk.

"I shall buy this cock cage for the new slave, I think. It seems to fit quite well."

The slave at the front smiled as he ran the transaction, the chain attached to his ankle jangling a little as he handed the card reader to Annabelle. When the transaction was done he gave a quick "Thank you for shopping at CorrectMe, mistress."

Annabelle headed back to Thrallz, with me in tow. We passed by the food court, down an escalator, and past the shoe store we had entered earlier. I spotted another slave heeling a mistress. He didn't dare look up or into my eyes. However, he was owned, and subject only to her whim. In a way, I envied him -- the different handlers had varying rules and levels of cruelty. When Annabelle owned me, I would only have to focus on pleasing her.

We returned to Thrallz, and Annabelle swung open the door allowing me to enter. A supervisor greeted us as we entered, and some of the slaves in the cages lining the wall glanced at us curiously.

The supervisor, a dirty blonde, muscular woman with a middle aged karen haircut and beady eyes, uncuffed my wrists and gauged Annabelle's satisfaction.

"Well, I see you purchased a cock cage for him, do we have a sale today?"

Annabelle frowned subtly. "I think not. This slave was quite slow in answering my rather simple questions, and was even rebellious at times. Fortunately, his cock is approximately the same length as that of a slave I already own, so he at least has been put to some good use in my purchase of this cock cage."

I was shocked at her answer. I had expected to be bought today. She had led me on. And she had grossly misrepresented the facts. I started shaking a little, my wrists still cuffed behind my back, naked, a piece of merchandise, exposed completely to Annabelle and the handler. I gulped as my anxiety mounted.

"I'm so sorry madame. We will be sure to put this bitch through his paces tonight."

I couldn't help it, and started tearing up a little. Annabelle smiled and with a gentle finger wiped away a tear. I was taller than her, but naked, with her dressed in her fine suit, I knew my place.

"Please do make sure he is properly punished for his infraction. Then who knows, perhaps I shall return tomorrow and reconsider." She flashed me a mischievous grin. Then she unclipped the leash, put the cock cage she was carrying in her purse, and left.

The supervisor clapped her hands, indicating me to follow. I heeled her with fear and resignation. Her rage was almost palpable. I had seen their training sessions on a staff computer out of the corner of my eye. No compromise with rebellious chattel.

"You're starting to cost the store money," the handler began coldly. Her voice was shrill and harsh. I tried begging. "I'm soooo sorry mistress, I --" with her remote she zapped me, but caught me to break my fall. This was one of the higher settings, and in utter pain I shut up straight away but started crying. She thrust me into a standing position and began to rant, the caged slaves around us cringing as she did so.

"I DON'T GIVE A SHIT. YOU'RE APPARENTLY COMPLETELY OUT OF HAND AND TONIGHT YOU'RE GOING TO GET YOUR FUCKING COMEUPPANCE. NO MORE CUTE TRAINING SESSIONS WITH NICE LITTLE SHOCKS FOR ENCOURAGEMENT. I'M LENDING YOU TO CORRECT ME AS A PAINSLUT." I almost started to beg but she shocked me. I crawled to her boots and she shocked me again.

I lay still on the carpeted floor, not daring to move. I cried quietly.

"Fucking STAND."

I scrambled to my feet as quickly as I could with wrists shackled behind me. I must have looked a mess. Coldly, the supervisor unlocked my wrists, throwing the cuffs aside, and murmured some things to the handler from earlier. He grabbed a whip from a wall mount behind the front desk, and picked up a cardboard sign in his other hand.

His voice was deep, threatening. "You will walk three paces ahead of me, wrists clasped on the back of your neck, head up and eyes downcast. You will open doors for me. You will head to CorrectMe."

I nodded as innocently as I could manage, still teary. My worst fears were being realized.

CRACK!

"Aaargh" I yelled out involuntarily.

I felt a sting on my back and instinctively moved forward to the door, holding it for him. I then scurried to be three paces in front of him in the mall. I almost rushed past a donut store, the shoe store.