A hen party in Las Vegas is incomplete these days without a visit to the Slave Shack and that is just what Phoebe, Claire, Andrea, and Bride-to-be Marla were doing. They had been up all-night partying and reminiscing. Though they had all had a bit too much to drink they had all their faculties. They were all feeling supremely mellow.
"Oh, my, girls, this is so decadent!" offered Phoebe as they surveyed the infamous human flesh market.
They toured the display cages holding naked men and women. All the nudity was almost overwhelming, yet as unobtrusively as possible, they compared themselves to the displayed naked women. They all seemed so gorgeous, with their hair down, their pubic hair trimmed to a narrow band, and price tags on lanyards around their long necks. True the prices were just suggestions, the starting figure for the auctioneer to launch from. The naked, male slaves with their completely shaved privates were an entirely different thing. Feasting on their incredibly toned physiques was a sheer delight. They spent an especially enjoyable span of time lingering before a cell that held an especially fit and well-hung young man.
"Imagine owning THAT!" gushed Andrea.
"That ass! That rod! That chest!"
"God, I so want to suck that cock!"
"Imagine his pumping power!"
"We should rent us some slaves before we go home. You've seen the ads? "If you don't cum you don't pay!"
"They sure know what a lady wants."
"That's nice and all, but I only have eyes for Richard," stated Marla firmly
"Spoken like a true besotted bride," teased Claire, "But why would you want a wedding ring when you can collar a stud like him and have him wait on you hand and foot until the end of your days!"
"Or until you tired of him and bought a hotter, younger, even studlier model!" gushed Phoebe.
"It's all academic anyway girls, none of us could ever hope to afford him," stated Marla with finality as she gazed at the price tag affixed around the male slave's neck.
"We should all get ourselves assessed!" put in Phoebe, ringleader of the quartet.
"Hey, that's not a bad idea!" said Clare, "Cosmo magazine had a story about this place. They put you through all the steps of slave assessment. They tell you how much you would probably bring at auction. They give you a photo album of all your slave poses as well as a data stick with all the market variables and a virtual reality slave auction simulator. A perfect gift for our boyfriends or fiancés!"
"I don't know girls," began Marla.
"Oh, don't be such a stick in the mud, Marla! We came to Vegas to have fun and, so far, you've mostly been a wet blanket. Look at us! We are at our sexual and physical prime! You can tease Richard, when, sometime in the future, after the honeymoon ends and he's being a dick, about how much some guy could have paid for you. Then you can take out the album and remind him of the good thing he has."
"Well, when you put it that way!"
Four voices echoed in bawdy laughter.
**
The quartet approached the assessment window a bored-looking, dowdy, middle-aged woman greeted them with a pasted-on smile.
"We'd like the full assessment package, please," offered Phoebe.
"Are you girls selling yourselves?"
"Oh, no. We're tourists. Marla here is getting married, and we are curious."
"Say no more. The basic package is one hundred bucks but the group discount for four is only three."
"What luck, there are exactly four of us!" said a relieved Claire.
There was motion towards pocketbooks, but Phoebe stayed their hand. "I got this, girls. This was mostly my idea anyway."
The trim blonde slid her Visa card into the reader.
The clerk behind the desk instructed each girl, in turn, to place her right arm through a round opening. As each girl did so, the clerk placed a band around their wrists that read "Guest." The clerk then presented the girls with a tablet computer with some sort of legalese on it.
"After you have read the document, place your thumbprint in the acceptance box at the end."
"What is this thing?" asked Marla.
"Just a formality. You agree to behave yourselves and not make a spectacle of yourselves by inappropriate pointing or interfering with the technicians. It's also a consent form for those choosing to sell themselves."
"Hold on!"
"Just a formality, love," said the older woman.
After every box had been filled and the last wristband went on, a door opened to their left. Just inside was a girl about their own age.
She took one look at their wristbands and stated, "Group assessment, girls?"
"Yes,"
"Let me guess, job promotion?"
"Bachelorette party!"
"Even better!" replied the college girl who smiled knowingly.
"OK," she handed each girl a padlock. "Strip off at that line of lockers. Take off everything except your wristband. When you push the button on the top, here," she demonstrated with a sample lock, "while putting your index finger on the sensor pad it will only open for you."
"Can I keep my engagement ring?" asked Marla.
"Sorry honey, everything, and I do mean everything has to come off. A slave has no use for modesty and none of them wear an engagement or wedding ring."
A few moments later the girls sealed their lockers and contemplated each other's nudity. Sure, they had been naked in front of each other in the past, but this occasion was different. Marla looked at the naked ring finger of her left hand and then considered her three companions. Was she prettier than slim and trim and photogenic Phoebe? Did she have a better butt than brown-haired and long-legged, Claire? Were Andrea's crimson locks and cat-like green eyes, superior to her own midnight tresses and crystal blue eyes? She would soon know. Already she saw herself with the others in a corner booth of a restaurant on the strip, comparing notes and imagining hitting the auction block for real.
"The assessors are ready for you now," stated the college girl. She led them to the next door which opened to a stark white room. There was an audible gasp from the four friends when they realized that there were men in this room, both naked slaves being assessed and processed as well as men in lab coats toting tablet computers.
"Oh, no!" exclaimed Marla as she hastily tried to hide her body with her hands
A rather handsome young man in a lab coat standing nearby chuckled, "I can see you girls are tourists. It's no big deal, I'm as inured to female nudity as the average doctor. I mean I can, of course, appreciate female loveliness such as yours, but I can completely decompartmentalize. Let's give you all a pleasant and memorable experience."
His handsome features and calm and honest demeanor won the quartet over. The women moved to the first station where they were weighed and measured, and their irises scanned.
"Now you are in our system," the man stated.
"Gosh," said Marla.
"Oh, you are assigned a random number. When you are done your tour, your documentation will have that number. We don't use names here and nobody ever has to know you were ever here. Unless of course, you want to tell them, "He finished with a wink.
The girls giggled and progressed to the next station where each was assigned a photographer before a background emblazoned with the Slave Shack logo.
At first, the girls were a bit intimidated and embarrassed about the poses they were expected to take. The photographers, however, were old hands at putting reluctant models at ease. With the right words and the right encouragement, the girls shed their inhibitions. All four ended in the same pose, kneeling, legs spread wide, hands grasping their ankles, breasts thrust forward heads held high.
"I'm not sure I want Richard to ever see those pictures!" opined Marla.
"Oh, you'll change your mind when you are an old crone," returned Andrea.
"Or after you've had a couple of kids!" added Claire.
"I can't wait to show George mine!" stated Phoebe, "after I buy a new sexy collar of course. What fun we will have!"
"I don't imagine it would be too much fun after a while if you wore that collar all the time," said Marla.
"Like a wedding ring is any better!" shot back Phoebe.
"Oh, come on Phoebe, marriage is a meeting of equals. A slave is never an equal."
"Really? Ever hear of topping from below?"
"What do you mean?"
"Often the one running the relationship is the one wearing the collar."
"I find that hard to believe, Phee."
"Oh, really, Marla? I'm sure you've seen the tee-shirt "I have the pussy, so I make the rules." slavery is often just like that."
"How would you know?"
