Part six of a ten-part story about three sisters and their experiences being graded for sale as slaves. Note that this story contains references to BDSM and not-completely-consensual sexual submission. While the overall story does include themes and depictions of incest or incestual desire, this particular chapter does not, but be aware of that before getting invested in the story. This story also includes one character's growing interest in lesbian sex. All characters are at least 18 years of age.
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Good Luck
Joanna and Brandon walked to a screened area enclosing a small pedestal desk, tied their slave's leashes to a short railing that reminded Angie of a hitching post for horses, then began filling in their slave grading reports.
The two graders compared their reports, nodded, then turned to the two sisters. "Excellent work, you two," Brandon said, "your grading scores alone pushed 9974 into Prime — just short of straight Prime in fact — and 0078 just shy of Prime, even
with
her noted deficiency."
"After the show you both put on out there, I have no doubt you'll get the grades you want" said Joanna, and she smiled at Angie.
Angie beamed back at her. What the hell is going on here? Angie wondered. She had never had the slightest romantic interest in women, certainly no interest in having sex with one, in her entire life. But now, looking at Joanna, a beautiful, confident older woman in a position of absolute power over her (albeit temporarily), she was not only attracted to her, but found herself seeking her approval and wanting to please her; she was beginning to fantasize about Joanna telling her she was a good girl then taking her alone into a private slave pen... Was Joanna interested too? Sure, the thing she did with her finger was playing to the crowd, but what about teasing Angie's clit? Nobody but the two of them knew it was happening. And why did she keep calling Angie "little slave" with a sly affection? Angie's arousal was climbing towards 11, and she still had the inspection to go; well, her arousal would only help her bids, right?
"Time for buyer's inspection, slaves. One hour, chained to a post near the auction block, the buyers are going to look over every inch of you and touch you everywhere. They aren't allowed to hurt you, leave marks, alter your appearance or have sex with you, including any penetration of anus or vagina; if that happens, well, hope that someone from HCI is watching and responds. Remember, you want to make the best impressions you can, so keep smiling and nod enthusiastically at whatever horrible things they say and play along to the degree that you can. In exactly one hour Brandon and I will come get you and take you in the back. I would ask if there are any questions" she laughed, "but, well, you know."
Their leashes unhitched, Angie and Alina were led back onto the sales floor to a pair of tall, smooth steel posts. A monitor affixed near the top of each post displayed constantly-updating information on the assigned occupant, stats, bids and who knows what else. Angie was backed up to post 24, her cuffs unlocked and then re-fastened in front of her and clipped to a cable on the pole, which was reeled up by a quiet motor until her hands were high above her head. Her leash was removed, Joanna tapped her data pad and Angie's steel collar immediately stuck to the post with a "clang" — "Electromagnets" she explained — so that Angie could not move up, down or sideways and could barely turn her head.
Alina was locked to post 25 in similar fashion (or so Angie assumed from the subsequent "clang"). Joanna looked at them both, tapped her data pad and said "Clock starts now" before walking away, Brandon following a half-step behind.
The crowd had stayed back while the graders worked, but now they surged forth and surrounded the two women. Angie knew the first wave would be non-serious spectators who had no intention of buying anything at the auctions and for whom this was entertainment — cheaper than a strip club, as long as the wife didn't find out, assuming there
was
a wife.
Grubby hands pawed at her, running over her smooth skin, feeling every nook and fold, now rolling her nipples between their fingers, now pulling on them none-too-gently, then kneading her breasts like dough, asking her things like "You like how that feels, college girl?" and "Does your pussy taste like tacos?" She managed to smile in their ruddy, unshaven faces and not wrinkle her nose at the odors of beer breath and unwashed clothes.
This went on for an eternity of minutes while other fingers found their way to her vulva, fumbling with her vaginal lips and beyond, and still others crept into her butt cheeks and thus up into her "sweet" asshole...along with their untrimmed fingernails. This last violation caused her to open her mouth in a silent shriek and her eyes to stretch open as wide as they could go. Someone she couldn't see tapped something metal on her post and said "No insertions!" She managed to crane her neck around in the collar and saw Brandon standing with a trio of tall, heavily-muscled men wearing serious expressions and black HCI t-shirts.
"Alright, you've all had your fun" Brandon said, "now clear out and let some actual bidders in." Much grumbling and muttering, but the men let go of her and started moving away; all except for one who had been fondling her ass cheeks. He squeezed one a bit more then slapped it hard, leaving a bright red hand print.
Brandon pointed a metal club at him, said "You, you're done," and one of the big men grabbed the spanker by his shirt collar and the waistband of his pants, marching him on tiptoe toward the exit. The spanker's friend ran after him, shouting "I told you this place was too classy for that shit!"
Brandon looked back over at Angie. She mouthed "Thank you!" to him, and Brandon winked at her. In a very low voice he said "Alina is doing fine," then stepped back away from the post as the more serious bidders approached.
