In a society that otherwise resembles our own, mass slavery has persisted into the 21st Century. It is a common and accepted feature of public and private life. Males and females of all ethnic backgrounds are held thrall, without status or legal rights. They are quite literally living property, and may be bought, sold and used for any purpose, including: hard labor, breeding, menial work and sexual servitude.
This series of stories, which is not presented in any particular order, explores the daily life of a prostitute-slave named Sara. Purchased at auction by a Las Vegas casino, she is tasked with fulfilling the sexual urges of its client
è
le, who pay for her favors along with room service and Wi-Fi access. Subject to their every whim, she has known both anguish and delight, but most often casual exploitation.
When she is not engaged by a guest, Sara must contend with capricious and underpaid corporate overseers and occasionally vicious slave stable politics.
***
After the first day of filming for 'The Real Sluts of Las Vegas,' Sara was again given an easy display assignment. At midnight, House Master Jacob collected her and took her to a new cell.
Stable sluts were typically assigned eight to a room with two bunk beds. Their tasking made it rare for more than four girls to be sleeping at the same time. When it did happened, they were simply expected to share one of the small beds.
Occasionally, Sara would listen to guests spin out fantasies of sluts having sex with each other in the confines of their tiny cells. She would either blush and look away or give them a knowing smile, but she had never seen it or even heard of it happening, and she was quite sure that she had never done it herself.
Sluts were not permitted to have sex with anyone but guests -- the occasional liberties taken by the house masters aside -- and since they all assumed that their rooms were monitored, it was not worth the risk of a correction to steal an orgasm with another girl, even if they both wanted it.
This new cell had just three single beds, and from the codes listed on the door, Sara recognized that it was assigned to the six girls tasked with performing for the cameras: Miranda, Jessica, Tiffany, Rachel, Jewel and herself. In the dim light, she could see that all three beds were already occupied. She undressed and laid down with Jessica.
The gorgeous blond slave stirred and put a delicate kiss on Sara's forehead. Sara felt happy and warm and safe.
***
Two days later, Sara found herself kneeling at the foot of the bed in a well-appointed suite, waiting to begin shooting another segment. She was studying a smiling, paunchy man wearing a toupee whom she expected would soon be inside of her. For the moment, he stood talking and laughing with a younger man.
Before the older man arrived, the younger man had taken the director aside for a quiet conversation. The rest of the video crew continued rigging their equipment, careful not to look in their direction. Sensing their unease, Sara felt her throat beginning to tighten. She concentrated on controlling her breathing to hold back the fear.
Her apprehension evaporated when the older man appeared. He had a kindly smile and sparkling eyes, and Sara immediately sensed that he would not hurt her. While she watched, the younger man took a small bottle from his coat pocket and up-ended it over the older man's hand. A single blue, triangular-shaped pill fell into his palm. Sara recognized it: Erexor.
He swallowed it down with a sip of water, shook hands with the younger man, then addressed himself to the director and the rest of the crew. He greeted each of them personally with a handshake, a nod, or a small joke. Sara marveled at his charisma and his easy, gracious manners.
Turning his attention to her, he sat down on the edge of the bed, beside where she was kneeling.
"Hello, my dear. How are you this morning?" he said, smiling.
"This slave is well, master. She is eager to please you," Sara smiled back.
"They sent me some pictures of a couple of different girls when I agreed to do this show, and I thought you were the prettiest of them all. Now that I see you for myself, you're even more beautiful than I imagined," he said.
The slave blushed and bowed her head. She knew as an objective fact that she was very appealing to men, and they were never shy about telling her so, but it almost never felt like a compliment -- more like an excuse for what they were going to do to her.
"Thank you, master," she answered, giddy, not quite able to look him in the eye.
He leaned in close, whispering into her hear.
"I have to tell you, I'm glad that you're a house girl. I know that I wouldn't stand a chance with you otherwise," he said. "My therapist told me that's called 'self-knowledge.'"
Utterly disarmed, Sara did not answer him. She felt like an idiot.
"That is unless, of course, you recognized me," he said, sitting up straight and turning to show off his profile, a faraway look in his eyes.
Sara tore through her memories, becoming increasingly frantic as she realized that most of them were a vacant haze, populated by shadows that might have been people.
"This slave is very sorry, master -- she doesn't know who you are," she admitted, suddenly fearful.
"It's okay, Sara -- it's okay," he laughed, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. "There probably isn't any reason that you should. Anyway, I never actually was anybody important -- I just played someone important on TV.
"That was a long time ago now, many years before you were born."
"You are an actor, master? You star in movies and television shows in Hollywood?" Sara blurted out, whole phrases taught to her in a cultural literacy class spilling out of her mouth, unchecked.
She blinked. She felt like even more of an idiot than she had a moment before, when she had nothing at all to say.
He was delighted.
"That's right, Sara!" he said, his eyes shining. "Pretty and smart! Now you've got something up on every single one of my ex-wives..."
The slave was silent again, her mind sent reeling by his charm. She actually felt relief at the sight of the director approaching.
"If you're ready, Mr. Kirchner, we're all set up for you over on the couch," he said.
"Please, call me Phil," the older man replied.
"Okay, Phil," the director seemed uncomfortable. "Whenever you're ready."
The older man took Sara by the hand and led her gently over to the couch. He sat back and the slave settled to her knees between his legs.
She leaned forward and pressed her face down into his crotch. Her tongue expertly found the metal tab on his zipper and lifted it up. Catching it between her teeth, she drew back, opening the front of his pants while favoring him with a devilish smile. He gasped.
Still using only her mouth, she undid the button at his waist and pulled his flaccid organ out from his silk boxers. She sucked him vigorously, looking up at him with hungry eyes.
It was a display that most men found irresistible, but his cock did not respond. Keeping suction on the head, she drew his shaft out to its full length, again and again... nothing.
The joy she felt moments before was gone. Fear dug its icy claws into her guts. Failing to arouse a guest most often meant an immediate beating at his hands, followed by an agonizing correction back at the stable. She urgently searched her mind for any possible explanation, but she found none.
