Through the Side Door

(This story is set in a world where legalized, non-hereditary slavery is common-place for serious crime, unredeemed debt, or voluntary self-indenture. Eighteen years of age is the minimum for anyone in this world to be enslaved or involved in slave business operations. This is strictly a FANTASY—in reality, informed consent is always mandatory.)

(Spoiler Alert: Yes, this concluding episode is "another" account of slave-grading; if that's not your thing, I suggest you save your time by reading something else. Willow is not the typical naïve or arrogantly heroine, so her story is a VARIATION on the basic framework of slave-grading.)

(

Willow McDonald's viewpoint

)

Early on a Saturday morning, I was stark naked in my boyfriend, Jack's, car. The object wasn't to have car sex—at least, not right then, although we'd have to try that sometime soon (note to self!). Instead, I wanted to arrive, already stripped, for slave grading at the Longhorn Slave Market in Houston, where I normally worked as a fully-clothed slave handler or wrangler. My overall boss, Mr. Jessie Foster, had given me several good reasons why I should get myself slave-graded, such as understanding the psychology of those who came through the market in that situation (slave grading was necessary to pledge your body for a college loan, not to mention bragging rights about your desirability.) Speaking of desirability, Mr. Foster also argued that grading would improve my own poor self-image. Let's face it, when you're a red-headed woman who's more than six feet tall with curves on the same scale (44DD-32-38, but don't tell Jack that), you don't fit the societal model of the delicate young lady. Throughout high school and community college, Jack and I had been the ugly nerds (sometimes referred to as "Jack and the Beanstalk"), so Mr. Foster was correct that I had serious doubts about my physical attractiveness. I got a warm glow every time Jack described me as beautiful, but few others had ever viewed me the same way.

That self-doubt probably explains why I'm fascinated by the CONCEPT of being a pleasure slave—somehow, I had convinced myself that I would be more appealing if I were naked, collared, and readily available, even though I wasn't dumb enough to want to give up my freedom (give me a minute, though—turns out I WAS kinda dumb, as you'll see). All slaves are available for sex on demand—with the permission of the owner, any free adult can use a slave, and that's what made this cruel and horrific violation of human rights seem so sexy to me. The idea that someone might buy me as a bound, naked sex object meant that they found my body attractive and wanted to plow me. It's weird, I know.

Anyway, I had deliberately upped the ante for this event, increased my sense of vulnerability by giving Jack a power of attorney that would permit him, if he wished, to pimp me out to anyone he wanted or even sell me into legal slavery. My rational mind was certain he wouldn't auction me off, but my sexual imagination was doing flip-flops at the mere possibility. God, I had a real urge for self-destruction.

We arrived at the Longhorn at 6:20 a.m. on a Saturday morning in mid-August, by which time it was fully daylight, and Jack parked as far away as possible from the main entrance to the Slave Market. I had asked him to park there to maximize my walk of shame—applicants for slave-grading were legally free, but had to obey all Slave Market rules, including being slave naked and bound, throughout the processing. I could have waited until we parked to strip, but my bravado had caused me to push my humiliation to the extreme (as I said, I know I'm weird!)

Jack, bless his heart, understood that I wanted him to be demanding, even cruel, to this temporary slave, ignoring the reality that we loved each other. That included him using all the demeaning terms that normally refer to slaves. As soon as he parked, he turned off the engine and abruptly ordered "Out of the car, Cunt!"

I clambered out, slave naked in pubic and in broad daylight (!), while he hurried around to my side of the car. At the command of "Collar," I knelt on the rough asphalt, one hand on my hip and the other holding my freshly-styled auburn hair away from my neck. From somewhere, he had gotten a genuine leather slave collar that he strapped snugly around my extended neck.

Next was the instruction to "back hands," at which I docilly crossed my wrists behind my lower back, where he zip-tied them together. Up until this point, even naked I was stronger and larger than Jack, and could have overpowered him. Now, however, I was completely in his power, or for that matter in the power of anyone who came along. While I knelt at his feet, Jack snapped a leash onto the D-ring of my collar and instructed me to stand.

He took the time to look at my entire body, firmly mashing my boobs and pulling my buttocks apart to goose me as if he were inspecting a prize animal—which is what a pleasure slave is, after all. Apparently satisfied, he kissed me firmly (he had to drag my head down a little, since I'm taller than he.) The kiss was possessive rather than tender, which was appropriate for his role in my little fantasy. Once he finished, he tweaked my nipples, picked up the leash, and ordered me to "Heel, Slut" as he set off towards the distant front entrance to the market.

I was nude, shackled, and completely defenseless, walking barefoot across the vast parking lot while a steady flow of clothed citizens—some with slaves, some without—parked and then walked toward the same entrance. Most of the citizens seemed to enjoy looking at every exposed inch of me. This attention is what I wanted when I arranged my long walk, so why was my entire body blushing?

Meanwhile, the words of the notarized power of attorney that I gave to Jack kept running through my mind:

During the period of time for which this power of attorney is in force, the agent or attorney-in-fact is authorized, at his or her sole discretion, to dispose of the person executing this power of attorney in any of the ways listed below:

-Require that person to perform any sexual act or acts with any free citizen aged 18 or older and, with the permission of the appropriate owners, to perform any sexual act or acts with any slaves or indentured persons;

-Pledge the body and freedom of that person as surety and collateral for any bond or other legal debt, public or private;

-Apply to have that person designated as a pleasure slut and slave-graded by any slave merchant licensed in the state of Texas;

-Consign the person executing this power of attorney to indentured servitude for any period of six months to eight years, under the provisions of Texas Civil Code, Chapter 5 Conveyance, 5.309.2, indenture;

-Cause the person executing this power of attorney to be sold at auction or by any other legal means into chattel slavery, such slavery to continue for any specified period up to and including eight years under the provisions of Texas Civil Code, Chapter 5 Conveyance, 5.309.1, Enslavement.

The following restrictions apply to the agent's disposition of the person executing this power of attorney:

-In the event of indentured servitude or chattel slavery, the agent shall, within 24 hours of the event, cause the person executing this power of attorney to be recorded in the National Slave Registry, including all required forms of identity and mandatory information concerning the person's owner/Master. An electronic copy of this power of attorney shall be appended to the National Slave Registry.

-In the event of indentured servitude or chattel slavery, the agent shall make all reasonable efforts to ensure that the person executing this power of attorney is not shipped or transported outside of the contiguous 48 United States, this restriction to be included on the National Slave Registry;

-The agent shall make all reasonable efforts to ensure that the disposition of the person executing this power of attorney shall not result in death or permanent injury of that person;

-The person being enslaved or indentured shall not be subjected to hormonal or surgical gender reassignment in accordance with Texas Civil Code, Chapter 5 Conveyance, 5.309.7;

-The following are NOT considered to be permanent injuries for the purposes of this agreement: slave or indentured servant identification tattoos; slave branding and tattoos below the neck level, whether for identification or decoration; body piercings and metallic decorations in any area of the body, including but not restricted to earlobes, nose, tongue, nipples, clitoris, and labia; permanent whip scars of less than 15 mm in depth on any area of the slave/indentured servant below the head, on which no scars are permitted.

-In the event the person executing this power of attorney becomes pregnant during any period of indenture or enslavement, she shall be legally free not later than 150 days after date of insemination (as calculated by a slave veterinarian licensed in the state of Texas), and the owner of the person at that point shall be obligated to provide medical care for mother and child or children as well as child support to the child or children for a period of ten years from date of birth, under the provisions of Texas Civil Code, Chapter 5 Conveyance, 5.309.9, issue of enslaved or indentured persons. . .

I was so lost in my shivering sense of vulnerability that I almost ran into my temporary owner when Jack stopped suddenly to talk to an older, tall, African-American man who was looking admiringly at my tits (women have breasts, slave sluts have tits, boobs, a nice rack, and so on. Just using the crude terminology to describe myself thrilled me a little more.)

"That's one fine piece of slave meat you've got there, mister," the stranger said.

Turning to me, Jack ordered me to "Stand," so I stiffened into a form of attention with my legs two feet apart, my wrists still bound behind my back, and my eyes focused straight ahead.

"Certainly is," Jack agreed. "Would you care to check the bitch out, Mister?"

"Don't mind if I do," came the reply. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one hand latch onto my left-hand nipple while the other reached down between my legs—and came up damp!

The stranger chuckled. "Not even in the front door, and she's already slave hot. You interested in selling this whore?"

"I might be," Jack replied, causing my heart to race. "Right now, I just want to get her graded, but if the little tramp gives me any more trouble I may put her on the block."

Just that casual statement caused my heart to race, recalling that power of attorney:

Cause the person executing this power of attorney to be sold at auction or by any other legal means into chattel slavery.

"Well, if you do, I'd be interested." The man answered. "I need a cook and maid, and this one looks like she works hard and fucks even harder."

"You've got that right, Sir," replied Jack with a chuckle. "I can tell you from personal experience that she's a magnificent lay with great stamina, and she sucks better than any vacuum cleaner." I should have been offended that he talked about me in that way, but I reminded myself that he was describing the slut who had voluntarily put herself at the end of his leash, not the assertive woman he had loved in secret for years. For a change, my shy geeky friend was in charge, and I was just his helpless toy. The thought of the power he had over me only increased my arousal.

All this time, the man was running his hands over my exposed body. He finished by pressing his finger well into my rectum before giving me a sharp slap on the butt. I was thrilled by the objectification, the offhanded way in which he toyed with me, but had to suppress the urge to squeak when he penetrated me. Then he handed his card to Jack and set off at his own pace towards the front entrance.

Apparently thinking I might have been upset by the encounter, Jack asked in a very low voice "Are you OK, Babe?"

"Yes, Master," I replied with a big smile, trying to convey my love and excitement.

"Good. Heel, Slut!" And we were off again.

*****

(

Jack Murtha's perspective

)

The cavernous front lobby of the Longhorn was crowded with customers and slave meat on the hoof, so we had to wait in line for ten minutes to in-process. I might have jumped to another line to speed up the process, but I think Willow was enjoying being on display as a helpless cunt (I knew she liked to objectify herself with such crude terms.) Just to push her buttons a little more, I ordered her to kneel in the "Expose" position, thighs wide apart and staring rigidly ahead (the zip-tie prevented her from interlacing her fingers behind her neck, as Expose usually required). Occasionally, I would toy with her nipples, but they both stayed erect without much attention from me. Each time the line moved, I had her crawl forward awkwardly and resume her pose. I was awestruck by the sensation of having such a glorious creature at my feet and under my control, but I would never have imagined doing this without her insistence.

The payoff for my little act of subjugation came when we reached the head of the line and she was forced to crawl forward and then resume the Expose position three feet from a computer podium. The wrangler looking down at her from the podium was Josephine, the woman who had been our keeper a week ago when Willow got me involved in her pretend-slave games, almost costing both of us our freedom.

"So you got her to go through with it!" the statuesque Black wrangler commented, a note of approval in her voice. In a lower tone, addressed to Willow, she remarked "But, girl, I thought I advised you to keep your pants on!" A slight, friendly chuckle. Willow started to reply, then remembered that slaves should be silent unless asked a question directly.

When Josephine looked back at me, I handed her the paid receipt (courtesy of their mutual boss, Jessie Foster) for de luxe slave grading as well as the notarized power of attorney Willow had insisted upon giving me. A cloud of concern crossed the huge handler's face—she obviously hadn't expected that document. "Umm, do you realize that this power of attorney allows you to sell her, Jack?"

I nodded, as did Willow. "It was her idea, Jo—whatever turns her on."

Josephine shook her head, then said she would have to make a photocopy of the form. When she returned, she had obviously gathered her thoughts, as she launched into what I suspect was a standard sales pitch to customers.

"The Longhorn Slave Market is always looking for high-quality merchandise. Whenever a customer comes in with power of attorney over a hot slut on a leash, company policy requires me to ask whether you're interested in selling her at auction. I can guarantee you that our auctioneers will get you top dollar for her—and today," she remarked, looking meaningfully at Willow, "the auctioneer on duty is a real expert named Antonne Phelps. I happen to know that Mr. Phelps has already assessed this little beauty, and thinks he might get as much as two hundred thousand dollars for her. Of course, we can't guarantee that price, but are you interested in selling this piece of slave pussy?"

I pretended to think about it. "Maybe," I said after a long pause. "For now, let's just get her slave-graded. If she gives you any trouble, you can still put her on the block after that grading, right?"

"Absolutely—you might have to wait an hour until the next batch gets auctioned, but I'm sure Antonne would be happy to fit her into the coffle." Josephine replied, nodding. Her face betrayed her concern, though.

*****

(

Willow McDonald's perspective

)

This crap just got real. Who was it who said, "be careful what you wish for?" I should have listened to that person. The document echoed through my mind again:

Cause the person executing this power of attorney to be sold at auction or by any other legal means into chattel slavery.

I had given Jack that power of attorney just to make today's grading feel more real, putting me in a tiny bit of jeopardy so that I could enjoy the sensation and so that I would be aroused sufficiently to get a better grade from the slave merchants. But, it's one thing to sign such a document when I'm free and fully clothed, planning a little role-playing game with my boyfriend. It's another thing entirely to be on my knees at the entrance to the Longhorn, slave naked, collared, zip-tied, and completely exposed in public, while my colleague Jo does her job, trying to convince that same boyfriend to use the power of attorney and actually SELL my butt to some rich stranger. And the thought of being auctioned by Antonne, the hulking African-American guy who had put me in a police search position while he praised and fondled every inch of me, only added to both the thrill and the sense of real danger. I could just imagine myself on the block, going through slave block positions while Antonne crudely described my body to the customers and kept up a steady patter to coax higher bids. Would he snap his whip on my butt to get a laugh from the bidders? Of course he would! That's his job, and he's damn good at it. I'd seen him whip a slut and I've even, lord forgive me, giggled along with the customers when the girl jumped as if she's been stung by a bee. The idea didn't seem so funny when I imagined him whipping ME on the block.

I enjoyed the fantasy of being sold at auction, but the reality was a whole 'nother thing. When I got the power of attorney notarized, I told myself that Jack and I were deeply in love, that I'd known him for years and he would never sell me. But, $200,000???? For working-class folks like Jack and me, that was a fortune, more than we could save in our whole lives. Even after the Longhorn took its cut, he would have enough money to finish college in computer science and go on to a fantastic career. Was his oversized, funny fat fuck-buddy worth more than that opportunity?

As my mind churned a mile a minute, I became aware of a trickle of moisture going down the inside of my left thigh. Was I actually turned on by the thought of being sold as a sex slave? Silly question, girl—I was excited and petrified at the same time. I could feel my heart start to pound.

I realized that I had let my attention wander. Josephine had unstrapped my collar and handed it to Jack, and she was just installing a heavy shock collar on my neck. Fortunately, I woke up in time to hear the last few words of the standard warning spiel for everyone being added to the Longhorn Slave Market inventory: "If you follow my instructions you will not be hurt. Do you understand?"

I eagerly nodded my head and announced "Yes, Mistress." I knew that Josephine was too professional to hesitate about disciplining me, even though we had got along well as co-workers.

Next, she handed Jack a visitor's tag to clip on his collar, saying he could accompany me except when I was put on public—or should that be pubic?—display. By this time, another wrangler who had gone through orientation with me, Barry, had appeared to take charge of me. He must have recognized me, but gave no sign of it, acting as if I were another piece of slave meat. After ordering me to stand, he clipped handcuffs on me and cut the zip-tie around my wrists. Lifting gently on my bound arms, he compelled me to bend forward and move towards the swinging doors that I knew led to the processing floor. Jack followed us. Just as we reached the doors, I heard Jo call after us, "don't forget to behave, little slut—remember that power of attorney!"

*****

I knew the procedure just as well as Barry did, but it feels completely different when you're the sex object being processed rather than the wrangler in charge of that sex object. In quick order, Barry took my DNA sample and fingerprints, then sprayed the inside of my lip with a numbing agent before he inscribed my Slave ID Number: 644-79-6944. When he told me the new number, I mumbled it back to him despite my numb lower lip. Someone (probably Jo) had a sense of humor, arranging for the last four digits to match those I had worn when kennelled the previous weekend. In a way, that made my situation seem less like a woman in peril and more like the victim of a practical joke, which helped me regain control of my mind.