In a society where mass slavery has persisted into the 21st Century, a prostitute-slave named Sara endures pain, humiliation and casual exploitation in the service of a Las Vegas casino.
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 clientèle, 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.
TXR-92U-2280 was the ninth and final recorded live birth delivered by a breeding bitch at the Trexler International stable in Kingman, Arizona. The call name “Sara” was generated and assigned by a socio-linguistic expert system, derived from associations with expected adult characteristics and marketability.
The bitch that birthed Sara had previously been the property of a small accounting firm in Kingman. She was tasked as a receptionist, bookkeeper and sexual companion for the firm’s owner. Sold off to settle claims following the firm’s bankruptcy, she was acquired by Trexler as potential breeding stock. Genetic analysis confirmed the field buyer’s hunch, and she was artificially inseminated using frozen semen collected from the famed Trexler stud, Irish Rover.
All nine of the bitch’s offspring – four males, five females – were sired by Irish Rover using artificial insemination. An attempted tenth breeding ended in miscarriage and the bitch was decommissioned.
At birth, Sara was assigned to Lot #301, which was designated to participate in Trexler's “PureVirgin” initiative. The goal of the program was to limit incidental sexual experience among the stock, to provide a “fresh” experience for properties sold into intimate service, as well as minimizing the sense of shock and loss suffered by properties surgically altered for other duties. The program was discontinued after it resulted in poor performance at auction by properties selected for sexual service.
As she grew, Sara demonstrated good intellectual capability and was selected to receive training in language and literacy, as well as basic mathematics. She excelled, eventually completing all of the academic courses available at the Kingman facility.
Her intelligence and a compelling desire to avoid correction made Sara a productive member of her lot. She ranked among the top 10 percent of properties in the completion of assigned piecework, which consisted of light-duty, menial tasks contracted by Trexler to supplement the income from the its breeding program.
At age 7, Sara was approved for orthodontics, based on her projected adult score of 8.6 on the Moore-Fordham scale. Any score above 8 indicates a potentially marketable level of sex appeal, justifying the added expense of dental appliances.
By age 13, her projected adult Moore-Fordham score had risen to 8.9, and Sara was assigned to participate in daily calisthenics and Pilates for conditioning and given a protein-enriched diet. She also received training in etiquette and social manners.
Sara’s Moore-Fordham score at age 17 was 9.2, virtually assuring that she would be sold into sexual service. To reduce train-up time for the buyer and increase profitability, she received additional instruction in personal grooming, cosmetics, fashion and enhanced interpersonal skills.
Two weeks before final selection, she was sent to Proctor Servile Gynecology Associates in Henderson, Nevada for an independent pre-sale evaluation. Proctor certified her virginity, specifically noting good vaginal muscle tone and an intact hymen. Deflowering was predicted to inflict moderate to severe pain, depending on the size of the penis and the level of force applied.
Proctor also determined that penetration of her anal cavity without adequate preparation and lubricant was likely to cause severe pain and would always carry a risk of damage – most likely a tear of the anus or rectum.
Physiological testing revealed an estimated Sexual Response Index of 4.7, indicating a strong sex drive and good potential for orgasm. A Partner Gender Preference Inventory provided a .85 bias result, meaning a distinct preference for sex with males and an aversion to any type of sexual contact with females.
Per company policy, the Kingman stable manager scheduled the final evaluation for Lot #301 on the 18th birthday of its youngest occupant – Debra, a small, plain girl with a Moore-Fordham score of 5.3 and above-average intelligence. After being sold, she would likely be circumcised and tasked as a high-function utility.
A team of three evaluators flew out from company headquarters in Chicago to Las Vegas and drove two hours across the desert to Kingman, where the stock was being prepared for their arrival.
Sara’s heart beat fast inside her chest. This day was unlike any other day that she could remember. Along with all of the other girls in her dormitory, she stood naked and waiting. Her place was in the third of six rows, with ten girls in each row. Stable mistresses patrolled up and down between the rows, clutching electric prods.
From behind her, Sara heard a crackle of electricity, then a short scream.
“Posture!” barked a stable mistress.
Sara’s gaze never left the waist of the girl in front of her, which she used as an anchor to keep her eyes forward and submissively downcast. After a few minutes, the stable manager walked into her field of view. He looked several slaves up and down, then glanced at his wristwatch. He was wearing a suit and a tie, which Sara recognized from her recent training in fashion marked this as a special occasion.
She heard a sound from the doorway, and the house manager turned and stepped away. She chanced a glimpse and watched the stable manager greet two men and a woman, also dressed in formal clothing.
Then, she froze, feeling the cold tip of a prod pressed against her ass.
“Eyes down, Sara,” a woman’s voice whispered into her ear. “They’ll get to you soon enough.”
Sara lowered her eyes and waited for the stable mistress to administer a correction. She clenched her teeth to hold back the scream, but the woman just turned quietly and walked away.
Chastened and grateful that she had been spared an electric shock, Sara kept her face impassive and her eyes down. In her peripheral vision, she occasionally saw the evaluators and the stable manager as they passed from girl to girl, examining their bodies and occasionally ordering them to read aloud from a tablet or to do a math problem.
A pretty girl named Jasmine that had participated in the same classes as Sara over the past several months was instructed to display herself: to turn around, to bend at the waist, to spread her legs. The evaluators lingered, touching her skin, cupping her large breasts to feel their weight and each offering their own blunt observations about her body.
Eventually, like every other girl they had examined, the evaluators made a quick notation on Jasmine’s chest with a felt-tipped pen and moved down the line. Working their way up Sara’s row, they only paused for a few seconds in front of several of the girls, made a quick mark, and continued. Fighting back fear, Sara hoped that they do the same to her.
“So this is the famous ‘Sara,’” said the older of the two male evaluators, his full head of dark brown hair turning gray at the temples.
Sara shivered, realizing that she was about to endure the same type of humiliating inspection as Jasmine.
“What was her Moore-Fordham score again?” he asked, lifting Sara’s chin to study her face.
“The local gyno worked her up during the pre-sale eval – gave her a 9.2, the same as our last in-house assessment,” said the female evaluator, glancing down at her tablet.
“Really?” said the older man, turning Sara’s head from side to side to examine her profile. “I would have guessed something higher – a 9.4 or even a 9.5.”
“Maybe it’s her tits,” said the younger man. “She’s kind of small. What is she, a B-cup?”
The woman nodded. The older man smiled, letting go of Sara’s chin and taking her breasts in his hands.
“My boy, some day you are going to meet the right woman, and she is going to teach you that size doesn’t matter – it’s how you use it,” he said.
He began to firmly massage the slave’s breasts. Her pale flesh responded, becoming warm and flush in his large, muscular hands, her nipples rising to firm peaks. Then, he stepped back to admire the results of his efforts, glancing over his shoulder at the younger man.
“Gee, thanks dad,” he said. “I’ll never look at a pair of itty-bitty titties the same way again.”
“I love watching this whole father-son thing you two have going on – it’s really sweet,” said the woman.
They laughed, and then the older man turned his attention back to the slave.
“Turn around,” he said.
Sara obeyed, and he closed his fist painfully around the hair at the back of her head, then put the palm of his other hand in the center of her back.
“Give me your best back arch, honey,” he said.
He pressed forward with his open hand while maintaining his grip on her hair, forcing her to push out her tits while she bent at the hips, putting her ass on display below the curve of her back.
“That’s nice,” said the woman. “It really does show off her butt.”
The man holding her turned to the stable manager.
“When did you implement enhanced flexibility as part of your program out here?” he asked.
“We were one of the first,” the stable manager said. “I guess we’ve probably been doing it for about five years now.”
“How long has it been for her?” asked the evaluator.
The manager glanced down at his tablet.
“Pretty much from the get-go,” he said. “She was just getting started when the new guidelines came out.”
Sara was beginning to tremble. She had lifted herself up onto her toes to take some of the strain off her neck and back, but the evaluator just applied more pressure.
With her calves burning, she tried to slide her feet forward, to give herself a little more support. The man behind her responded immediately, pulling back hard on her hair and causing her even more pain.
“Don’t cheat me, honey,” he warned her.
The slave gasped. He was pulling her head so far back that she found herself looking up at the ceiling. Even with her eyes beginning to tear, she caught a glimpse of a stable mistress stepping in front of her and felt the metal tip of a prod pressed against her flat tummy.
The evaluator continued chatting with the stable manager.
“I have to say, that’s an impressive result,” he said. “Do you like what you’re seeing with the younger crops you’ve got coming up?”
“Definitely,” the stable manager said. “The one thing we’ve noticed is that we have to be careful, especially when we’re starting with new girls, so we don’t get too many injuries.”
The evaluator nodded.
“Keep up the good work,” he said, releasing his grip on the slave.
She stumbled forward, off balance, her legs numb.
“Recover!” shouted the stable mistress, triggering her prod.
At once, electricity transformed Sara’s midriff into pain. She screamed and fought to steady herself, ending up back in her place, facing the three evaluators. They continued their work: turning up her lips to look at her teeth, closely inspecting the delicate folds of flesh between her legs, feeling the texture of her skin, and turning her around to bend over and grab her ankles so that they could study her shape.
“This bitch has got a very nice ass. That’s a C.S.D.A. prime cut, no doubt,” said the younger man, delivering a hard slap to the slave’s upturned rear end.
The older man nodded in agreement.
“Go ahead and recover, honey,” he said to the slave.
Sara stood and turned around to face the evaluators, her eyes low and wet.
“Either of you want to see anything else?” he asked the other two evaluators.
“Yeah, I’ve got something,” said the younger man. “When we started with her, you said something about her being ‘famous.’ What was that all about?”
“We’ve been talking about this one back at headquarters for a while. She’s got the brains to be a high-function utility, which is pretty much wasted in this body,” he said. “If there was some way we could scoop out her brain and put it in that bulk-sale unit standing next to her, we’d come out way ahead on the deal. It’s too bad, really – we could sell that brain for a lot of money, but we can sell that ass for even more.”
With that, he used a red marker to put down a few letters on her chest and they moved on to the next girl.
Regaining her wits after another few minutes, Sara realized that her fate was written on her chest. Just by bowing her head a little more, she could learn how she would spend the rest of her life...
She felt a prod touch the inside of her thigh. Without even realizing it, she had begun to tilt her head down with a stable mistress standing right behind her.
“Posture,” she whispered.
For the next two hours, Sara stood silent and unmoving, listening to the evaluators do their work, punctuated by the occasional sizzle and shriek of electrical corrections being administered to a slave.
During all that time, anyone who even glanced at Sara instantly knew her destiny, while she herself remained in desperate ignorance of that one tiny piece of information. Finally, the evaluators were done and a stable mistress shouted, “Release!”
She looked down. It was just one word: “SLUT.”
Sara lay quietly in the stillness and the dark. She was locked inside a cage scarcely larger than a coffin, with two girls in identical cages above her and three more below. She was naked, laying on a thin mattress pad, her head resting on a tiny pillow and her body covered with a scratchy blanket. She was not bound, or gagged, and she was grateful for that small measure of freedom.
Before the lights went out, she had watched as several other girls had their hands bound behind their backs and bits pushed into their mouths. Then, they were forced to share the tiny cages while one of the stable mistresses muttered about “needing additional capacity.”
She thought back over the day, searching for a hint about what the next morning would bring. After she and the other slaves were released, she looked around to see how each of them had been marked. As best she could tell, more than half had a simple black “X” in the middle of their chest, including Marcy, who had been standing right beside her. Others had “UTIL” written in blue and a few, like Debra, had “HF UTIL,” also written in blue.
The smallest group, which included Jasmine, Sara and three other girls, had “SLUT” written in red. Almost immediately, the slaves were segregated by the color that had been used to mark them. Sara and the other sluts were taken to the garage. They were each bound, gagged and blindfolded, then loaded into cages in the back of a van. After two hours on the road, unfamiliar stable mistresses unloaded them and eventually bedded them down with about 25 other girls. From what Sara had seen, they were all very pretty.
Sara had only vague notions about sex. From early childhood, she had been attended exclusively by women and male slaves that had been made into eunuchs. In fact, she had only seen a few intact men in her entire life – including the stable manager and an occasional visitor to the facility.
From whispered conversations with the other girls and silent experiments she conducted alone in her bunk at night, she had discovered a kind of warmth, a heat that she could coax from the delicate place between her legs. On a few occasions, the sensation had exploded into a moment of pure bliss, but it was difficult for her to achieve and more than once she had bruised herself in the attempt.
She knew there was some connection between sex and pretty girls – that men sought out pretty girls for sex. Having concluded that she would be used for sex, Sara even dared to hope that her tasking would be to experience that beautiful, perfect moment again and again and again. Feeling the heat starting to build, she reached down and drew a finger across the moist folds that could take her to that place.
“What will happen to these slaves?” asked a voice in the darkness, interrupting Sara’s progress.
She stopped, listening for an answer.
“These slaves will be auctioned tomorrow, as sluts,” another voice answered.
“Will they be cut?” a third voice asked urgently.
“Each house has its own rules, but sluts don’t usually get cut. Most other slave girls do,” said the same voice that had answered the first question.
“How does the slave know these things?”
“There was an overseer in her stable – a man. She would blow him and he would tell her things about what is going to happen.”
“Did he make the slave swallow his cum?” a new voice asked. “This slave always had to swallow when she sucked off a master and it made her feel sick inside.”
“Men always make slave girls swallow.”
Sara was mystified. She knew the words that they were using – cut, blow, suck, come, swallow – but she could not fathom their meaning in this context. For a moment, she pondered adding her voice to the discussion, but she was embarrassed to reveal her ignorance.
“This slave heard that it will hurt bad when she gets her cherry is popped,” said a different voice. “Will it? Have any of these slaves had their cherries popped yet? Does it hurt?”
A new voice answered: “This slave hasn’t had her cherry popped yet, but she heard that, too.”
“A master said that this slave was going to be ‘deflowered.’ Is that like getting her cherry popped?”
“This slave heard that they are the same thing. A mistress told this slave that it will hurt, but it might not be really bad.”
“A trainer said that sluts are special, so they can't be punished on their tits, on their cunts or on their asses, and also the overseers can’t use anything that leaves a mark, so it is good that all of these slaves are sluts – it won’t hurt as bad when they are punished.”
A quiet voice asked, “When will this slave be taken back to her stable? She wants to see the other girls in her stable again.”
The first voice that answered a question spoke again: “These slaves are never going back to their stables. These slaves will never see all those other girls, or each other, ever again. Tomorrow, these slaves will be sold into different houses. Then, men will fuck them and it will hurt.”
No one spoke. For Sara, the day had happened so fast that she had not even considered its implications, but the voice in the dark caused her to think. For as long as she could remember, she had lived in a dormitory with 59 other girls. She knew each of them, knew each of their names. She had fought and laughed and cried with all of them, shared secrets and ideas and fears with all of them.
Now, there were only four left: Jasmine, Tracy, Electra and Jordan. Tomorrow, they would be gone and Sara would be completely alone. She felt absurd for having imagined basking in pleasure as the terror of realizing her place in the world turned her guts into ice.
Tears welled up in her eyes and she began to cry. She took a fold of the blanket between her teeth and bit down hard, trying to silence her sobs. All around her, she heard the other girls weeping, too.
The morning began abruptly, with a blast from an air horn. Stable mistresses with prods dangling from their belts were moving among the stacks of cages, opening locks.
“Up, bitches! Up!” shouted the woman holding the horn. “You will move directly into the showers. You will clean yourselves thoroughly using soap and shampoo.
“Each of you will be given a razor. You will shave yourselves under your arms and between your legs. You will be bare and smooth in both of those places so that the buyers can see what they are going to be bidding on.”
Sara joined the press of naked slaves moving towards the showers. The frigid spray bit into her skin like needles, and she shivered while she cleaned and shaved herself. Next, the slaves were driven down a dim concrete hallway and then into a room lit with dazzling white light. Each of them was secured atop a low platform with ankle cuffs that held their legs apart, while their wrists were bound together and drawn up tight above their heads, making their entire body available for inspection.
Attendant slaves moved from girl to girl, drying and styling their hair, touching up the shaves they had hastily given themselves, and applying warm oil to the folds of soft flesh between their legs, making them glisten.
Sara gasped as the attendant massaged the oil into her sex. She looked down at the attendant, who did not meet her gaze. A stable mistress supervising the work immediately touched her prod against Sara’s tummy.
“Mouth shut,” she said. “If your mouth opens to do anything except show off those pretty white teeth, you have made a mistake.”
Sara locked her eyes on the waist of the girl displayed in front of her, her face a mask of passivity.
Satisfied, the woman did not burn her.
With the slaves prepared for their viewing, the attendants withdrew and men and women began to filter into the room in groups of two or three. They walked slowly among the slaves, glancing down at tablets they carried and speaking quietly among themselves. A pair of men approached Sara.
“Okay, who have we got here,” said the first, sliding a finger across the surface of his tablet. “Says the call name is ‘Sara’ – 32B-22-34 – got a 9.2 on the Moore-Fordham index. She’s 5’5” – 108 pounds. Blue eyes. Bred at the Trexler stable in Kingman. Age 18. Certified virgin. Hymen intact.”
“Nice ass,” said the other man, walking behind her.
Spreading her cheeks, he revealed the tight brown bud within. He pressed tip of his finger against it.
“She feels really tight,” he continued. “I’m not to sure about the pixie cut, though. I like being able to get a good grip on a girl’s hair – more control that way.”
The first man took hold of her hair and yanked her head back sharply.
“I don’t really think that’s an issue,” he said. “Besides, I think these lithe girls look better with short hair.”
The other man nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “Who’s next?”
A man and a woman were waiting to inspect her. The man began by pinching her nipples.
“Perky,” he said, lightly slapping her breasts to watch them move. “Still, I like girls with a little more meat up top. Also, I’m not sure about the black hair. Her skin is so pale, it makes her look a little goth – don’t you think?”
“Remember, Schneider wanted to find some new looks,” said the woman, glancing down at her tablet. “We’re already pretty well stocked with D-cup blondes.”
“Hey, guys like D-cup blondes,” he replied with a smile.
The woman rolled her eyes and walked away.
Next, three men approached her, staring intently at the tablet they carried.
“I just don’t get it,” one of them said, looking up at Sara. “Why bother providing all that academics for a slut? What’s the point?”
“Well, we always end up having to do some rudimentary literacy training anyway, for tasking, so we’d get a jump on that whole process with her,” said another.
“Sure,” said the first man. “I just don’t think it’s worth paying any extra, that’s all.”
“Ah, found it,” said the third man, still looking down at the tablet. “She scored really high on her initial intelligence testing, prior to her first Moore-Fordham assessment. If she wasn’t a looker, she would have ended up as a high-function utility for sure.”
“Nice muscle tone,” said the second man, running his hand along her body from the elbow to the knee. “Who was the breeder?”
“Trexler International,” answered the third man.
“They do make a quality product,” said the first man, slowly surveying the slave – his eyes lingering on her vulva, her breasts and her face.
Next to approach her was a single man, talking on his cell phone.
“Yeah, I found her,” he said. “Short, dark hair – small tits? Yeah, this is her. Yeah, she looks good to me. Hang on – I’ll send you some pictures.”
He held out his phone and pressed a button. It flashed, blinding Sara. He held down between her legs, its lens facing up towards her sex and it flashed again. Next, he moved it in close on her breasts. Flash. Her ass. Flash. Her face. Flash.
He pressed a few more buttons, then resumed talking.
“You should be getting them right now. What do you think – nice, huh? Yeah, I know, that’s a great ass.”
After four hours of constant attention, the buyers cleared the room and the attendants returned. They fed and toileted the slaves while still in restraints, then cleaned them up. The buyers were re-admitted and continued to touch, fondle, grab, pinch, slap and probe the slaves for another four hours. When it was done, Sara and the other girls had lost any sensation in their limbs, the painful cramping having long since given way to numbness.
Released from her bonds, Sara’s limp body collapsed into the hands of three waiting attendants, who gently lowered her onto the floor and began to vigorously massage her arms and legs. Regaining the feeling in her limbs proved to be nearly as painful as losing it.
Sara stood naked, except for heavy leather cuffs at her wrists. They were connected by a length of chain that passed through a steel loop atop a waist-high hitching rail. She had watched 23 girls disappear through the heavy black curtains in front of her – she was number 24. From beyond the curtain, she occasionally heard the muffled shouts and clapping.
She felt her heart pounding in her chest. She knew that in another moment, she would vanish through those curtains and her fate would be decided on the auctioneer’s stage.
A burst of applause signaled the end of the previous auction. Sara felt dizzy. A stable mistress opened the lock that bound her to the hitching rail. She swayed. A beautiful blonde woman in a sparkling gold evening gown stepped back through the curtains and motioned to her. The stable mistress took her by the arm and brought her forward.
Sara looked back over her shoulder at the six remaining girls. Jordan, Tracy and Electra were already gone, but she saw Jasmine, looking back at her.
“Goodbye, Sara,” she said, a hopeful smile on her face.
Then Sara was standing in front of the blonde.
“Listen to me...” she paused, glancing down at her tablet, “...Sara. The next few minutes are going to be the most important time in your entire life. The higher the bidding goes, the more valuable you will be to the buyer. The more valuable you are to the buyer, the less they will want to see you damaged. Do you understand?”
Suddenly feeling nauseous, Sara managed a quick nod. The blonde looked unconvinced. She grabbed the chain that connected the slave’s wrist cuffs and led her through the curtains.
Sara emerged onto a small stage and was immediately blinded by spotlights that shone down on her from above. Eyes shut, she stumbled after the woman down a short catwalk to a tall metal pole. The woman dropped the chain into a metal loop on the side of the pole. It snapped shut and rose towards the ceiling, pulling the slave’s hands up over her head.
“Ladies and gentlemen, where shall we start the bidding for this fine filly, bred by Trexler International just across the border in the great State of Arizona,” an amplified voice boomed. “Do I hear $12,000? $12,000? $12,000? $11,000? Do I hear $11,000?”
The blonde woman leaned close, her flawless smile never leaving her face. She hissed into Sara’s ear: “Show the merchandise, you cunt, or they will cut you up for dog food.”
Sara had panicked. Eighteen years of strict discipline prevented her from making a futile attempt to actually flee back through the curtains, but she was incapable of moving.
“Do I hear $10,000?” the booming voice continued. “Surely someone will give me $10,000 for this versatile specimen.”
The woman was in her ear again: “Sara, if you don’t start moving right now, you will go off strip and you will end up in some dingy fuck club taking it up the ass ten times a day.”
The auctioneer continued: “She is well-suited for intimate service, breeding or even top-end utility work.”
“Did you hear what he just said, Sara?” the woman snarled. “He said ‘utility.’ Do you know what they do to utilities, Sara? They circumcise them. They cut out their clits. That will happen to you tonight if you don’t move that ass!”
Sara was nearly blind and deaf. Although she was standing in the convergence of four powerful spotlights, the room seemed pitch black to her, and the sounds were even more muffled than they had been when she had been waiting behind the curtains.
All that changed in an instant. She could hear the quiet chirp of a cell phone in the very back row of the hall. She could see the face, the eyes, of every person sitting in the audience, looking at her, looking at the woman in the gold dress, looking down at the glowing tablets in their hands. She recognized that in this one instant, which was already slipping away from her, she could shape her own future. It was a profound realization for a slave that had never thought beyond the present moment, and never had any goal except to avoid humiliation and pain.
She frantically searched her memories for something she could use. During her fashion training, she had been taught to walk in peculiar shoes with tall, narrow heels. They caused her to have a distinctive, swaying gait, which she was instructed to accentuate through the placement of her feet as she walked.
At the time, it seemed like a useless exercise that she mastered only to avoid the stable mistress’ prod, but she wondered if this was expected of sluts. She rose up to the tips of her toes, swung around to face the audience and paraded around the pole, her hips gyrating.
“Okay, folks! Here we go!” cried the auctioneer. “Probably just a little stage fright – it happens to the best of them! Do I hear $10,000? $10,000! Do I hear $12,000? $12,000!”
Sara remembered another lesson, from her interpersonal skills class. Like all slaves, she had been trained from a young age to keep her eyes low, and never to meet the gaze of a master or mistress. However, the instructor explained that sometimes slaves tasked with providing “intimate services” – a term that went unexplained – were expected to make eye contact with the person that they were serving. She had been made to practice and it was an intensely uncomfortable experience but, again, she decided it must be expected of a slut.
She flung her eyes out into the audience, lingering in particular on the faces of older men wearing suits and ties while she shaped her own face into a pensive, pouting mask.
“Do I hear $15,000? $15,000! Who will give me $20,000? $20,000!”
Having strutted as far as her bonds would allow, Sara twirled to face the other direction, deliberately pushing her breasts hard against the cold metal pole as she turned. As she hoped, her nipples bloomed into firm, dark points, which she thrust out at the audience. Men started shouting their approval.
“No doubt we’ve got a hot little piece of merchandise right here!” the auctioneer hollered. “Who will give me $25,000 for this prancing filly? $25,000? I have $25,000! Do I hear $30,000?”
Sara reversed again, and put the pole between herself and the curtains, then pushed out her legs, bent at the waist and arched her back, showing off her ass. The audience clapped and howled.
“$30,000! $30,000! Do I hear $35,000?”
“Spank this slave!” Sara shouted at the woman in the sparkling gold dress.
“What!?” she replied, incredulous.
“Spank this slave hard!”
The woman delivered a firm slap to Sara’s ass.
“$35,000! Do I hear $40,000?”
“Again! Harder!” she cried.
Smack! The audience cheered.
“Oh, my!” the auctioneer marveled. “We really have something special here tonight! I have $40,000!$40,000! Who will give me $45,000?”
Smack! Sara’s eyes sought out one of the glaring spotlights and she stared into it, unblinking.
“$45,000! I have $45,000! Do I hear $50,000?”
Smack! The crowd was wild.
Tears began streaming down Sara’s face as she continued staring directly into the beam.
“$50,000! I have... $60,000! I have $60,000!”
The crowd was on its feet, cheering. Bidders pressed phones to their ears, shouting to be heard.
“$65,000? I have $65,000! $65,000!”
Smack! Sara’s ass glowed red from the abuse.
“Do I hear... $70,000! I have $70,000! Do I hear $75,000?”
The crowd was frantic, pumping their fists in the air and shouting, urging the bidders on.
“Will anyone give me $75,000? $75,000? $75,000 for this feisty little dynamo?”
Smack! Sara looked back over her shoulder, her face wet with tears, her lip trembling. The crowd exploded.
“$75,000! $75,000! I have $75,000!”
Sara twisted away from the blonde in the gold dress and fell limp against the pole, hanging from her wrists as sweat and tears flowed down over her breasts.
“Do I hear $80,000? Will anyone give me $80,000? $80,000? A remarkable performance from a remarkable property that is sure to satisfy your guests. $80,000? Anyone?”
Sara looked up at the blonde, who met her gaze with an approving wink.
“$75,000 going once! $75,000 going twice! $75,000 going three times... Sold! Sold to the gentleman representing Helios... Helios, the new home of one of the finest properties ever to be auctioned from this stage!”