"We can, but they won't do an intake after 9 pm, and you need reservations for a Saturday grading due to the high number of Friday intakes, and we don't have a reservation. So I am sorry, but whether you like it or not, this is the only option." Mandy was looking back at us as she turned off the engine. "It's 8:30. We need to get you in there and register so hopefully they can get you graded yet tonight and we can spend Saturday shopping in the city."
Morgan was silent while our teacher got us out of the car, hooked our collars together, and quietly led us to the intake door. There was a handful of people quietly waiting at the door when we arrived. There were six other people and the three of us made nine. Five of the nine were naked or nearly naked while Morgan and I still had our slave dresses on. The other four each held a leash. I looked at the big steel door, the surveillance camera mounted just above it, and a button at eye level next to a sign that said, "Please ring for service."
"Hi. Robert Patterson." The man who was in his late 40s held out his hand to our teacher, which she politely accepted. He firmly but gently shook her hand a few times before letting it go. "Nice set of slaves you have there. I imagine this is their first time at auction." I felt my hair stand up as he looked us up and down.
"Yes, thank you, but I do not plan on sending them to the blocks." She smiled kindly at him as she adjusted her purse, verifying she had all our paperwork with her. "You know how small towns are. Their parents refused to allow them to get graded, and I offered to help guide them through the process so they can get into a good school. What about you? Is it her first time here?" Mandy asked.
"Well, actually I am here every couple of months." He gave a tug on his slave's leash, pulling his slave closer to him, then placing a hand on her back, he gave her a nudge forward, so she was standing just in front of him. She looked a bit older, maybe in her late 20s or early 30s. She was very skinny, anorexic almost, about average height, and was a small B cup at best. "This is, umm, Tammy or Tina," he shook his head and chuckled. "I guess I don't recall who this is, but it doesn't matter since she will just be a number in a little bit. I run a homeless shelter and job training center. This unfortunate thing signed up at the shelter agreeing that if she did not have real work to pay for room and board by last Wednesday she would come here and no longer be a burden on society."
"Seems like your shelter and training center could be ripe for abuse. Taking advantage of those less fortunate." Mandy was polite but did not hold back. I could not speak for her or Morgan, but I thought this guy was a sleaze.
"Oh no, we are in the business of helping the needy get off the street. We are feeding them, giving them a warm place to sleep, and teaching them skills. We give them every opportunity to succeed and better their situation, but sometimes it is hard for them to overcome their demons. In her case, she could not keep off the drugs." He looked at Tammy or Tina, shaking his head. "At the end of the day she will get the detox that she needs, a savings account, and room and board for the next few years till she ages out. This is probably the best thing for her."
I saw that Mandy was about to say something more when the speaker crackled to life and the door slid open. A female voice came over the intercom, "Due to the higher-than-expected service requests we can only accept six more candidates for grading. All candidates in line past the sixth one can be boarded overnight and receive grading in the morning." Everyone was looking around counting, doing the math in their heads. "All grading candidates must be on a leash with hands bound behind their backs. When entering the waiting room, please secure your slaves to a numbered hook along the wall, have a seat, and await further instructions when the wrangler arrives. Thank you, and welcome to The Yards."
Slowly everyone filed through the door, each person pulling their slaves along behind them. Mandy, Morgan, and I were the last to enter the large waiting room. The three of us jumped a little as the door thundered shut. The other owners, or masters, or whatever they were to these slaves quickly attached the leashes to their numbered hooks. Each number was illuminated by spotlights high in the ceiling. At the same time, the hooks were low to the ground forcing us all to kneel on a thin mat. I was number five. On my left there were at least 20 or so more mats and numbered hooks. I looked to my right and I saw that the other four slaves were all locked as Morgan and I were. Well, all but one of us. A short redhead with very small breasts kept her eyes and head down. Morgan was just as wide-eyed as I was, but rather than taking in the room she was transfixed to the guy next to her. He was smiling like an idiot and his cock was standing straight out from his body. He appeared to be way too happy to be here. I hoped I was not smiling like that. The next girl was the redhead, followed by the older homeless woman Tammy or Tina, and the woman in spot one was a stunning brunette. I was instantly jealous of her. I strained to look at her flawless features. I struggled to understand why she would be here. She could be a model or easily find a wealthy husband, but then I realized maybe she was just here for a grading like Morgan and I were. I looked at the people that had brought us here. They all mingled and greeted each other as they began to sit down. I wished I had paid attention to who had been leading her. As the last owners took their seats, several TVs came to life in the room.
"Welcome to The Yards, we're glad you are here." There was a very cheerful woman in a Yards polo shirt speaking to us on the TV. The prerecorded message continued, "We know when it comes to slave grading and sales needs you have many choices, so we are glad you chose The Yards to fulfill your livestock needs." I focused my attention on the screen nearest to me.
"Originally founded in 1871, the Kansas City Stockyards quickly became the second-largest distributor of livestock behind Chicago. The Yards, as they were called, would process and sell all manner of livestock, and at its height of popularity, would process 170,000 animals a day, employ 20,000 people, and ship to 35 states. The traditional Yards closed in 1991, and the land sat vacant for many years until the city made efforts to redevelop it into an entertainment complex. Unfortunately, due to the location being too far from the city's center, the effort failed in just six short years and it again sat vacant."
"10 years ago, SPSI owner Wayne Newport purchased The Yards initially as a headquarters for his manufacturing and slave products business. He also had a vision for the future and saw that The Yards had far more potential to be realized. Over the last 10 years, Wayne's foresight and leadership have brought you this state-of-the-art slave center and entertainment facility. In addition to the fully automated slave-grading, auction, and processing facility, the 25-acre property boasts three fine dining restaurants, two dance clubs, an ax-throwing bar, a bowling alley, a video game lounge, as well as strip clubs and other adults-only entertainment venues. We are also thrilled to announce The Yards casino is currently slated to open in just two short years". There was excited chatter among our leash holders at the announcement of the casino.
"Let's discuss the slave-grading and processing center you find yourself in today. If you are in the wrong place, please wait till the end of the presentation and speak with the slave wrangler assigned to your group. Slave grading at The Yards relies heavily on technology-based evaluations as well as limited subjective human evaluations. Your slaves will be evaluated in the six following areas: Pre-qualification aptitude assessment, automated assessment, yoga assessment, one-on-one assessment, virtual assessment, and the live in-person customer assessment."
My mind was struggling to keep up. I was wrapping my mind around all the ways the video presenter described how one human being could be evaluated to determine their worth to another human being. It felt cold and disconnected, and my excitement began to fade as I realized that this might not be all that I had imagined.
"In just a moment, a slave technician, also known as a wrangler, will be in to collect your property and begin the assessment, or rather grading process. At the end of this process, you will be reunited with your property and meet with a slave counselor to discuss possible indentured options. At this time, we would like you to stand by your livestock, and be prepared to answer any questions that the wrangler might have. Thank you, and we hope you enjoy your time here at The Yards."
On cue with The Yards logo filling the TV screens, a young male entered the room. He was handsome and tall. I felt drawn toward him, but he seemed bored and disconnected from all of us including the owners. Mandy and the others were getting up from their seats and moving over to where we were all kneeling. I watched him as he crossed the room toward Number One. He was carrying small hoops in his hands and wore a navy-colored pair of coveralls with a thick brown leather belt. His radio, some kind of remote, and keys that made him jingle as he walked were clipped to his wide belt. He turned his back to us as he spoke to Number One's owner, and it was the first time I saw that he also had a cattle prod hooked to the back of his belt. I shivered as I imagined what the bite of that might feel like and vowed to never earn it.
"OK, girls." Morgan and I both looked up at Miss Pierce. "I don't know what the grading here will be like, and it seems far more in-depth than what I went through, so be good and don't give them a reason to lower your scores or punish you," Mandy whispered.
"Slaves should have their heads bowed, eyes down," the wrangler scolded the room, but we knew he was talking to us, and we quickly lowered our heads. I tried to focus on a chip in the tile floor in front of me, straining to make out a word or two of the hushed conversation to my right.
