TXR-92U-2280 – Call Name: Sara – Part I

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.

Sara shivered.

“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!”

***

Author's Note: I wanted to acknowledge the input given by several of the commentators regarding the first installment of this series of stories: specifically, their incisive questions regarding Sara's history and relative ignorance regarding sex. After reading them, I realized that I determined certain things about her past for myself, but never made those explicitly clear within the narrative. This revised version of the first chapter of Sara's story adds several paragraphs to the introduction, clarifying these points. Thanks to everyone who took the time to share your ideas. I believe that they showed a remarkable depth and clarity of thought, which I sincerely appreciate and which some might find surprising given the topic of this website.

TXR-92U-2280 – Call Name: Sara – Part II

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.

***

After her shower, the dom at the dispatch counter directed Sara to one of the overseer's shared offices – number four. Inside, House Mistress Cruz was waiting behind a battered desk.

“Close the door,” she said.

Sara obeyed.

“You put out for the house masters, don't you?” the overseer asked.

Sara did not answer. She put out – like every other slut in the stable – but she knew that the house masters themselves were technically breaking the rules by taking liberties. It was an open secret that none of the slaves ever spoke about, except among themselves. There was nothing to be gained by making trouble for a man who could send you to hell with a few keystrokes.

“You're not in trouble, Sara. We both know that you do, so just tell me the truth,” Cruz said.

“Yes, Mistress,” the slave replied.

“Good,” said Cruz. “It's important that we be able to trust each other.”

Sara felt a tremor of fear stirring in her gut. She did not understand the purpose of this conversation and, for a slave, uncertainty is the worst kind of danger.

“Since you service house masters, you will also service a house mistress – right?” Cruz asked.

“Yes, mistress,” said Sara, relieved to know the overseer's intentions.

However, that relief brought with it a vague sense of distaste. In spite of the rigorous training, the cruel mind games and the constant manipulation with drugs, Sara had never really felt anything but disgust at the thought of pleasuring a woman.

“Okay, then,” said Cruz, sounding relieved herself. “Dress off. Thong off. Everything else stays where it is.”

The slave quickly slid out of her dress and released the hooks that held her skimpy panties tight across her hips, leaving her black garter belt, stockings, high-heeled shoes and bra in place. Apart from the fact that house masters always wanted to see her breasts, this was quick becoming a typical encounter – an “inspection” that would end up with Sara on her knees or bent over the desk after a few minutes.

“Lean back against the desk and spread,” Cruz said.

Again, Sara obeyed. Then, Cruz knelt down in front of her, putting her face only inches from Sara's vulva. Fear sprang up inside the slave – this was completely unexpected. She felt intensely vulnerable and fought back the urge to close her legs.

Cruz stuck out her tongue and drew it up along Sara's labia, finishing with a swirl around her clitoris. Sara froze, concentrating on her breathing to hold back the fear. The thing that was happening to her felt unreal. She did not know what to do.

The overseer continued, licking the slave up and down with growing intensity. Then, she paused.

“Say, ‘Eat me,’” she said, looking up at Sara.

“Eat Sara,” the slave responded automatically.

Cruz caught one of the soft, wet folds of Sara's labia between her thumbnail and the tip of her forefinger – then squeezed. Sara winced, and looked down at her.

“Say, ‘Eat me,’” Cruz repeated.

“Eat... me,” Sara replied, forcing the unfamiliar word out past her lips.

Cruz resumed while the slave looked on, astonished.

“Make me do it,” the overseer said after another minute.

Sara blinked.

“Make me do it,” the overseer said again, taking the slave's hand and putting it on the back of her head.

Sara pushed the overseer's face back down between her legs and felt her start licking and sucking again. She continued to watch silently.

Pausing again, Cruz said, “Enjoy yourself.”

The slave's bewilderment yielded to a new understanding: she was playing out a scenario for the house mistress – that she herself was the “mistress” and the overseer kneeling in front of her was the “slave.” Sara had never even conceived of such a scenario, but at least she understood how to make this experience end.

Pushing the overseer's mouth down onto her clit, the slave feigned a sigh of pleasure and then fell into a familiar pattern of moans and gasps as she pretended to build towards orgasm. A few minutes later, she was crying out in mock ecstasy, her back arched, her tits jutting out. Then, she shuttered and trembled through her well-rehearsed finale.

Afterward, Cruz got back to her feet, wiping her mouth with a square of white fabric.

“That was pretty good for the first time, Sara,” she said. “As part of your lesbian conversion program, you learned how to actually get off with a woman, didn't you?”

“Yes, Mistress,” said Sara, embarrassed that her performance had been so easily detected.

“That is something you will need to do better next time,” said Cruz. “Even if you don't cum, I want to feel some real heat.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Sara nodded.

The truth was that she had felt nothing at all. The situation had come as such a bizarre shock that she only wanted it to end quickly – the possibility of taking any pleasure in it had never even occurred to her.

“Also, I want you to think about your experiences with guests. You must get worked pretty hard sometimes – maybe even by women. I want you to use some of those experiences next time. Make it like it is when you have kind of a rough night, understand?” asked Cruz.

“Yes, Mistress,” said Sara.

Cruz continued, “Obviously, you're not to talk about this to anyone about this, or even any of the other sluts in the stable. You're all damn little gossips, and I'm not going to have this getting around.

“If you give me what I need, I'm going to do nice things for you – good performance reviews, advanced training, maybe even less pills.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” said Sara.

With that, the overseer straightened her uniform, stepped behind the desk and sat down.

“You may dress yourself, Sara,” she said.

“Thank you, Mistress,” said the slave.

***

Standing under the shower, Sara was numb – unable to understand what she had just experienced. She wondered if maybe it could have been a dream, but as the reality of the situation settled in on her, she became afraid. What if this was some kind of test? What would be the correct choice? Tell another house master about what happened? Will herself to a genuine sexual response?

And if it was a test, did she want to pass it? Would taking real pleasure from an encounter like that confirm the lesbian conversion program was a success, and condemn her to servicing only women?

Sara considered every possibility as she dried off, dressed, applied her cosmetics and reported to the dispatch desk to be escorted up to a guest room for the night.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, ready slip down into the kneeling slave girl posture at the sound of a key in the door, a new possibility occurred to her: she could do as she was told. The next time the house mistress knelt down in front of her, she could close her eyes, imagine a well-trained, cut young buck eating her out and drink in the pleasure.

She felt a stirring between her legs as she considered the possibility: actual pleasure, even an orgasm, with her in complete control. Not only had she been given permission to indulge herself – she had been ordered to do it.

By the time the guest lifted her dress and slipped his hand under her thong, she was embarrassingly wet. He was delighted. It was a good night.

***

Three days later, Sara again found herself leaning back against the edge of the desk, her legs spread wide. House Mistress Cruz was on her knees, licking the slave's sex. Sara's first impulse was to deliver another theatrical orgasm, but the overseer was not as easy to trick as a testosterone-charged college athlete or a traveling businessman who wanted something he had seen in a porno that his wife wouldn't do for him.

For a moment, she ignored the tongue moving up and down her labia and teasing her clit. In her mind, she summoned up a buck to be her plaything. She imagined his short blond hair, his pretty blue eyes, his smile, his powerful arms and legs, his broad chest and his flat, firm tummy.

She could feel his breath as he leaned in close, stretching out his tongue to caress her vulva. She put her hands on the back of his head, pushing him down into her sex. He was well trained. He knew what she needed, and he gave it to her – anxious to feel her twitch, to know that she was satisfied.

In her imagining, her gaze traveled down between his legs. His thick cock strained upward, hungry for stimulation – her mouth, her vagina, her ass, even her hand – but she had already decided its fate: it would starve to death and fall flaccid once she had taken her pleasure from him.

She had seen more cocks than she could count in her short life, and she had worked each one of them to orgasm, pumped them or been pumped by them until they sprayed their hot, bitter loads down her throat, onto her face and her breasts, or up into her guts or her barren womb. She had pleasured every single cock she had ever seen – but not this one.

This young buck would get her off, and then he would look up at her, his face wet with her juices. He would thank her for giving him the opportunity to service her and then he would leave, his big cock sagging and unsatisfied.

“Eat it, bitch,” Sara gasped, grinding her hips against the overseer's face.

The kneeling woman tried to speak, but Sara kept her head pressed down firmly between her legs.

“Eat it! Eat Sara! Make her cum on your face!”

The overseer tongued her clit, until Sara felt a powerful, shuddering orgasm overtake her. She cried out, holding the woman's head like a vise. Then, it was done. Sara collapsed onto the desk, and House Mistress Cruz fell back onto the floor, coughing.

When they had both recovered, Sara began to gather up her clothes and Cruz dropped heavily into the worn chair behind the desk, wiping her face.

“That was an acceptable performance, Sara,” she croaked.

“Thank you, Mistress,” the slave answered, eyes low.

“However, next time I expect you to speak properly – not slavish. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“When you’re finished getting dressed, you are dismissed.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

***

Sara spent the next several days attempting to teach herself standard speech, not the self-effacing language of slaves. At first, she thought it would simply be a matter of replacing her name with “me.” That worked in a few instances – “Make me cum” – but not others: “Me wants you to pleasure me.” She sounded foolish to herself, especially when she spoke the words out loud to see how they felt in her mouth.

During that time, House Mistress Cruz made good on one of her promises: a pill disappeared from the slave’s daily dose of psychotropic drugs. Sara felt more alert and, to her delight, she was better able to concentrate and remember.

She began listening closely to the house masters and the guests that she serviced, trying to puzzle out the rules. One morning, fresh from the shower, she started a conversation with House Master Jessup, just to listen to how he spoke.

So intent was she on her study of language that she failed to consider how the acne-scarred, greasy-haired house master would react to her interest. Ten minutes later, she was kneeling in front of him, her lips sliding up and down his short cock, which tasted bitterly of urine.

“I want to see it, before you swallow it down,” he told her.

After he grunted out his seed, she pulled back, looking up at him for approval. Her jaw hung open, so he could see his own thick, milky cream pooling on her tongue. This was one of the most humiliating displays that she was required to perform.

“That's good, bitch – real good,” he said. “Now, make it disappear.”

She closed her mouth and tried to get it all down in one gulp. When she was done, she opened her mouth again to show him.

“Fucking awesome,” he said. “I wish I could get my girlfriend to do that. She doesn't even like to blow me. What a fucking cunt.”

***

With the House Mistress Cruz once again once again on her knees, servicing her, Sara reflected on one essential difference between slaves and their masters. Slaves – sluts, at least – did their work quickly, anxious to provide satisfaction, but not necessarily pleasure. A mouth full of cum or the wet, sticky feeling of a man's load dripping down between your legs was absolute proof that he was satisfied.

Also, after having had an orgasm, a master was much less likely to require you to do something painful or humiliating. No limp, spent cock had ever been forced up into a slave girl’s unprepared ass or choked her into unconsciousness.

Even during her previous encounter with Cruz, Sara had pushed herself to climax as quickly as possible, because it would end the uncertainty and fear of the situation – but now she wondered how much more she might have taken from this woman. Unlike a slave, who wants to deliver satisfaction, a master wants to receive pleasure – to prolong the experience, taking full advantage of the warm, wet, girl-shaped toy bouncing, bobbing and squirming on the end of his shaft.

Sara’s thoughts were interrupted by a sense that the house mistress growing impatient between her legs.

“Just do your work, cunt,” she said.

Cruz pulled away to warn the her, but the slave drew up her right leg and folded it across the back of the overseer’s head, pushing her face back down into her sex.

“I said, ‘Eat me,’” Sara told her, drawing on one of the phrases she had committed to memory.

With Cruz giving renewed attention to her clit, Sara closed her eyes let her head fall back with a sigh. She relaxed and let the pleasure wash over her, with no particular concern for channeling the rising heat into an orgasm.

“That's good, bitch – real good,” she said.

After another few minutes, the overseer’s attentions began to wane again – because of fatigue, Sara suspected. She reached down and put her left hand on her right ankle, pulling her leg back towards herself. Cruz, caught within its triangular embrace, looked up at the slave, her eyes wide. Sara regarded her coolly.

“Give me more,” she said. “I need more.”

Cruz rallied again, this time with a hint of desperation. Sara realized that she had probably taken about as much as the house mistress could give. She started moving her hips, deliberately grinding towards orgasm.

“Finish me, slut!” she snapped.

Then, Sara’s words yielded to orgasmic cries. A moment later, she was done.

Afterward, Cruz sat behind the desk, breathing heavily, while she watched the slave gather up her clothes and dress herself.

“You performed well today, Sara,” she said. “I expect you to maintain this level of intensity and also to determine the direction of these sessions yourself. Do you understand?”

“Yes, mistress. Thank you, mistress.”

***

After another week, Sara saw a big change in her daily pharmaceuticals, as she was switched over onto a training regimen. Within hours, she felt even more clear and alert. That evening, she was given a simple display assignment at the Scarab Club and put to bed before midnight in preparation for off-site  training the next day.

That morning, House Master Crawford bound her wrists behind her back, then gagged and blindfolded her and loaded her into a cage in the back of a windowless van.

Sara was delighted. She had only been off-site a few times, and she was fascinated by the world beyond the tinted windows of Helios. On the nights that she was assigned to a guest with a room high up in the pyramid – especially on the northern face – she would gaze out across a wonderland of shining towers divided by a ribbon of traffic that stretched as far as she could see.

When she first saw it, she assumed that it went on forever: an endless, dazzling procession of sparkling jewels in the night. Then, during her basic cultural literacy training, she learned that this was just one of many cities, some separated by distances so vast that flying vehicles – airplanes – were necessary to travel between them. Her mind spun as she imagined city after city, each a glittering marvel of glass and steel.

Although her painted lips were stretched around the red rubber ball gag, she managed a small smile. She could see none of it, but she knew that she was out somewhere among those magical towers.

***

The classroom was almost full when Sara arrived. An attendant escorted her over to an empty seat in the front row. She looked up at the other slaves waiting for the class to begin. Immediately, she recognized that all of them wore the modest uniforms of guest service utilities from several major houses. The females dressed in flats with skirts below the knee and blouses or long dresses and the males wore shapeless pants and starchy, long-sleeved shirts.

In contrast, Sara’s dress made an ample show of her modest cleavage. Her short, tight skirt perfectly displayed every subtle movement and curve of her ass, while each step she took offered a peek at the lacy tops of her stockings.

She could sense the eyes of every intact male in the room tracking her with unblinking stares, their heads swiveling like security cameras. The females also noticed her, sneaking quick glances as they whispered among themselves, their eyes burning with envy and hate.

Sara slid uneasily into her place, anxious for the lesson to begin. She noticed that the back and the seat of her chair were upholstered with a fine metal mesh. The attendant handed her a paddle with a video display, a four-way knob and a few buttons, attached to a cord that vanished back under her chair.

A bald man with a creased face stepped up to a console at the front of the room. Sara studied him, assuming he was to be their instructor. Aged and fat, she could still see strength and purpose in his movements. His eyes worked quickly behind his glasses as his hands brought the console to life. She sensed sadness in him, and she decided that he could be a very dangerous man.

A finger tickled her ear from behind, interrupting her thoughts.

“Hey,” said a male voice. “This slave, name of Brad, has been at this school before. Brad knows where there is a little room where he and this little honey can go to during mealtime.”

Sara did not answer.

“C’mon, baby” the slave continued. “Brad knows how to work her love button and everything. He will make her cum, not like the jerks that she spreads for every night. What does the sweetie say?”

She continued to ignore him. He leaned down next to her ear.

“Listen,” he said. “This little slut is going to get Brad off, and she can either enjoy it, or...”

Brad abruptly yelped in pain.

“My name is Farnstrom,” said the man standing at the console. “You have been enrolled in an advanced cultural literacy course. For the duration of this course, you will be subject to electrical correction, either for failing to master the knowledge that will be provided to you, or for behavior that I deem inappropriate.

“Your results from the final exam will be reported back to your respective houses, and I suspect that you will face additional correction if you fail to demonstrate that you made good use of this opportunity.

“We will begin this morning with a study of the major cities of the C.A.S. and their unique features. This will be useful to you in establishing a rapport with the guests that you serve – or service,” he added, winking at Sara.

“As all of you should remember from your previous training, ‘C.A.S.’ is an acronym for the name of the nation-state where you are held thrall. Look down at your screen. You will see four different possible names that correspond with the letters C.A.S. You have eight seconds to identify the right one using the knob, or you will receive a correction.”

Sara lifted the paddle. It read:

     1) Congress of American States

     2) Charter of Absolute Sovereignty

     3) Confederation of American States

     4) Coalition of Appropriate Status

She twisted the knob around until it pointed at number three and watched the timer count down the last few seconds. When it reached zero, she heard Brad and several other slaves cry out behind her.

“I can already see this is going to be a long day for some of you,” said Farnstrom. “We will start close to home. Use your paddle to select the name of this city. You have seven seconds.”

Sara dialed in “2) Las Vegas.” Only three slaves cried out when time expired.

“For most of you, Las Vegas is the only city you have ever known, so you probably think every other city is pretty much like this one. Well, you’re wrong.

“Basically, what makes one city different from any other city is how it gets money out of people. Vegas does it the old-fashioned way: gambling, booze and tail like this fine specimen we’ve got sitting right here in the front row.”

Behind him, three huge screens sprang to life, flashing vibrant scenes from around the city: towering casinos, tumbling dice, a well-stocked bar, a winning blackjack hand, swimming pools, stacks of chips, a couple dancing, golf courses, a spinning roulette wheel and two half-naked, pouting house sluts – looking like they had been caught having sex with each other.

“Vegas sells illusions – lies, basically – to win its bread. It tells people that, if you come here, you can get rich off one spin of the wheel, you will be happy if you drink enough, and the pretty girl wants to suck your dick, no matter how old and fat you are,” Farnstrom said, his gaze settling on Sara. “We’ve got a volcano and a pirate ship and all kinds of shit, and people come from all over the world to see it – but none of it is real.”

***

Five days later, Sara sat quietly in her seat, using the paddle to review the week’s lessons. Around her, the other slaves were likewise engaged, taking advantage of two hours of study time that Farnstrom had granted them before the final exam.

Sara focused her attention on the first day’s subject – geography. The nearest major city to Las Vegas was Los Angeles – about 250 miles away, five hours by car or one hour in an airplane. She took note of the difference in spelling – “Los” versus “Las” – and closed her eyes to test her memory before reading further.

The city had a population of 9 million people and 4 million held thrall. Its best-known industry was the production of movies and TV shows, centered in a district called “Hollywood.” A famous local landmark was a huge sign built on a hillside that identified the district.

Farnstrom had said, “Los Angeles is kind of like Las Vegas – in that they make and sell illusions. But, unlike Las Vegas, they let you know what they are up to right from the get-go.”

Many other industries also operated in Los Angeles: recreation and tourism – another parallel with Las Vegas – but also aerospace, shipping, technology and fashion. The small screen showed a gritty, sprawling city beneath brown hills.

For Sara, it had been a good week. She had enjoyed discovering new vistas to explore, if only in her own mind, and also the clarity that came with the study drugs. However, there had been moments she would have preferred to avoid.

Every male slave that had not been castrated – and a few that she suspected had – hit on her at least once, their come-ons ranging from crude demands to sweet, selfless pleas. The female slaves watched her from a wary distance, standing together in tight clusters during breaks, muttering words like “bitch,” “cunt” and “slut” when she walked past.

Her estimate of Farnstrom had become more nuanced. She still believed he was a dangerous man. There was no hesitation when he burned a slave, no trace of compassion on his face while he watched them twitch and scream. Sara herself had endured corrections when she failed to grasp details or remember facts.

However, she came to appreciate his straight-forward style. He was not a sadist. He never administered a correction unfairly or capriciously. He explained the rules and then he followed them. Sara believed that a slave that was smart enough and diligent enough could make it through the entire class without a single correction.

No doubt Farnstrom had compounded her difficult relationship with the other slaves by continuing to call attention to her throughout the week. He commented on her looks, her skimpy clothes, her legs, her breasts, her ass, her mouth, her intact clitoris, her tasking as a house girl or any other attribute he could find a way to tie into his lesson with a crude joke – but there was no malice in it. In fact, it struck Sara as playful teasing – perhaps even something that resembled affection.

At the end of the first day, Sara had expected him to bluntly tell her which parts of her body he wanted to see wrapped around his cock. He did not. Indeed, not once did he even hint at the possibility of exploiting her.

During the ride back to Helios at the end of the fourth day, she found herself wishing that he would. He was no chiseled young buck trained to make her toes curl, but she trusted him and felt a measure of caring for this sad, plain-spoken man.

“That’s time,” said Farnstrom, ending the study session. “You will have three hours to complete the test. Unless you misbehave, you will not be subject to corrections during the testing period.

“However, I know that your houses have expectations with regards to your performance. They paid cash money to send you here, and I wouldn’t want to be in your skin when you get back if you don’t measure up.”

***

Cruz lay on her back on the desk, with Sara kneeling over her, straddling her face. The overseer was frantic, desperately working Sara’s clit with her tongue while the slave swayed on top of her, eyes closed.

Sara remembered a guest – a woman – who had casually explained that she was going to smother her. Fear rising, Sara had described her training, her experience with women, but the guest silenced her.

“I know all that, dear,” she said. “That’s why I picked you. The simple truth is that you can’t give me what I want just because I tell you. Your body will only provide the level of intensity I need if I get your adrenaline flowing, and that takes something extra. Some people use pain – I prefer asphyxiation.

“I’m sure that knowing this won’t make it any easier for you, but all I’m really doing is pressing buttons to get what I want – like on a vending machine.”

At the time, she simply took the woman for a sadist – and she did suffer that night. However, Cruz and her peculiar demands gave Sara an opportunity to test the woman’s claim.

She was right.

Sara could tell that Cruz had experience with women, although she was not as skilled as a slave that had completed the lesbian conversion program. However, after half a minute without any air, the overseer provided the best oral service Sara had ever received. Also, when her attentions began to lapse because of fatigue, smothering her provided a burst of new energy.

Trapped beneath her sex, Cruz seemed less like a woman, or even a slave, and more like an organic vibrator – press the button, receive pleasure. It was simple, effective and intoxicating.

Sara opened her eyes and looked down. Cruz was bright red. She was covered in sweat. Tears were streaming down the sides of her face. Her eyes were wild and unseeing. Sara could feel her body starting to spasm.

She lifted herself up a few inches, allowing Cruz to urgently suck in a few deep, ragged breaths.

“If you want to get me off, you need to get me off,” said Sara, recalling the words of the woman who had smothered her.

Then, the slave pressed her labia back down onto the overseer’s mouth, muffling her scream.

***

After another few weeks, Sara became convinced that this entire experience was some type of training – an elaborate mind-fuck that would somehow make her more pleasing to guests. It all made sense: less psychotropic drugs so she could remember the lesson, as well as the inexplicable way that Cruz behaved.

She had begun to suspect that Cruz was actually a slave herself, highly trained to play the part of a house mistress and then to make these strange demands. She could not imagine a woman allowing herself to be so thoroughly used, most especially by a slave.

Additional evidence arrived with House Master Gabriel, who stopped her in the hall as she was  leaving her daily Pilates session. He was carrying a tablet.

“Hey, Sara,” he began. “Remember that guest you were with for two nights, starting on Friday? Uh, Martin?”

“Yes, master,” she nodded.

“Well, it turns out he was a Pharaoh’s Club member – forgot to check the box when he made his reservation, I guess. Anyway, he got pulled for a customer satisfaction survey. He gave you tens, all the way down – and look what he wrote under comments,” he said, holding out the tablet for her to see.

It was a single sentence: “This bitch just gets it.”

For Sara, that came as confirmation that her mind was once again being reshaped to “optimize the guest experience,” but she didn’t care. She didn’t care if it was a new mind game, or if she was truly being transformed into a lesbian. She was being offered pleasure and she was taking it, hungrily, like a food service drone swallowing down half-eaten scraps left over on a guest’s plate.

Even without Cruz, these had been good days for Sara. She had passed the advanced cultural literacy class, scoring 94.8 percent on the final exam – more than enough to spare her a correction when she returned to Helios. Only a few guests had abused her at all, and one in particular, a fat woman, had allowed her to pleasure herself with a vibrator while she was out playing the slots.

All that ended one morning at the dispatch desk. She felt her throat begin to tighten as she looked up at the assignment board. All of the spaces to the right of “2280” were blank – no room number, no guest name, no display station, no assigned training – no tasking at all. A gnawing fear settled into her gut.

“Sara is to see House Mistress Cruz, office seven,” said the dom at the desk, bringing her some relief.

The slave nodded and presented herself to the overseer, who instructed her to shut the door.

“I have been very pleased by your performance during the last few sessions,” she said.

“Thank you, mistress,” Sara answered, eyes low.

“We’re going to do something different today,” Cruz continued. “We will be off-site for the whole night. You will make this as much like a real guest experience as you can. Do you understand?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Go up to the toy store. You have been authorized to check out whatever you want. You should think about the bad nights you’ve had with with women, about the things they used and what they did to you with them.”

“Yes, mistress.”

“When you have everything, meet me at the north maintenance elevator. Do you know where that is?”

“Yes, mistress.”

***

Sara had never been inside a maintenance elevator before. It was worn and dented, and much larger than a typical elevator. The overseer had to use a plastic card she carried on a lanyard around her neck before the door would close and it began its ascent.

It brought Cruz and the slave to another unfamiliar space, with a high ceiling and bare, concrete walls. Pipes, some large enough for Sara to crawl through, ran out of sight in both directions.

The slave followed Cruz a short distance to a metal door set into the concrete wall.

The overseer unlocked it and ushered Sara inside. The space was no larger than a closet. One wall had been given over to pipes and gauges and valves. A black, square-bottom shopping bag with the Helios logo embossed in gold foil hung from a valve stem.

“Listen to me, Sara,” Cruz said, raising her voice to be heard over the hissing pipes. “I am going to leave you behind for a few minutes. There are clothes and shoes for you in that bag. Put them on in here.

“Also, there is a key for a room at Camelot. It’s the next casino up on The Strip. You know the one I’m talking about, right? You've seen it – it looks like a castle.”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Good, I will be there waiting for you over there: tower four, room 528 – it’s written on the key.

“When you’re ready, go the rest of the way down the maintenance corridor. There will be an elevator off to your right that will take you up to the skybridge over Reno Street. Do you understand?”

“Yes, mistress.”

With that, Cruz was gone. Sara stood alone for a moment, trying to absorb her unprecedented instructions. Then, with nothing to do but obey, she took down the bag and began to strip out of her skimpy uniform.

To Be Continued...

TXR-92U-2280 – Call Name: Sara – Part III

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.

***

Continued from Part II

The first time the elevator opened onto the skyway, Sara could not muster the courage to step outside. After a moment, it closed and carried her back down to the maintenance corridor. For a time, she stood staring at a distorted image of herself in the scratched and battered metal doors.

It was not a slave who stared back at her – it was a woman.

In place of her strappy black heels, she wore a pair of casual cork wedges with tan leather accents. Her legs were covered by a pair of tattered jeans, which fit almost as snugly as the stockings they replaced. Beneath them: a simple white cotton thong, which peeked above her waistline in the back.

Her midriff was bare, below a tight, faded t-shirt with “I love Las Vegas” on the chest, except that the word “love” was replaced with a plump red heart. Underneath that, she wore a white shelf bra that showed off the natural shape of her breasts and bared her nipples, which stood out through the clingy t-shirt.

At her side, she held the shopping bag that contained her house dress and the toys that Cruz instructed her to bring.

Steeling herself, Sara pressed the button marked “S” again and the elevator lurched into motion. The doors parted, and she forced herself across the threshold. She nearly panicked when the doors closed behind her, and she looked back and realized that there was a lock in place of the call button. After taking a moment to control her breathing, she walked up a short flight of concrete steps which deposited her on the pedestrian bridge.

Sara had looked down on this bridge countless times, watching the people walk back and forth, imagining where they had been, where they were going and what wonders they had seen. She had never, ever dared to hope to walk across it herself.

Having lived virtually her entire life indoors, the sensations were overwhelming. The air was so hot and dry that she found it difficult to draw into her lungs. It was being carried along by gusts of wind, which brought with them scraps of paper and tiny particles of grit that she could feel impacting on her face and skin.

No longer diminished by the tinted windows of Helios, the sunlight was blinding. Even the white concrete surface of the walkway made her squint against the glare.

From beneath her feet, the roar of the traffic was continuous. She could actually feel the bridge tremble every time a heavy truck rumbled past.

Although her senses were under constant assault, it was a tiny change in the behavior of the people around her that stood out the most. When she was on display or just walking the floor of the casino, men would stare at her unabashed. Their eyes would settle on her cleavage or her ass, with no more regard than looking at a picture on the wall.

It was subtle, but that had changed. Rather than staring, men stole quick peeks at her or avert their eyes altogether — only to look back as she passed.

Women, who usually ignored her, looked on with a mixture of admiration and envy. She saw one woman actually drive her elbow into the ribs of the man next to her when his gaze lingered little too long. It all came together in a heady rush that flowed into her, fulfilling some part of her that she never knew was empty.

“Hey, baby!” said a young man who suddenly appeared out of the crowd. He had dark skin and curly hair.

“You love Las Vegas? Uh, yeah – me to! Do you want to go somewhere, maybe a club? I could buy you a drink... or dinner? Whatever you want... Where are you from, baby?”

Sara carefully set her face with a cool expression and a small smile. Her eyes flicked up and down his body, then she continued across the bridge. Another young man, standing next to him, burst out laughing.

“Ice cold!” he said. “Ouch, Fadi! She is just way, way, way out of your league!”

Sara walked on, smiling. Stepping into the shadow of Camelot, she was grateful for the relief from the blazing sun. Looking back over her shoulder at Helios, she was surprised by how small the pyramid looked. Before, its vast atrium and endless ranks of guest rooms had seemed like the entire world.

Turning back towards Camelot, she identified its cavernous entryway – a mighty stone arch beneath a huge banner that read: “Lords and Ladies, Welcome to Camelot! Enjoy the Many Pleasures our Castle has to Offer!”

Before she stepped inside, Sara looked further along The Strip in the direction she had been walking. In the distance, she could see a collection of glass towers, sparkling in the sun. Below them, rising from a pool of water was the mighty figure of a woman in long robes, rendered in a green patina – the Statue of Fortune.

It was another casino, The Big Apple, which Sara knew from her recent training had been built to resemble New York, a great city far, far away. She took one step towards it – one step towards that next unexplored marvel – and then she felt every prod that had ever been touched to her skin and triggered come upon her at once. She turned back and walked into the castle.

The space was bustling. Jugglers, musicians and acrobats performed all around her while the churning crowd pushed in a dozen different directions at once. Moving deeper into the air conditioned space, Sara spotted a utility in a brightly colored harlequin uniform. She approached him, mentally rehearsing the words she would speak.

“Boy,” she began.

“Yes, mistress?” he replied immediately, his eyes low.

“Take me to this room,” she said, holding out the card Cruz had provided.

Bowing his head, he took it from her.

“Yes, mistress,” he said. “May this boy carry your bag for you, mistress?”

She was about to decline what she took to be a very peculiar request – no one having ever offered to ease her burden – when she remembered who she appeared to be.

“Yes, boy,” she said, taking care not to thank him.

“Thank you, mistress.”

The utility led her across the casino floor to a bank of elevators. Up on the fifth floor, he steered her down a long hall and opened the door to room 528. He walked in ahead of her, putting the bag and the card down on a small table.

“Enjoy your stay at Camelot, mistress,” he said.

She let him go without another word.

***

Walking into the room, Sara felt the whole world turn inside out. Cruz was kneeling at the foot of the king-sized bed, wearing the house dress of a Helios slut. Everything was exactly as it should have been, and also completely, totally wrong. Sara reached out to the wall to keep her balance and focused on her breathing to steady herself.

Finding her center, she barked at Cruz: “Up, slave! Everything off, now!”

The overseer stood and started pulling off her scant coverings. She did it badly. During her training, Sara had been taught either to perform a striptease while undressing, or to simply make her clothes disappear. Cruz did neither, and she left everything in an untidy pile on the floor.

The overseer had never undressed during any of their previous sessions. Sara did not regard her as an unattractive woman, but seeing her naked it was obvious that she would never have been selected as a slut, if she had been a slave. She had a bit of a belly and her C-cup breasts drooped a little when they were released from her bra. Sara gestured for her to turn around. Her ass was broad and shapeless.

When Cruz turned back towards her, Sara stepped in close. She took a small patch of the overseer's thick pubic hair between her thumb and forefinger and ripped it out by the roots. Cruz gasped. Her body jerked back, away from the pain – a reflex that would have been trained out of a slave years earlier.

“Unacceptable!” Sara shouted, holding the hairs up for Cruz to see. “Shave!”

Cruz scurried off to the bathroom. When she heard the water start to run, Sara heaved a deep breath, trying to compose herself to continue the session. She pulled a heavy wooden chair away from the desk and set it up facing a full-length mirror on the wall.

The chair had worn, steel-reinforced eyelets set into its arms and legs. As Sara suspected, this was a “playroom,” set up specifically for guests who wanted to take full advantage of a slave during their stay. The bed would have similar mounting points to secure ropes or shackles, and the walls and door were no doubt soundproof to deaden any screams.

When Cruz returned, Sara had rigged the chair with heavy cuffs. Sara took her by the neck, inspected her shaved vulva, then bent her over the back of the chair. The slave locked her wrists and ankles in place, leaving her exposed.

With the overseer incapable of doing anything but waiting, Sara took her time undressing. She decided leave the shelf bra on, just because she could.

Next, she retrieved a strap-on dildo from the shopping bag, along with a bullet vibrator and a tube of lubricant. Cruz turned pale as she watched Sara in the mirror, buckling the nine-inch monster around her waist.

“Sara,” she swallowed. “That’s too big. Did you bring something smaller?”

The slave stepped up behind her, took one of the folds of her labia between the tip of her finger and her thumbnail and squeezed, hard. Cruz cried out.

“Say, ‘Mistress,’” Sara said, detached.

“Mistress,” Cruz stammered. “It’s too big. It won’t fit in my cunt.”

“It’s not going in your cunt,” Sara replied.

Sara saw the first glimmer of real fear in her eyes. She began pulling at her restraints.

“No, Sara! No! You can’t!”

Cruz shivered as Sara worked the cold lubricant into her waiting anus.

“It won’t hurt as much if you relax,” Sara advised her.

The overseer turned frantic.

“I haven’t... I mean... I can’t... Please, Sara!”

The slave pressed the tip of the dildo against the overseer's tight rear hole.

“You have to stop, Sara! Don’t do it! You’re going to hurt me!”

Unmoved, the slave slowly rocked her hips forward and watched the bulbous head disappear inside Cruz. She shrieked.

While she was picking out toys, it occurred to Sara that there might be consequences if she actually tore up the overseer's guts, so she picked out a dildo with a “sissy tip.”

To look at it, the dildo was indistinguishable from the cruel latex giants with hard rubber cores that had made Sara and countless other slaves tremble in fear of the agony they would soon be suffering. However, with a sissy tip, the head and the surface of the shaft were spongy, so that even without stretching, it was likely to cause some pain but no real damage.

Most often, sissy tips were used in public displays, to give guests the impression of a brutal reaming without the cost of sending a slave to the infirmary afterward. Sometimes, packets of fake blood would be inserted into the receiving slave, to enhance the effect.

Sara guessed – correctly, it seemed – that Cruz might not have much anal experience, so just seeing the size of the dildo in combination with the sensation of being penetrated would create the desired effect without really hurting her.

Sara leaned forward. The thick shaft pushed deeper into Cruz.

“Stop! Stop!” she cried. “It’s too big!”

With her hips finally pressed against the overseer's doughy ass, Sara pulled back then pressed forward again, establish a rhythm for herself. With the overseer wailing, she touched the controller for the bullet vibrator, which was riding in a pocket next to her clit. She sighed.

After a few dozen more strokes, the overseer's screams yielded to dull grunts at each full penetration, accompanied by the slap of Sara’s hips against her ass.

The slave quickened her pace. Each new thrust pressed the vibrator into her clit, delivering fresh burst of pleasure. Moments later, she was gasping, then crying out as she built towards a powerful climax.

On the cusp, she reached out and took a handful of the overseer's hair, jerking her head back so that she could watch in the mirror as Sara took her orgasm from her ruined ass. Their eyes met in the reflection, then Cruz watched as the slave spasmed and succumbed to bliss.

When she had recovered, Sara walked around to the front of the chair and put the soiled dildo in the overseer's face.

“Clean it up,” she said.

“No... No, I won’t,” Cruz said.

The slave grabbed the overseer's hair and pushed her mouth down towards the dildo. Cruz twisted away, her lips clamped shut.

Unperturbed, Sara retrieved several small items from the bag. The first was a fat, smooth metal cylinder with a rubber seal halfway between its rounded ends. She smeared it with lubricant, then pushed it inside the overseer's vagina.

“What is that?” Cruz asked, anxious, unable to see what was being done to her own body.

“A shock stick,” said Sara, screwing a clamp shut on the overseer's labia, trapping the metal object inside of her.

Cruz winced as she felt the clamp bite down on her delicate flesh.

“Sluts can’t be punished in their cunts!” she protested, terrified.

“Sluts can’t be punished in their cunts by the house. Guests can do whatever they want,” said Sara, pushing a button on the remote control.

For two seconds, the overseer's sex was transformed into pure, electric pain. The air exploded out of her lungs in an unformed scream as she endured the worst agony of her entire life.

Sara stepped back around in front of Cruz, brushing the tip of the dildo against her cheek.

“Clean it up,” she said.

“No...” Cruz panted. “No...”

Holding the controller where Cruz could see it, Sara triggered a three-second shock.

“Please don’t...” the overseer's words dissolved into a high-pitched shriek as she endured an even worse pain.

Sara touched the dildo to the overseer's lips.

“Clean it up,” she said.

“I can’t... Please...”

The slave readied a four-second shock.

“No! I’ll do it! I’ll do it!” Cruz blurted out. “Don’t burn me again, please! I’ll do it!”

Sara smiled and pushed her hips forward. Cruz made an awful retching sound as the head of the dildo slipped between her teeth. She kept her lips curled back to avoid touching the shaft, even as Sara pressed it against the back of her throat.

“I said, ‘Clean it up!’” Sara snapped. “Suck on it – use your lips and tongue.”

Seeing Sara’s finger moving towards the trigger on the remote control, Cruz surrendered with a terrible whimper. She wrapped her lips around Sara's filthy rubber cock and sucked it like a well-trained slut.

***

Sara had not intended to take pleasure from the overseer's oral service, but as she watched her head bobbing up and down between her legs, she felt her clit twitch. Surrendering to the urgings of her body, the slave viciously throat-fucked Cruz to orgasm, then tied her down on the bed, her legs spread wide.

She removed the vibrator from the strap-on, held it to the overseer's clit, then secured it with athletic tape. Turning it up to maximum, she straddled Cruz and pressed her sex down onto her face.

With Cruz working her clit, Sara built slowly towards her third orgasm of the evening, occasionally smothering the overseer to keep her focused and motivated.

Feeling Cruz shuddering beneath her, Sara rose a few inches up on her knees. Cruz gasped.

“I'm cumming! I'm cumming! Oh, gods! I'm cumming!” she cried. “Turn off the vibrator! It's too much! Too much! Please...”

Sara silenced the overseer by pressing herself back down onto her mouth – without touching the vibrator's controller.

Cruz had two more writhing orgasms before Sara was finally satisfied. Relaxed and happy, the slave climbed off the bed. The overseer looked desperate.

“Turn it off!” she begged. “Please, turn it off! I'm going to cum again... It's too much! Please...”

Unaffected, Sara started towards the bathroom.

“No!” the overseer cried after her. “Gods, no! I'm cumming! I... I... uh... Gods, please... No! Uh... I can't!”

The slave drew a hot bath for herself in the oversized tub and settled in for a nice, long soak. For Sara, a bath was a rare luxury – showers that spit needles of lukewarm water were all that the house provided for sluts.

Every few minutes, she would listen to Cruz have another orgasm – her pleas growing ever more frantic and, ultimately, incoherent. When she stopped making sounds altogether, Sara reluctantly climbed out of the tub and pulled on a plush robe that hung from a hook on the back of the bathroom door.

Walking back into the bedroom, she stood watching Cruz occasionally jerk against her restraints, her glassy eyes fixed on the ceiling. The bedding was saturated with her juices, which had created a large wet spot spreading out from around her hips. She did not notice Sara.

The overseer was in an entirely different place, her body nothing more than a fleshy sack overflowing with hormones that her brain had long since lost the ability to process. Like a primitive, single-celled amoeba, she could only perceive one type of stimulus – orgasm – and only offer one type of response: a feeble tug against the bonds that held her.

Seeing her pathetic display, Sara felt a wetness between her own legs. Retrieving another vibrator from the shopping bag, she sat down and got herself off while watching Cruz twitch.

Afterward, she released the overseer from her restraints, but all she could do was curl into a fetal position while the vibrator continued its relentless assault on her clit.

Sara took pity on her and shut off the vibrator. Suddenly denied the stimulation that had defined her existence for more than two hours, Cruz shuddered and then lay still.

***

The overseer shrieked in agony as the slave triggered the shock stick inside her vagina, still trapped behind her clamped labia. The jolt ripped Cruz out of her stupor, her limbs flailing.

“Up, bitch!” shouted Sara. “Kneeling spread!”

Cruz tried to lift herself up onto her knees, but collapsed back into her own spent juices. Sara administered another shock. She screamed again.

“On the floor, you filthy slut!” Sara snarled, pointing to a spot on the carpet in the middle of the room.

Desperate to avoid another flash of searing pain, the overseer threw herself off the side of the bed and crawled over to the slave’s feet. She knelt: legs spread, chin high, fingers interlaced behind her head so that her arms were held up and away from her body.

It was an intensely vulnerable posture, which Sara was mostly required to assume when she was being berated or punished.

Satisfied, the slave picked up the telephone.

“This is room 528 in tower four” she said. “My slut has wet the bed. I need it changed immediately.”

Sara watched Cruz blush furiously and bow her head, utterly humiliated. She hung up the phone.

“Eyes up, cunt,” she said, fingering the shock stick’s controller. “You can’t expect me to sleep in your filth just because you can’t control your own body.”

“Yes, mistress,” the overseer croaked softly, her eyes wet.

Moments later, there was a knock at the door. Still wearing the bathrobe, Sara opened it, admitting a male utility and three drones.

“Good evening, mistress,” said the utility, eyes low.

With practiced speed and robotic precision, the drones stripped off the saturated bedding and began to apply a fresh set. Sara noticed the utility’s gaze settle on Cruz, her heavy breasts and shaved vulva on open display.

Following a sudden impulse, Sara reached down and cupped the utility’s genitals through his trousers. He turned white as her hand moved expertly around his private parts. He was intact, but locked in chastity.

“Too bad,” she whispered into his ear, loud enough for Cruz to hear. “I was hoping maybe you could plug her for me – she seems to be leaking.”

The utility turned bright red and hung his head, humiliated. Cruz began to weep, her chest convulsing with silent sobs.

The drones finished their work and departed with the utility. Sara smiled, advancing on Cruz while lifting her robe to receive cunnalingus from her.

Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, the slave felt her guts churn. She realized that she had broken the one unspoken rule that all slaves have among themselves: never to increase the suffering of another slave – unless explicitly ordered to do so.

Her heart sank, thinking about how she had needlessly humiliated the utility – and she had even enjoyed it. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she felt sick. Given the power of a mistress for just a few hours, she had become as cruel and capricious as any that she herself had ever serviced.

Without thinking, she picked up phone to have the utility called back so she could apologize, but she hung up again without speaking a word. It was absurd to even contemplate what she would say to him. She had done an awful thing, and she had no choice but to carry the guilt of it forward – like pain that lingers after a caning.

***

Returning to Helios, Sara did not see House Mistress Cruz for several days – and she was actually glad for it. The game, or whatever it was, had gone too far. She might not have believed it herself a week earlier, but there were some things that she would not trade for an orgasm.

When she looked up at the assignment board and saw that once again it was blank to the right of “2280,” there was no immediate rush of fear. Instead, she felt resigned. She looked towards the dom, waiting for the verbal instructions that she knew would come.

“Sara is to see House Master Gabriel, office five,” she said.

Startled, Sara felt her apprehension beginning to rise. Stepping into the office, Gabriel quickly closed the door behind her. She immediately sensed his agitation, and her fear rose further.

“Strip – naked,” he said.

Gabriel took advantage of the stable sluts as much as every other house master, but he was never demeaning or brusque. In fact, Sara usually regarded him as one of the most sympathetic overseers – willing to listen and not as quick as others to hand out punishment. She could sense none of that in him. He seemed angry – maybe even frightened.

Once she was undressed, Gabriel took a heavy leather collar and fastened it tight around her neck. It was not a costume piece – it was a serious restraint with a built-in choke.

“I don’t know what you did, Sara, but you’re in deep shit,” he said, concentrating on his work.

Next, he fixed cuffs around her wrists and ankles.

To her horror, he attached a leash to her collar, then led her out through the stable, naked except for her restraints. She could feel eyes on her as she walked, head bowed in shame. Other girls glanced at her sideways or looked away altogether. No one spoke. Sara was completely disgraced and terrified, knowing that this type of public humiliation was always a prelude to torture.

They stepped into an elevator and House Master Gabriel pressed the button for Sub-Level 9 – the deepest part of the entire complex.

“Please, master...” Sara began, as soon as the doors slid shut.

“Shut up!” he snapped. “I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

The slave began to tremble, breathing exercises no longer sufficient to hold back her fear. She could feel the depth pressing down on her. The air turned cold.

The doors parted. She started to hyperventilate. House Master Gabriel tugged firmly on her leash, partially closing the choke around her throat, making her fight even harder for each breath. She was in a dimly lit corridor, walking past black-painted metal doors, each marked with a number stenciled in white. From behind each door, she could hear the sounds of slaves being tortured.

“Please, Master! Please, don’t! Don’t put any more in!” cried a female voice. “Brenda has learned! She won’t ever do it ever again! Please! It hurts so bad! Please!”

The slave’s pleas gave way to high-pitched shrieks, joining the chorus of agony that echoed all around them.

Sara was already feeling lightheaded when Gabriel opened the door to room 15. She could hear her heart pounding and darkness had begun to gather in her peripheral vision.

Yanked through the doorway by her collar, she froze. The room was dark, except for a pool of light centered on a reinforced gynecological examination table. There were anchor points for her wrist and ankle cuffs, as well as thick leather straps to hold her thighs, waist, chest and arms in place.

The table was surrounded on three sides by racks and trays displaying every conceivable means of inflicting pain: whips, paddles, canes, electrical wires with clips and probes, surgical instruments, inflatable plugs, tidy rows of sterilized needs, vacuum cylinders, specula, a pot of glowing coals with branding irons and other things – things that Sara hoped she would never understand.

A mirror hung overhead, so that she would be able to watch everything that was being done to her while she was strapped down on the table.

Shadowy figures stood just beyond the light. One of them, a tall, muscular man, walked towards her, extending his hand to take her leash.

Sara vomited, emptying her stomach onto the concrete floor.

The tall man took the leash from House Master Gabriel.

“Clean that up,” he said in a deep, commanding voice. “Also, bring me a chair.”

Several drones leapt to fulfill his orders – kneeling to mop up Sara’s watery vomit and setting a sturdy metal chair in the pool of light, facing the examination table.

As he stepped out of the shadows, Sara could see the man pulling her along clearly. His skin was dark – nearly black – and his head was shaved. He wore a tailored suit, polished leather shoes and an expensive watch.

He brought her over to the chair.

“Sit down, Sara,” he said.

She obeyed, head low, body quivering with fear.

He took a crisp white handkerchief from his pocket and used it to gently dab her chin, cleaning up slimy strings of vomit.

“Have this laundered and returned to my office,” he said, holding it up for a drone who immediately snatched it out of his hand.

Unhurried, he leaned back against the examination table, studying the slave. Feeling nausea welling up inside of her again, Sara sucked air through her teeth in short, shallow breaths.

“Sara, my name is Nigel Westin,” the man said. “I manage the stables here at Helios. I want you to listen very carefully to what I am about to tell you.

“As a house girl, you’re accustomed to the idea that certain parts of your body and certain types of punishment are off-limits for you. Those rules don’t apply to me. I can do anything to any part of you that I decide is necessary.”

Sara choked down an acrid swig of vomit that flooded into her mouth.

“Having said that, I have not brought you here to punish you,” he continued. “Whether or not you go up on this table is entirely up to you. I need you to answer some questions for me, and if you do that honestly and without reservation, I promise that this whole process will be completely painless.

“Do you understand what I am saying to you?”

She managed a faint nod.

“Good,” he smiled. “I’m going to ask you about House Mistress Cruz and the your activities with her over the past several months. Are you going to talk to me about that?”

She nodded again, stronger.

“I’m glad, Sara,” he said. “You’re a pretty girl, and I just hate seeing pretty girls get hurt. Before we start, I want to ask you a different question:

“Are you cold? I’m wearing a wool suit, and I’m freezing down here. This must be extremely uncomfortable for you.”

“Yes, master,” she answered, allowing a small smile to cross her lips.

He nodded, smiling himself.

“House Master Gabriel, please bring Sara a robe and some slippers,” he said, looking out into the darkness. “I think she is going to be a good girl for us.”

***

Sara told him everything that happened in explicit detail. He seemed to already know much of it, and she was fascinated when he showed her photographs and video of her journey from the Helios stable to the guest room in Camelot. Secretly, she was thrilled as she watched herself – not a slave, not a slut – but a carefree, beautiful young woman.

House Mistress Cruz never returned to the stable. Gabriel later told her that Cruz had been fired – which meant that she would no longer serve at Helios and she would have to find another place to work. Sara ventured that there could be worse fates than to be a woman, free, exploring fabulous Las Vegas.

Gabriel laughed.

“You’ve got a pretty easy life, Sara,” he said. “No parents nagging you to finish college, and you never have to figure out how you’re going to pay the rent.”

He opened the door to a luxurious suite at the apex of the pyramid, where the entire starting lineup for the NSU-LV men's basketball team was waiting for her to arrive. They paid to have the room, and Sara, for the entire night, just so that they could gang-bang her for a few hours ahead of their game against UC La Jolla that evening.

TXR-92U-2280 – Call Name: Sara – Part IV

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.

***

The board at the dispatch desk showed a one-night engagement with three male guests and one female guest – all in a room with one king-sized bed.

The slave was going to have a bad night, and she knew it. She stood with her back to the door, watching traffic move grudgingly along the freeway while the sun slipped below the jagged mountains in the distance.

Movement in the fenced yard below caught her eye. A pair of skinny drones had discovered something edible while loading trash into the back of a truck. They ate it quickly, glancing nervously over their shoulders.

Sara decided that, at least for the next 18 hours, she would rather be a drone. Better to be hungry, exhausted and covered in grime than to be a slut locked in a discount room, mid-week, with four guests who obviously didn’t intend to get any sleep.

She expected that they would be bikers: rough, filthy men covered with tattoos and high on drugs. No doubt she would be expected to service all three simultaneously. Then, after they had shot their loads inside her, they would demand that she perform sex acts with the woman – who would be scarcely more than a slave herself.

In spite of that, she would be cruel – urging the men on as they abused the slave, knowing that she was being spared every agony inflicted on Sara. It might even have been the woman who rented the room and paid for the slave, just so she could avoid the worst of their attentions for one night.

The men would stroke their cocks while watching the woman and the slave lick and suck each other, until they got hard again. Then, they would start in on Sara once more – and that cycle would repeat over and over and over.

Any hesitation, any perceived lack of respect, would be instantly punished: a hard slap on the face, a heavy leather belt across the ass, or a brutal gut-punch that would leave her gasping for air.

The morning would find her bruised, bleeding and degraded. Her face, her hair, her breasts and her inner thighs would be encrusted with their spent seed – and that would be the best that she could hope for, because she knew her night could be much worse.

It was possible that they would use her as a living urinal or employ her delicate tongue as a substitute for toilet paper.

She shivered.

Looking again at the freeway, she noticed that traffic was stopped. Although she had never been taught to pray to the gods or to seek their favor, Sara called to something beyond herself, desperate that these particular guests arrive late, if at all.

***

The sound of a key in the lock shattered the slave’s hope that she might spend the night alone. She turned, stepped to the foot of the bed and dropped to her knees. The door swung open.

She did not expect what she saw next.

Four young people her own age walked in, bickering among themselves.

“Man, I told you that we shouldn't have taken the I-15,” said the tallest of the four, his heavy black brows furrowed. “We've only got this bitch until noon tomorrow, and we've already wasted like four hours.”

“Look, Steve, we're here now, okay?” said another young man with short, curly blond hair and bright blue eyes. “We've still got plenty of time. I mean, seriously, even if we all take a full dose of Erexor, how many times can each of us fuck her? Don't worry about it.”

“All I'm saying is that you made a bad decision, so I think you should pay me and Jared back for part of our share – that's all,” said Steve – the tall, dark-haired boy

“Knock if off,” said a young brunette, who was holding hands with the blond boy. “Bryan's the one with the car, remember? Without him, you wouldn't even be here – so just shut up.”

Steve glared at her.

Last through the door was another young man, his face ruddy with acne. His eyes settled on Sara. He licked his chapped lips.

“Is that her?” he asked.

“That's her, Jared,” Steve answered loudly. “That's the cunt that's going to pop your cherry.”

“I swear, you are so gross,” said the girl.

“She's just so beautiful, like out of a movie or something,” said Jared, transfixed.

Sara raised her eyes to Jared's face, parting her painted lips slightly. His worn jeans betrayed a profound erection.

“Maybe we should let Jared go first,” said Bryan, the blond boy. “We can go down to the arcade for a while, until he's finished. Jared, just call us when...”

“No, no – wait!” said Steve. “I need to show him how to throat her first.”

Bryan sighed.

“'Throat her?'” the girl frowned. “What does that even mean?”

“Watch and learn, Jennifer,” Steve smirked. “She knows what it means – don't you, cunt?”

“Yes, master,” Sara answered, lowering her eyes.

“Steve, it's Jared's first time,” Bryan said. “I really think we should just let him...”

“He needs to see how to handle a slave. Besides, it's not like she's his girlfriend or something. She's just fuck-meat,” said Steve.

“It's okay,” said Jared. “I want to see.”

Resigned, Bryan and Jennifer sat down on the edge of the bed. Steve stepped in front of the slave, towering over her, his cock bulging inside his pants. Jared watched intently.

“Pull it out, cunt,” Steve ordered. “I'm going to make your mascara run.”

Sara unbuckled his belt and opened his fly, revealing the rigid pole beneath his cotton briefs. He was big – but Sara had taken bigger.

She made a show of peeling back his underwear, her eyes fixed on the tip of his throbbing cock, shaping her face into a display of fearful anticipation. Accepting her expression as genuine, a huge smile spread across his face.

“That's right, cunt, and you're going to take every inch,” he said.

“Master, please – you're so big,” the slave flattered him. “Sara can't...”

“Sure you can – I'll help.”

With that, he put a heavy hand on the back of her head and pushed her mouth down onto his shaft until her lips were pressed into his thick pubic hair. She creased her face in feigned misery and made a retching sound deep in her throat.

Taking a handful of her hair, Steve pulled her back off his cock. Sara gasped.

“Please, master! Don't throat...” her plea was cut off as Steve pressed her mouth back down onto his rigid organ.

“You see, Jared, if your dick is big enough, you can push it all the way down into her throat,” said Steve, working Sara's face like a sex toy. “Of course, that means she can't breathe, so after a few seconds her throat goes into spasms and, man, it feels good.”

Sara gurgled, her suffering still just an act.

Jennifer turned and looked at Bryan.

“Did you know about this?” she asked. “Have you ever done this to a slave before?”

Bryan didn't answer.

“Couldn't she bite you? I mean, you know, if, like, you're choking her?” asked Jared.

“Duh – she’s a slave!” Steve mocked him. “This is what she's for – isn’t it, cunt?”

He broke his rhythm long enough for Sara to answer.

“Yes, master,” she coughed.

“See? This is what you've got to understand: you can do whatever you want – whatever feels good.”

“Please, master!” the slave sputtered.  “Sara will...”

He cut her off, plunging his full measure back into her mouth, increasing the speed and vigor of his penetrations. Closing his eyes, he sighed loudly.

Knowing that in another minute her gagging and retching would real, she decided to end Steve's ride. She lifted her eyes to his face, carefully setting an expression that was at once desperate and vulnerable – but also hungry.

Then, she allowed her teeth to graze the tip of his shaft. Reflexively, he looked down – and his soul fell into the dark pools of her eyes.

He ejaculated instantly, shooting burst after burst of thick, bitter cream down her throat. She swallowed it effortlessly, maintaining her hypnotic gaze. Finally, being careful not to over-stimulate him, Sara drew back and licked his flaccid member clean. He could only feel astonished.

“What happened?” asked Jennifer. “Did you already cum?”

He was silent.

Although her face was demure, inside, the slave was smiling. It was a simple trick, a trick that would not have worked on an older, more experienced man – but Steve was still just a boy.

Sara realized that it might not be such a bad night, after all.

***

Although Steve complained loudly, Bryan and Jennifer eventually persuaded him to leave Jared alone with the slave. Before they left, each of the young men took a tablet of Erexor. Sara recognized the distinctive blue, triangular pills.

She realized that if she could prolong her encounter with Jared, there would be less time for all three boys to gang-bang her over the next 17 hours. That had been easy to do, so far. He seemed content simply to stare at her body, studying her curves – and she was happy to be a fleshy mannequin for as long as it pleased him.

Sara stood perfectly still, her right arm folded behind her back, holding her left arm above the elbow. It was a standard display posture that slimmed her silhouette, arched her back and subtly evoked the idea of bondage and restraint.

Finally, Jared spoke. He sounded nervous.

“I want to see you without your clothes now,” he said.

The slave offered him a shy smile as she opened the back of her dress. Then, she slipped the wide collar off her delicate shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasped, looking down at her firm, petite body, covered only by skimpy black lingerie. “Gods, you are so fucking hot.”

His hands settled on her breasts. He began to firmly knead them through her bra. Sara shifted her feet uncomfortably, but he continued without noticing.

“Fuck!” he shouted, startling Sara and painfully crushing her breasts. “Fuck! I need to get all this for my MyPlace page! Hold on a sec...”

He let her go and dug through the pockets of his jeans, eventually producing a telephone. After swiping his finger across the screen and tapping it a few times, he held it up towards the slave.

“Okay, here I am with, uh,” he paused, “What’s your name?”

“Sara, master,” the slave answered.

“That’s right. I’m, uh, I’m here with Sara and, as you can see, um, she’s a complete and total hottie,” he continued, before lowering his voice to a whisper. “Show me your boobs.”

Sara unclasped her bra to reveal her breasts, turning red from abuse. He reached out with his free hand and pinched her nipples. She tried not to wince.

“Okay, so, she’s really perky, like you can see,” he said, pushing his phone in for a close-up. “Um, so, uh, Sara, do you like it when I touch your boobs?”

“Yes, master,” she lied.

“Good, good – that’s good. Uh, okay, let’s take a look at the rest of her,” he said, stepping around behind her. “Okay, she has got like this totally amazing ass, and, like you can see, she’s completely showing it off with this little thong.”

He tugged at the thin silk cords that held it tight across her hips.

“So that’s real nice, obviously,” he said, stepping back around in front of her. “Now, um, let’s take a look at her pussy.”

Jared gestured and nodded, and Sara unhooked her skimpy thong, gathering it into a tight ball in her hand. He immediately reached out and pinched her labia, twisting and pulling at it. She flinched.

“Is that your clit!?” he asked excitedly.

“It’s very sensitive, master,” she gasped.

“But that’s good, right? You like being touched here, don’t you?” he asked, vigorously rubbing her dry sex.

“Yes, master,” she said, gritting her teeth. “Thank you, master.”

He smiled.

“Man, this is so awesome!”

***

Sara was grateful to be on her knees, working Jared’s cock with her mouth – because it put the sensitive parts of  her body out of his reach.

He was sitting back in a plush chair in the corner of the room, eyes closed, moaning in ecstasy. While she serviced him, the slave was quietly working lubricant into her vagina, preparing herself for what would inevitably follow.

“Gods, that feels so good,” said Jared. “You could do that all night.”

The slave continued, hoping that he would give her the opportunity.

“When we first got here, did Steve cum in your mouth?”

“Yes, master,” Sara answered, returning immediately to her work.

“So you ate it?”

“Yes, master.”

“Do you like eating cum? I heard that most girls don’t like it.”

“Sara will do anything to please you, master.”

“Gods, you’re so awesome. Right now, just keep sucking on my dick – just like that,” he sighed. “Don’t make me cum, though, because I want to fuck you before we’re finished.”

The slave continued, getting some small pleasure by thinking about Jared trying to have sex with a woman for the first time. She imagined him brutally crushing her breasts, and then getting a hard slap across his face – leaving him with a stunned expression and a shrunken cock.

That thought made Sara happy.

“Okay,” said Jared, interrupting her reverie. “Let's do it now.”

Sara stood, careful to brush her curves against the insides of his thighs, then stepped towards the bed. He grabbed her wrist.

“No,” he said. “Right here.”

She smiled.

“Yes, master,” the slave cooed, straddling him and reaching down to part her moist labia for his shaft.

“Wait!” he shouted.

She froze, startled. He reached over and adjusted the position of his phone, perched on a a nearby table.

“I really want to make sure I get this!” he said, smiling. “Okay, go ahead.”

She guided herself down onto his rigid pole, gripping him snugly as he slipped inside of her. Eyes closed, mouth hanging open, he groaned softly, feeling every inch of her inner embrace.

She began building a rhythm for him, watching pleasure ripple across his features.

“Gods... Gods... Gods...” he murmured, his intensity rising with each stroke.

To her surprise, Sara felt her clit twitch and a warm glow spreading between her legs. Jared himself was hardly the cause – with his pockmarked face, uneven teeth and small cock – but the purity of his experience, the innocence and joy of his reaction, affected her in a way that she did not expect.

That, and it had been many, many days since her last orgasm.

Careful to maintain her focused on his experience, she nonetheless began to indulge herself: clenching her thighs and leaning back so that the head of his shaft touched the special place inside her that pushed her onward towards bliss.

“It's so good,” he gasped. “Don't stop... Don't stop...”

“Yes, master,” she panted.

Their bodies moved together, faster and faster. They were no longer a virgin boy and a house slut – just two beings climbing towards ecstasy.

For Sara, the climb ended abruptly – and not as she hoped. With her eyes closed, she did not see Jared lift his hands and grab hold of her breasts, squeezing them hard. She tried to bend the sound that escaped from her lips into something that it might be mistaken for pleasure.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” he screamed, twisting her breasts around and using them as handles to set the rhythm for himself.

The slave cried out, unable to pretend that the experience was anything but torture. Jared didn't notice, driving hard towards his own orgasm. Suddenly reduced to a living sex doll, all Sara could do was deliver the pace that he demanded and hope that he would cum quickly.

It ended a moment later, as he delivered a burst of hot seed deep inside her.

***

With Jared basking in the afterglow of his first fuck, the slave slipped down onto her knees. She gently licked and sucked his spent cock, swallowing down the dregs of his orgasm, while she quietly cleaned up between her own legs.

“Gods, that was... That was... Wow... Incredible,” he said. “Amazing. Thank you.”

“Sara is grateful that you shared it with her, and that she could please you,” she said, smiling.

Even though her breasts hurt, she recognized that it was still better to have Jared stabbing at her insides and pulling at the sensitive parts of her body than to have all three boys doing it at the same time, so she continued to give him an intimate tongue bath – priming him to spin out their encounter.

He sat for a long while with his eyes closed and a huge smile on his face. Finally, he roused himself to speak.

“This is really nice – really nice – but I need to call Bryan and Steve and tell them I'm done,” he said, reaching for his phone.

The slave immediately pushed her tongue up against his anus. He gulped down a breath of air and froze, paralyzed by this new and unexpected sensation. The slave drew her tongue back to the underside of his balls with a long, firm stroke, then pressed it back into his ass.

After another couple of strokes, his cock was standing at rigid attention. Sara took him into her mouth and gave him a loud, wet blow job. He squirmed and grunted while the slave teased him mercilessly, before finally giving up his load.

She swallowed it and resumed delicately stimulating him with her mouth, laying the foundation for his third orgasm. He sat staring glass-eyed across the room.

“Gods,”  he muttered. “I guess that's why you cost so much. I'm glad we picked you – you're really awesome.”

“Thank you, master,” she said, watching him carefully.

When she saw him look over toward his phone again, she caught his gaze with her own pleading eyes – preparing her final gambit.

“Master,” she said. “There is one hole where you haven't fucked Sara yet.”

She stood and turned away from him, arching her back using her hands to spread her ass: showing him the brown bud within.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasped, staring at her snug rear opening.

“She is very tight, master” said the slave. “It will be good for you – almost like fucking a virgin.”

“Oh, fuck,” he repeated.

She looked over her shoulder. His cock was pointing straight up again. Turning away, she smiled – these boys were so easy to control. She would service him orally for a few minutes while she stretched and lubricated herself, then bring him to orgasm with a slow, rolling grind. He might even fall asleep afterward.

When she turned back to face him, he was holding his phone to his ear.

“Hey, Bryan! Can you hear me? Yeah – it's me, Jared! Yeah, she's completely awesome – totally worth it. Yeah, that's right! Okay, I'll see you in a minute.”

Seeing the slave pout, he hung up.

“I'm sorry, Sara... I'm sorry,” he said, seeming quite sincere. “It's just that we're splitting the bill between the three of us, so I can't just hog you all for myself – it wouldn't be fair.

“Don't worry, though – I definitely want to fuck you in the ass before we leave. I know Steve does, too, and I bet Bryan will, also. We've still got plenty of time. We don't have to check out until noon tomorrow and that's like, what, uh, almost 15 hours. See – plenty of time!”

***

Sara was miserable. She knelt, head bowed, with Steve, Bryan and Jared standing in a circle around her. They were like predators, ready to pounce on their cornered and wounded prey.

She had just swallowed a jet of hot, thick cream from each of them, and she felt sick in her belly. Steve had made good on his earlier promise: punishing her with deep, sustained thrusts that left her cheeks wet with tears.

Bryan had a thick cock and a firm, confident grip – using her mouth to satisfy himself with practiced ease. Sara knew that she was not the first slave to kneel in front of him with her face pressed down between his hips.

By comparison, Jared had been gentle, but she was astonished by how much cum he pumped down her throat while having his third orgasm in three hours. It was more than a middle-aged man would deliver with his first load.

Her breasts ached constantly from Jared's rough handling earlier in the evening. She knew that she would be swollen and sore for at least a week. So that she could continue to serve, the house would give her a spray-on cosmetic adhesive to conceal the bruises – but nothing for the pain.

Moments before, while she was frantically servicing all three of them with her mouth and hands, they had argued among themselves. Steve said he wanted to cum on her face, but Bryan said that was gross because he didn't want his dick rubbing around in Steve's cum. Instead, they agreed that, just before checkout, all three of them would stroke themselves off onto her face.

Sara hated servicing these cruel, clumsy, unpredictable boys. She thought back to the drones in the yard below, loading garbage onto trucks with their bare hands – and wished that she could magically change places with one of them, at least for the next 14 hours.

“I just think it's cool that she likes eating cum,” Jared said. “Most girls don't, right?”

“Gods, are you really, honestly that fucking stupid?” Steve rolled his eyes. “Look at her – she hates it, just like any other cunt!”

Bryan took a handful of her hair and bent her head back. She met his gaze with fearful eyes – her face streaked with mascara.

“Go clean yourself up, slut – and do a good job, inside and out,” he said. “Make yourself pretty again, just like when we first got here. If it's not perfect, I'll complain about you.”

“Yes, master,” she whispered. “Thank you, master.”

She crawled away, gathering her clothes as she went. Safely in the bathroom, she listened while Bryan made a phone call.

“Hi, Jen! Are you okay? Are you having fun? Good, good. Do you want to come up and play around with the slave a little bit? Uh, huh... Yeah. No – that's fine. Really! That sounds good. No – I'm sure that Steve and Jared won't mind.

“Okay, yeah... Well, why don't you give her a few minutes, and then come up. She got a little wild with us, so I told her to get herself cleaned up. Sure. No problem. Okay – bye.”

Steve asked, “What was that all about?”

Bryan answered, “She wants to have a little time alone with the slut, you know, just to get comfortable with her.”

“She better not be chickening out,” Steve growled. “We got this one just for her, because her profile said she knows how to do lez...

“Fuck! We should have gotten the blonde one with the big tits – she was super hot.”

Sara dared to hope that they might call for another slut. Being replaced would mean a dip in her overall guest approval rating and taking a minor correction, but she would choose that in an instant over being trapped in this room until noon.

She imagined the luxury of being in bed by midnight, or even a nice, cozy display assignment – wriggling around in bondage under the glass-top bar at the Underworld Lounge.

“No, she's really looking forward to it,” Bryan said, shredding Sara's fantasy. “It's just, you know, she's never been with a slave before, that's all.”

“Okay,” said Steve, sounding annoyed. “This better not take too long – and when we get back, I want to see some hot lezzie...”

“Hey,” Bryan cut him off. “Jen isn't here to do a show for you. She's here to have a good time, just like the rest of us.”

“Then why isn't she paying a share, just like the rest of us?” Steve shot back.

“Don't be a dick, Steve,” Bryan said. “Why are you always such a fucking dick?”

Hearing the three of them moving towards the door, Sara busied herself scrubbing her face. Bryan stepped into the bathroom and pinched her nipple, hard. The slave cringed, eyes down.

“Listen, slut,” he said. “My girlfriend Jennifer is going to come up in a few minutes. You are going to do whatever she tells you and you are going to make her feel comfortable and happy or things are going to go bad for you. Understand?”

“Yes, master,” she said.

He let her go, then left with Steve and Jared.

“Is the arcade cool here?” asked Jared. “I heard the arcade is really cool here...”

***

Fear gnawed at Sara as she sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for Jennifer to arrive. She realized now that Bryan was a dangerous young man. Jared was oblivious and Steve was merely sadistic, but Bryan really understood what it meant to be a master – and how to get what he wanted from a slave.

Sara abandoned all of her clever strategies and schemes. Instead, she decided to serve Jennifer and the others as best she could and simply endure the long night ahead. If Bryan made good on his threat to complain about her, she knew that the real suffering would only begin after they checked out.

Hearing a key in the lock, the slave was on her knees before she even knew it. Jennifer walked inside. Sara had not taken the time to appraise the young woman earlier, but she was attractive, with a pleasing figure and face, ample breasts, straight brown hair that hung down to her shoulders and large, dark eyes.

Even before seeing her naked, Sara estimated that she would have a Moore-Fordham score of at least 8 – and probably higher.

Jennifer approached and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Um, why don't you come up and sit beside me,” she said, patting the space beside her.

Sara complied, looking at once shy and aroused. Jennifer leaned in close, then gave her a quick kiss on the lips. The slave sensed no enthusiasm from her young female guest.

“If Sara is not pleasing to you, mistress...” the slave began, fear rising rapidly

“Gods, no!” Jennifer laughed nervously. “I mean, you're gorgeous – you're really gorgeous. I can see why the guys are all freaked out about you...”

“Thank you, mistress, but if Sara does not please you...”

“Shit,” said Jennifer. “Look... It's not your fault – I just let things go too far...”

Sara tilted her head quizzically.

“It's just that I, uh, I'm not bi – I don't like girls. I mean, you're crazy hot and if I was into girls, I'd be all over you, I'm sure.

“This is so stupid... What am I going to do?”

The slave was silent.

“Okay, it all started at this dance – at school, you know? Somebody had a case of beer out behind the cafeteria, and so I had a couple. Then, I don't know, I sort of made out with this girl named Angie. Everybody was watching... I don't even know why I did it.

“After that, people started saying that I was bi and I was into three-ways with two girls and one guy and stuff – and then I met Bryan. He heard about it, but he was really cool and we started going out.

“He never really said anything about it, but, you know – I could tell that the idea really turned him on.

“Then he told me that him and a couple of his friends were going to get a room on The Strip for one night on an in-service day with a sl... a, uh... house girl, and he asked if I wanted to come along.

“I should have just said 'No,' but I figured I could get a couple of drinks once I got here and just do it like I did with Angie – all wild and crazy – but I don't have a fake I.D., so they wouldn't sell me any booze...”

Jennifer leaned in again and gave Sara a hard, passionless kiss.

“Fuck,” she said, a tear falling from the corner of her eye. “I'm so fucked. What am I going to do?”

Sara felt genuine sympathy for Jennifer. The young woman's situation was like her own, except that Jennifer would never receive a severe correction if she failed to please a woman. More important than anything she felt, however, the slave knew that Bryan would blame her if she and Jennifer did not fulfill his expectations.

“Sara will help you, mistress,” said the slave.

“Really?” Jennifer blinked. “How?”

“She will perform with you – you and this slave will pretend to have sex so that Bryan can watch,” Sara explained.

“Sure... Okay, good!” Jennifer said, wiping away her tears. “So, how do we do it?”

“Have you ever pretended to cum while you're with a man, mistress?”

“Have I ever faked an orgasm?” she laughed. “I'm a girl, aren't I?”

Sara smiled.

“Yes, mistress.”

***

The slave outlined her plan for Jennifer and then guided her as she accessed the hotel's online toy store through the television. She ordered up a bullet vibrator with a thong harness and lacy red baby doll to wear.

“You will be more comfortable if you are covered, mistress – especially if Jared and Steve are here,” said Sara.

“Gods, this stuff is really expensive,” said Jennifer. “I don't know if I should charge this to the room – Bryan is putting this whole thing on his credit card...”

“Mistress, once he has seen you with this slave, he won't care what it costs.”

“Really?”

“Yes, mistress.”

Jennifer smiled and clicked 'Buy.'

“How long will it take?”

“A few minutes, mistress – a utility will bring it up.”

The young woman was silent for a moment, then turned to the slave.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes, mistress. Sara is here to please you.”

“It's about Bryan. I figure you'd probably know. Do you think he's ever had sex with a slave before?”

Sara paused. She knew that inserting herself into guests' relationships was a quick way to earn a beating – but unless Jennifer trusted her and performed with her, Bryan would send her to hell.

“Yes, mistress – Sara believes that he has.”

“I kind of figured... His family is pretty well off. They have three slaves. One of them is about my age, maybe a little older. She's kind of pretty – not like you, but, you know...”

Sara nodded.

“It's no big deal, I guess, but – I thought... Aren't female housekeeping slaves usually circumcised?”

“Yes, mistress, but a circumcised female slave can still be used for sex – she just can't enjoy it.”

Jennifer suddenly looked upset.

“Gods, are you circumcised?”

“No, mistress. Helios keeps its house girls intact.”

“Good – I'm glad,” she smiled. “Anyway, so you think Bryan has sex with her?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Why do you think he does it? I mean, we have sex any time he wants. I won’t let him cum in my mouth, but I give him blow jobs. I'm on the pill, so he doesn’t even have to wear a condom. Why does he use her?”

“When he has sex with you, he has to give you what you want – he has to try to make you happy. When he has sex with a slave, he can do whatever feels good for him. If the slave doesn't like it, or if it hurts her, it doesn't matter.”

“So you think that's what he's really like, when he has sex with a slave? That's what he really wants?”

“No, mistress. If he cares about you, then he really does want to make you happy. Using a slave just gives him the chance to make himself happy.”

“I guess,” Jennifer said.

A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. Sara answered it and returned with a bag containing the items Jennifer had ordered. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was almost midnight – another 12 hours until checkout.

To Be Continued

***

Your observations, insights and feedback are welcome and sincerely appreciated. Sara and the dark world that she inhabits sprang from my imagination, but they come alive in yours. Please share what you see, what you feel and what you enjoy – those are my only rewards for the time and effort I invest in creating these stories.

TXR-92U-2280 – Call Name: Sara – Part V

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.

***

Jennifer and Sara sat facing each other on the bed. The young blond woman wore a red satin baby doll and a thong with the bullet vibrator riding in a pocket up against her clit. The slave was naked except for her garter belt, her stockings and her strappy black heels. Their legs were intertwined so that their labias were pressed together, embracing the vibrator.

Jennifer had called her boyfriend, Bryan, a few minutes earlier, and he was on his way up from the arcade with his friends Steve and Jared. Expecting them to walk in any second, Jennifer and Sara had begun moving together, their hips rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.

Just the sound of the vibrator humming had made Sara wet, and as soon as she pressed her sex against it, she felt an urgent heat rising between her legs. Through the haze of psychotropic drugs, she could not actually remember her last orgasm – although she could clearly remember the last time that she didn't cum.

Along with five other sluts, she had been tasked with an accessible display assignment in the Scarab Club. Each of them were dressed the same: tall black boots, long black gloves, and a featureless black hood that covered their faces. Everything else – their breasts, their thighs, their shaved genitals – was bare.

They were bound side-by-side, legs spread, arms taut above their heads, as a living divider between the bar and the stage. As an accessible display, guests were welcome to touch, fondle or abuse the slaves. Occasionally, Sara would be tickled, probed or pinched, but tedium was usually the worst part of the tasking.

Once, a slut named Monique had an ice cube pushed up inside her vagina. She writhed helplessly, screaming into her gag, but the guest held her labia shut until it melted. Sara was grateful it did not happen to her, but it was hardly the most painful thing she could imagine being done to a slave.

That night was different. Without notice, the nimble fingers of a true expert had begun to manipulate her sex. A man or a woman, a slave or a guest, Sara did not know, but the technique was perfect. She could feel her wetness spreading down the insides of her thighs as she moaned into her gag, her body rigid.

It went on minute after minute, as the anonymous hand slowly coaxed her ever closer to orgasm. Then, seconds before her release, it stopped. The need was overpowering. She screamed in frustration, pressing her hips down in a futile search for stimulation.

Even as she humped the emptiness between her legs, she knew that she was making a humiliating, pathetic display of herself – but she could not stop. Desperate for the one final touch that would bring her over the edge, her hips moved up and down, up and down, up and down...

“Gods, Sara!” Jennifer interrupted her reverie. “You're not actually getting off on this, are you?”

“No, mistress,” the slave groaned, struggling to conceal her orgasm.

Sara was relieved to see Jennifer's dubious gaze swing towards the door at the sound of Bryan, Steve and Jared returning.

“Faster,” she demanded as the three boys stepped into view.

Bryan was first. He froze, staring open-mouthed at Jennifer and the slave grinding their hips together. Steve actually bumped into him, completely transfixed by their performance.

“Fuck me!” he said.

Jared stood further back, watching silently. All three had huge erections, straining painfully against the fabric of their pants.

“Please, mistress... May Sara cum?” the slave panted.

“No – not until I do,” Jennifer told her.

After another few, frantic seconds, Sara asked again. She sounded desperate.

“Mistress, please! May Sara cum?”

“I told you – I cum first.”

The slave gritted her teeth and pinched her eyes shut.

“Faster!” Jennifer snapped.

“Fuck, yeah!” said Steve, his pants around his ankles and his cock in his hand. “Work her hard, Jen!”

Jennifer moaned.

“Please, mistress! Please! Please let Sara cum!”

“No!” gasped Jennifer. “If you cum first, I'll have Bryan whip you!”

Sara whimpered, making a show of being caught between fear and lust. Jennifer closed her eyes, her voice rising towards climax.

“Mistress, please! Sara can't...”

“Bryan! Show this bitch I’m serious!”

He immediately undid his belt and pulled it free from his pants, folding it double. Sara felt her heart in her throat. Her plan had worked as she had hoped, so far – but she never suggested that Jennifer threaten to have Bryan whip her.

“Faster!” screamed Jennifer.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” shouted Steve, spraying his seed onto the floor.

Jennifer ended it with an orgasmic cry, pushing her firm, young tits up towards the ceiling, her hard nipples showing through the red satin. Sara joined her an instant later, and then the woman and the slave collapsed back onto the bed, trembling. The boys were silent.

Recovering, Jennifer swung around and took a handful of Sara’s hair, pulling the slave towards her and kissing her hard on the mouth.

“You were perfect,” she whispered into the Sara’s ear. “I’m sorry if I scared you with the belt.”

Leaning back, she pushed the slave’s face down between her legs.

“Ass up!” she said. “I want to share you with Bryan.”

Sara pulled her knees up and spread her legs, displaying her vulva and her anus to the three boys.

“Whoa,” Steve murmured, pulling up his pants. “Okay... Bryan, buddy, you go first, for sure – but I call dibs once you’re done.”

Jennifer glared at him.

Bryan turned to Steve.

“Look, Steve, this is something I need to do alone with Jennifer,” he said, his voice low.

“Fuck that shit!” Steve erupted. “I’m paying – the same as you – and she isn’t even paying anything! I’m gonna plow that cunt!”

Bryan continued, almost whispering.

“Okay... I’ll tell you what – however long this takes, I’ll pay for that time all by myself, okay? That’s fair, isn’t it?”

“No way, man! We got this cunt specifically to do lez with Jen. I’m takin’ my turn – and that’s that!”

Bryan glanced back at Jennifer, who was watching impatiently with the slave’s face pressed down onto her vulva.

“Steve, listen – when we first got here, you said it was my fault that we were late, so I should pay for all the time we lost out on, right? You remember that?” he asked urgently. “You know something? You were right. I should pay, and that’s what I’m going to do – okay?”

Steve sighed.

“C’mon, man – please?” Bryan pleaded quietly. “Just let me have this, okay? Afterwards, you can rip that cunt apart. Whatever you want to do to her – anything... It’s just that, right now, I really need to do this with Jen, okay?”

“I dunno. What do you think?” Steve asked, glancing over at Jared.

“It’s cool with me – I’ve still got some coins left for the arcade,” he answered, jingling the tokens in his pocket.

“Fine,” Steve snarled.

He stomped out of the room with Jared right behind him.

“If you don’t have any coins left, you can have some of mine...”

***

Sara made a show of servicing Jennifer with her mouth while Bryan undressed and knelt on the bed behind her. She felt the tip of his rigid shaft brush up against the inside of her thigh. He spat into his hand and started working it into her anus.

The slave stiffened – she had done nothing to prepare herself to take Bryan’s wide cock into her ass. She had been so obsessed with getting an orgasm from the vibrator that she had failed to stretch and lubricate herself. Now, she was going to bleed and it was her own fault.

She silently cursed herself and the insatiable need between her legs. She had made a stupid trade – a stolen moment of trembling bliss for the agony Bryan’s fat organ tearing her guts open.

“What are you doing?” Jennifer asked him.

“I’m going to take her up the ass,” Bryan explained innocently.

“Hold on a minute there, mister,” she sounded perturbed. “Take a look at where her mouth is... Do you really think she’s going to do a good job for me if you’re grinding her ass into hamburger?”

“She’s just a...”

“I don’t care. Her job is to make me happy, and your job is to make her happy. Got it?”

Sara immediately sensed Jennifer’s sex becoming flush and wet: she liked making Bryan think about her needs, and not just his own.

Behind her, the slave felt the head of Byran’s thick cock press up against her labia and then slip inside. She felt the warmth of her earlier orgasm returning and beginning to build again. He filled her up, making her whole with each deep, firm thrust.

Still pretending to service Jennifer, Sara felt an overwhelming urge to actually pleasure the young woman – to give her that beautiful, perfect moment because of everything she had done: trusting her and protecting her.

The slave recognized that it was a stupid impulse – an unnecessary risk that would provide no advantage to her if she succeeded, and likely a brutal punishment if she failed.

Her plan was working perfectly: in another few minutes, Bryan would be satisfied and Jennifer would be grateful. All she had to do was keep moving her head up and down between Jennifer’s legs. Any slut would take that result and be glad for it, but Sara wanted more.

There was a feeling inside of her, a comforting warmth that she felt towards Jennifer, that she desperately wanted to share. Cursing herself for being so foolish, the slave delicately pulled Jennifer's thong aside with her teeth, then drew her tongue up along her saturated labia to her swollen clit.

Jennifer gasped loudly, her eyes wide.

“What?” Bryan asked, cocking his hand to deliver a hard slap to the slave’s ass.

“No!” Jennifer waved him off. “It’s okay... It’s just that, Gods, she’s, uh, she’s really good... I didn’t think... Oh, Gods! Gods, Sara! Yes! Do it, Sara! Yes!”

***

Sara drove Jennifer to orgasm twice and had one herself before Bryan emptied himself inside of her. With the young couple spent, Sara melted away – leaving them to snuggle while she quietly cleaned herself up.

She could hear them kissing and speaking softly to each other. One exchange in particular caught her ear.

Jennifer began: “Um, I guess I never asked what all this costs, but I was thinking that maybe we could come back some time and have Sara all to ourselves – just you and me. What do you think? Would that be okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” Bryan answered. “That would be great. Maybe the night after graduation. I’m sure my parents will give me some cash.”

As they continued talking, Sara allowed a silent sigh to slip past her lips. Bryan was satisfied. Whatever else the long night would bring, he wasn’t likely to give her a bad evaluation. The uncertainty and the suffering would end at noon.

***

Bryan and Jennifer were dressed by the time Steve and Jared showed up. Sara knelt at the foot of the bed, freshly made up and wearing her house dress. It was almost two in the morning — still more than ten hours until checkout.

Steve looked down at Sara.

“Wow,” he said. “Who did that to her?”

“What?” asked Jennifer.

“Show your tits, cunt,” Steve demanded.

Sara pulled down the wide collar of her dress, along with her bra. Her breasts were swollen and her skin was starting to show angry purple bruises from the earlier abuse.

“I didn’t know you liked to play rough, Jen,” said Steve. “You’re a lot cooler than I thought – I just wish you let us watch.”

“I didn’t do that to her,” Jennifer frowned.

“Bryan?” Steve asked.

He shrugged.

“I did it,” said Jared.

“Really?” Steve looked credulous. “Honestly, man, I didn’t think you had it in you. Bad ass. The rest of her is going to look like that by the time we’re done with  her – right?”

“No,” Jared told him, looking down at the floor. “I’m not going to hurt her any more.”

“Why not? You’re off to a pretty good start!” Steve laughed.

“Because – I didn’t know... I... I asked her if she liked it and she said ‘Yes,’ but I guess she’s supposed to say that,” Jared answered.

He lifted his eyes to the slave’s face.

“I’m sorry I hurt you, Sara,” he said. “I didn't mean to.”

Sara acknowledged him with a small nod. She suddenly felt intense guilt for having tried so hard to manipulate him.

Jared walked out. Sara heard the door latch behind him.

“You still owe for your entire share!” Steve shouted after him. “I guess that just means more for the rest of us, huh?”

He looked over at Jennifer.

“If you're not into the rough stuff, maybe you should just go hang out with Jared or something,” he said. “Bryan and I are going to work this cunt hard.”

Jennifer looked at Bryan.

“You’re not actually going to do this, are you?” she demanded, her lips pursed.

Byran stammered:  “Look, I mean, after all, you know, she’s just a slut. This is what she’s for... It’s not like we’re actually hurting anybody...”

“After you take me home tomorrow morning, I never want to see you again,” Jennifer snarled, clenching her fists. “You know what? Never mind – I’m going to call my Dad and have him come get me right now.”

Eyes burning, she marched out the door, slamming it shut behind her.

“Up, cunt! Strip!” Steve barked at Sara, who jumped to obey.

He turned towards Bryan.

“So, which end do you want first, buddy?”

Bryan didn’t answer. He looked back at the door.

“Oh, c’mon, man! Don’t tell me you’re going to fall for that shit!” said Steve. “I don’t understand why you even need a girlfriend, anyway. If we had a slave girl at my house... Fuck! I’d shoot so much cream down her throat that my mom wouldn’t even have to feed her – she could just live off it.”

Sara presented herself to the boys: naked, head low.

“See? That’s what I’m talking about, right there,” Steve continued, gesturing towards the slave. “Straight up fuck meat – that’s the best thing there is, period.”

“I don’t know, Steve,” Bryan said, shaking his head.

“Go take the the pillow cases off the pillows — and don’t you dare touch that ass! I read about the tricks you cunts use online,” Steve shouted at the slave.

She turned immediately to follow his instructions.

“I’m sorry – I have to go,” said Bryan. “I need to find Jennifer before she calls her dad.”

Bryan turned and hurried out the door.

“Pussy,” said Steve.

He looked back at Sara.

“Good news, cunt: it’s just you and me.”

***

Steve tied Sara over the back of a chair facing the window, binding her wrists and ankles with the pillowcases. She concentrated on taking slow, steady breaths while he sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at her vulnerable ass.

“Tell me something, cunt: how many times have you done ass-to-mouth – in one night, I mean?” he asked, pulling off his shirt.

“Sara doesn’t know, master.”

“First of all, you call yourself ‘cunt’ when you’re with me, ‘cause that’s all you are,” he said. “I don’t know why they even bother giving you names.

“Second, I think that’s a problem, you not knowing the answer to a simple question like that – don’t you?”

“Yes, master.”

“Now, because I’m such a nice guy, I’m going to help you with that problem,” he said, stepping out of his pants.

“Thank you, master.”

He walked over to the desk, opened the middle drawer and grabbed out an ink pen.

“Here is what I am going to do,” he said, testing the pen on the palm of his hand. “Every time I go ass-to-mouth on you, I’m going to make a mark on your face, so that at the end of the night you can count them all up – and then you’ll know. What do you think about that?”

Sara shivered.

“This cunt is grateful, master,” she said.

He smiled.

“No, you’re not, you lying little slut. You hate everything about it, but I’m going to do it, anyway.”

“Yes, master.”

She closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing. He stepped in front of her, brushing his rigid pole across her cheek. She wondered if anything the drones in the yard were doing could possibly be as bad as what was about to happen to her. He took a handful of her hair and bent her head back until her lips touched the tip of his cock.

“Suck it, cunt.”

She opened her mouth and he jammed his organ down her throat. Her gag reflex had been suppressed through brutal robotic dildo training, but she still had to breathe. Steve worked her mercilessly, plunging his whole length into her and holding it there while she retched, frantic for air.

Thick ropes of saliva poured down from her mouth, dangling from her chin and eventually pooling on the carpet. She swerved between panic and despair as he rammed his shaft into her, urgently using her lips and her tongue to add whatever stimulation she could to his cock in the futile hope of finishing him.

After several long minutes, she heard a new sound over her own muffled screams – a heavy, regular thumping noise. In one lucid instant, she realized it must be some other luckless slave getting pounded in an adjacent room.

Steve pulled out, allowing Sara to suck down a few desperate breaths.

“Fuck off!” he shouted. “You had your chance!”

The noise continued.

“Hotel security! We’re coming in!”

“Fuck you!”

Hearing a key in the lock and the latch starting to turn, Steve snatched up his underwear and hurriedly pulled it on.

“Fuck this shit!” he shouted.

The door opened. Sara twisted her head around a caught a glimpse of two men in crisp white shirts entering the room – security officers.

She seldom interacted with hotel security. She only had a vague understanding of their function: they were something like overseers in the stables, except that they managed guests who misbehaved. With that kind of power, she was terrified at the thought of what they could do to her.

The slave concentrated on regaining control of her breathing and staying still, so not to draw attention to herself.

“Sir, get dressed. You are going to have to leave the room,” said one of the officers.

“What!? No way! We’ve got it until noon tomorrow! Fuck you!”

“Sir, you have to leave now,” said the officer. “The room is registered under the name Bryan Erikson. Mr. Erikson checked out 10 minutes ago.”

“Fuck him! I paid my share!”

“Sir, you have to get dressed and leave the property, or we will take you into custody and notify the police,” the officer warned him.

“I cannot fucking believe this!” Steve raged, pulling on his pants. “This is fucked up!”

“Sir...”

“Look! I’m getting dressed, okay? See?”

Steve twisted his feet into his shoes and stomped out. The security officers followed. One paused in the doorway and  looked back at Sara.

“Designation?”

The slave was silent.

“Slut! What is your designation?”

She coughed.

“TXR-92U-2280 – Sara.”

He lifted a microphone clipped to the center of his chest and spoke into it: “Traffic for stables. Security just cleared Room 01388. You’ve got a slut – 2280, Sara – naked and bound. Looks like she’s had a rough night.”

***

Sara had attempted to free herself, but she was not quite able to reach the double knots Steve used to secure her wrists with her teeth. It made little difference, she thought: in another few minutes, an overseer would arrive to release her, and she would be sent to clean herself up and then almost certainly to bed.

For all of her fears, it had not been that bad a night – her breasts were bruised and sore, but she had  two orgasms – a trade she might have made willingly, if it had been offered to her. She tried to give herself credit for avoiding the worst of Steve’s cruelty by winning the sympathy of Jared, Jennifer and ultimately Bryan, but she knew it was just luck.

Hearing the door open, she looked back over her shoulder and glimpsed a sandy-haired figure walking towards her: House Master Gessler.

“Gess who,” he said.

Sara’s guts immediately turned to ice. She began to tremble.

Even as physical terror enveloped her, she could not understand the reason for her body’s reaction. Gessler enjoyed the favors of the stable's sluts as much as any other house master, but he wasn't sadistic. In fact, she could not recall any girl ever saying that she had been hurt by him.

“Are you okay, Sara?” he asked.

“Yes, master,” she said, looking down at the floor.

He put his hand on the small of her back. She felt her skin crawl – like every individual particle of her being was trying to escape from him. His hand slid down over her narrow waist and then up along her side. He paused to flick her bruised breast with the tip of his middle finger.

“Ouch... I bet that hurts.”

“Yes, master.”

He cupped her breast in the palm of his hand. Then, he made a fist – crushing her swollen feminine flesh.

Sara screamed. Caught completely unprepared, her mind spun out of control and panic rushed in, making her tug uselessly at her restraints.

Unmoved, Gessler stepped in front of her. He took a handful of her hair and lifted her head up so that he could see her face. Sara stilled herself, desperately trying to find her center.

“Did they ass-fuck you?”

“No, master.”

He delivered a brutal, back-handed slap across her face. Pain shot back from her cheek into her neck, as it twisted unnaturally from the force of the blow. For an instant, she thought that her eyeball had burst out of its socket.

“Let's try that again,” he said. “Did they ass-fuck you?”

“Yes, master,” she answered, quaking in fear.

He smiled, opening his pants. His rigid shaft sprang out of his briefs, and he guided it into the slave's mouth.

“They’ve always said that you're a smart one, Sara,” he said, pushing the head of his cock down into her throat.

Gessler sighed, then started working his hips vigorously, jamming his organ into her like a meaty piston. With one hand pressing hard on the back of her head and the other clamped around her throat, it was impossible for Sara to twist away. She gurgled, spitting up thick, bubbly torrents of slime, frantic for the bitter, salty taste of his cum.

He pulled out before giving up his load. The slave panted – drawing long, desperate gasps of air into her lungs. Her eyes were glassy and unseeing. She had been reduced to animal instinct by the lack of oxygen and the sudden brutality of his assault.

Some part of her felt him swipe his hand across her chin, carrying away her thick, foamy spittle. Even as he spread her ass and smeared it across her anus, she could not coax a single coherent thought into her mind. She only knew that pain – terrible pain – was seconds away, and she had to escape it.

Every muscle in her lean body strained against the knots around her wrists and ankles, but it was futile. He pressed the tip of his cock up against her clenched rear opening, then shifted his weight forward, penetrating her.

He groaned with pleasure. She shrieked in agony.

***

Sara lay on a narrow bed in the infirmary. A medical technician stood over her with a tablet in her hand, cataloging the damage that had been inflicted on the slave: a black eye, heavy ligature markings around the wrists and ankles, badly bruised breasts and anal bleeding.

“You’re going to dose her, right?” asked House Master Gessler, who stood watching the technician do her work.

“Maybe... This one already gets an above-average dose of psychotropics – somebody upstairs must like her,” she said, glancing down at her tablet. “In a couple of months she probably won’t remember this ever happened, anyway.”

“Are you kidding?” Gessler sounded concerned. “Look at her ! If that happened to you, I’m sure you wouldn’t want to remember it.”

“Well, I guess, but – I’m not a slave, am I?” she shot back. “She’s got training. Besides, stuff like this happens all the time.”

“She’s been trained to be ass-raped?” he asked, incredulous. “C’mon, why does it even matter? Just dose her, okay?”

The technician shrugged.

“Sure – why not?” she said. “I need to draw up a syringe.”

She walked away, swiping her fingers across the surface of her tablet. Gessler looked down at the slave with a wicked smile, then followed the technician out of the ward.

Sara’s heart started beating faster as she realized that Gessler must have abused her before, but she had been made to forget. In another moment, she realized, she would be made to forget again.

She desperately sought some way to pass a message to herself, all the while recognizing that she must have tried, and failed, to do that in the past.

Glancing to her left, she saw that the adjacent bed was empty. To the right, a badly beaten slut lay unconscious, wearing an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose. A small table off to the side of the bed was bare.

She heard two pairs of footsteps approaching the door to the ward. She looked down across her own body. Desperate, she drove her right thumbnail into the flesh of her upper left arm, where it would be hidden against her body. Working silently, she scratched at her own pale skin.

The slave was laying still when Gessler and the technician returned. She took Sara’s right arm, secured a strip of rubber snugly above her elbow, then found a vein and pushed a needle into it.

The slave gasped.

“Don’t worry, honey,” said the technician as she emptied the syringe into her arm. “In a minute, everything will be just fine.”

“Why do you bother saying that?” asked Gessler, watching her remove the needle and apply an adhesive bandage. “It’s not like she’s going to remember it anyway, right?”

“Well, yeah – you’re right,” she said. “It’s just a habit, I guess. When we work on sluts and utilities, we’re supposed to talk to them. It’s supposed to make them less anxious.”

He nodded.

“I don’t have to be back to the stables for another few minutes,” Gessler said. “Wanna grab a cup?”

“Sure,” said the technician, smiling.

Sara fought to stay conscious as the drug took effect. Eyelids fluttering, she watched them go then lifted her left arm and looked at the crude letters written in her own angry red flesh: G-E-S-S.

***

Your observations, insights and feedback are welcome and sincerely appreciated. Sara and the dark world that she inhabits sprang from my imagination, but they come alive in yours. Please share what you see, what you feel and what you enjoy – those are my only rewards for the time and effort I invest in creating these stories.

TXR-92U-2280 – Call Name: Sara – Part VI

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.

***

When Sara stepped naked into the cosmetics station after her shower, she had expected to be alone. A high-rolling couple had held her over almost until evening, so her blind booking with a single male guest that night had been canceled. She was replaced with another slut and told to prepare herself for a display assignment instead.

The rest of the stable had washed and applied their cosmetics hours ago, so Sara was able to enjoy a warm, leisurely shower and thought she would have the long mirror and brilliant lights of the make-up counter all to herself.

She did not.

A tall slut with long, blond hair stood at the far end of the counter, applying mascara. Her call name was Jessica, and she was easy to hate. Even among a stable of sluts specifically bred and selected for their sex appeal, she was strikingly beautiful. She had a radiant smile, long legs, flawless skin and impossibly firm C-cup breasts. House Master Turner once told Sara that Jessica had received a 9.9 on her Moore-Fordham assessment – the highest possible score.

Sara could not ever recall having seen Jessica bruised or bleeding. She seemed to effortlessly avoid being disgraced or humiliated. Between her legs, she was allowed to maintain a small, neatly trimmed patch of public hair. Sara envied every follicle. She would sometimes imagine that she was allowed to grow out her own, dark pubes. She thought it would make her look more like a woman – not a slut, not fuck-meat – and then maybe guests would abuse her less.

In spite of all that, Sara did not hate Jessica – she admired her. Jessica was friendly and kind, and whatever the source of her mysterious immunity, she never used it to disadvantage another slut. Indeed, Sara had seen her try to protect other girls.

She walked towards Jessica, but stopped a few places short, not wanting to disturb her if she preferred her time alone.

“It is nice to see Sara,” Jessica smiled, continuing her work.

“This slave is happy to see Jessica,” Sara replied, a little giddy to be recognized, as she began dusting her face with foundation.

“Has Sara been photographed in the last few days?”

The question caught Sara off guard. She had been photographed – and it was different from the regular updates for the Helios website. It had been an uncomfortable experience. Shadowy figures stood at the back of the room, whispering among themselves while Sara flaunted her body for the camera. However, nothing had happened since and she had already begun to forget about it.

“Yes, she was.”

Jessica nodded.

“A lot of the best girls have been,” she said. “This slave knows seven for sure, including herself and Sara.”

The sinister implications of that statement were lost on Sara, who was overcome with joy at being counted among the ‘best girls’ by Jessica. Although she routinely received excellent performance evaluations, she felt awkward and alone among the other sluts, sensing that they resented her.

“Yes... What?” Sara stumbled, embarrassed that she did not actually grasp what Jessica was trying to tell her.

“All of the best girls are being photographed,” Jessica repeated, unperturbed. “This slave has heard that they will be used for some kind of special tasking.”

Sara’s emotions swung from elation to fear: special tasking never meant less pain.

“What special tasking?”

“This slave doesn’t know,” said Jessica, finishing her make-up.

She turned and smiled at Sara.

“If Sara was a guest, would this slave be pleasing to her?”

Sara turned and looked at her. She could not imagine a more beautiful woman.

“If this slave was a guest, she would buy Jessica from the house and keep her all for herself. She would have three bucks in her stable tasked with making Jessica happy.”

Jessica blushed.

“This slave hopes that Sara would take her pleasure from the bucks, too,” she said.

“No, they would only service Jessica. Sara would have five more bucks all for herself!”

The slaves laughed together.

***

Along with ten other house girls, Jessica and Sara knelt under bright lights at the front of a posh guest lounge. House Master Crawford patrolled up and down the line of identically dressed sluts, clutching a prod, while House Master Davis and House Mistress Ballard stood nearby, watching. Davis pulled a phone out of his pocket and looked at it.

Her eyes trained at the floor, Sara heard the double doors leading into the room swing open, and several people enter. In her peripheral vision, she could see the overseers visibly stiffen. Crawford stepped away.

“Eyes up, sluts!” said a woman’s voice.

Sara and the other girls raised their heads. A well-dressed woman wearing a pearl necklace with a tailored skirt and jacket stood over them.

“My name is Rebbecca Endecott. I manage the Intimate Services Stables here at Helios. The house has been given a great opportunity – we will be featured on six upcoming episodes of ‘The Real Sluts of Las Vegas.’

“The show’s producers have looked over all of the girls in our stables, and they have chosen the twelve of you for a closer look. From here, you will be taken one at a time for them to examine further. They will ask you questions and have you perform certain tasks.

“Six of you will be selected to appear on the show. Those of you who are not selected will be taken down to Sub-Level 9 and a correction will be provided for you.”

“That is all. Eyes down, sluts!”

She handed a tablet to one of the overseers.

“House Master Davis, you may begin,” she said.

Davis glanced down at the tablet.

“Okay, 0748 – Alicia, up!” he barked.

Alicia gracefully lifted herself off the floor and followed him out through the double doors.

Fear was already gnawing on Sara’s guts. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing, but it wasn’t enough. Her heart started beating faster.

She reminded herself that she could be one of the six selected by these “producers.” They were just a different kind of guest – that was all – and she always got good performance reviews from guests.

They would ask her questions and she would answer them. They would tell her to do things and she would do them. She recognized, even expected, that they would be painful and humiliating, but nothing could be worse than Sub-Level 9.

To avoid that, she would debase or hurt herself on command. If they told her to drink a bottle of cold spunk harvested from a dozen male utilities that had been locked in chastity for a month, she would swallow it down and beg for more. If they tasked her with touching a prod to her own sex and triggering it, she would burn herself and plead to do it again.

Sara told herself that she would, she could, do anything if it meant being spared the kind of corrections that were administered on Sub-Level 9. She used that idea to hold back the fear – cataloging all of the miseries that she would willingly endure to keep herself safe.

“Next: 1465 – Miranda!” House Master Davis called.

Sara was shocked by how long Alicia had been gone before House Master Davis returned for the next girl. A fresh surge of icy fear flowed through her veins as she tried imagine Alicia at that moment. What had happened to her? Was she bleeding? Was she happy? Was she in the elevator, descending to Sub-Level 9 with a collar tight around her neck?

Sara tried to push back against the terror inside of her again, but she was less successful than before. Her thoughts ran wild until she heard House Master Davis call out:

“Next: 2280 – Sara! Up!”

***

The slave stood alone on stage in a small auditorium. Blinding spotlights made it impossible for her to see who was out in the audience. In the center of the stage stood a tall shape, draped with heavy black fabric. In her heart, she knew that there was something terrible inside.

To her surprise, she had been allowed to retain her clothes. She did not understand how anyone could evaluate her without seeing her naked.

“You are Sara, correct? 2280?” asked a man’s voice.

“Yes, master,” she answered quietly.

“Sara, we don’t have a mic on you, so speak up, okay?”

“Yes, master,” she said, louder.

“It says here in your profile on Helios’ website that you are bisexual. If you got to choose, would you prefer to have sex with men or women?” asked a new voice – a woman.

“Sara will do anything to please you, mistress,” the slave replied.

The woman continued: “Sara, I’m sure that’s what you’re expected to say, but we need you to tell us how you really feel. If you don’t, we’re not going to use you. Understand?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Which is it: men or women?”

Sara stared out into the darkness. During the lesbian conversion program, she was trained to pleasure women and take pleasure from women. When it was done, she was told that she would service both men and women and enjoy them both the same – and she pretended that it was true.

“Let’s get the next girl in here... This one’s a dud.”

“Men, mistress. Sara prefers men,” the slave answered quickly.

“Do you cum when you have sex with men?”

“Yes, mistress – sometimes.”

“Do you ever cum when you have sex with women?”

“Yes, mistress – but not very often.”

Another man added his voice to the conversation.

“If you were giving a man a blowjob, and he let you decide whether he was going to finish on your face or in your mouth, which would you choose?”

“Sara’s face, master,” the slave answered.

“Do you like it when men finish on your face?”

She was silent. She had been taught that she liked everything that was done to her, unless it was specifically intended to cause pain.

“Sara, you have to answer these questions.”

“This slave does not like it when men cum on her face, master.”

“Then why would you choose that?”

“She likes it even less when men cum in her mouth, master. She has to swallow it, and it makes her feel sick.”

“Have you ever swallowed so much cum that it made you throw up?”

“Yes, master.”

“Tell me about the last time that happened.”

“The men Sara was servicing made her lick it up and swallow it again, master.”

The woman asked the next question:  “What would be the best night you could ever imagine having with a guest?”

“The guest would not abuse Sara, he would make her cum and he would give her a good performance review, mistress.”

“That’s not enough, Sara. You need to start giving us real answers, or we’ll find another slut who will. Got it?”

Before the slave could answer, another woman out in the audience spoke up.

“Hang on, Barb. I think she’s smart enough to get this if we just lay it out for her,” she said. “Sara, we already know pretty much everything about you that everybody else thinks is important. We know you are beautiful. We know you have a perfect body. We know you will allow yourself to be hurt or humiliated if that’s what it takes to make a guest happy.

“You wouldn’t get to be a top-rated slut at a major Las Vegas casino if any of those things weren’t true. That isn’t what we need to hear from you. We need to hear about the things that no one knows about – the things you keep inside.

“If you give us that, then maybe we’ll pick you. If you can’t, or you won’t, or there isn’t anything in there, then we’re going to send you back to the stable and I’m sure that they will do something awful to you.”

Sara considered the woman’s words. She realized that these “producers” were much smarter than the  guests and house masters that she usually serviced. They understood that her body had no more secrets to reveal. Sticky white seed had oozed out of every hole and over every inch of skin. Every single part of her had been used to give pleasure or receive pain more times than she could ever count – except for her imagination.

The only part of her that had never been fucked was the place that she went when she closed her eyes: exploring the gleaming towers she could see beyond the tinted windows of Helios. Having that place all to herself made her feel special and safe and she did not want to give it up – except that, back in the lounge, she had promised herself that she would do anything to avoid going down to Sub-Level 9.

She never considered that the anonymous people who held her fate in their hands would even know about that special place, much less demand that she give it over to them.

“What’s it going to be, Sara?” asked the woman.

She answered: “The guest would have this slave dressed in a beautiful black gown with sequins, so that she sparkles. He would take her in a long car – a limousine – and show her all of the houses on The Strip.

“He would make the limousine stop at different houses and he would walk around inside of them with her. He would not use a lead or a collar, and all of the people who saw her would think that Sara was a beautiful woman and not a slut.

“When it was time to go back to Helios, Sara would be so grateful that she would offer him anything: her mouth, her vagina, her ass – anything to make him happy. Instead, he would kneel in front of her inside the limousine.

“He would slide the gown up her legs and pleasure her with his mouth. Sara would cum over and over again, watching the houses go by outside the windows.”

When she finished, it was quiet for a moment.

“That didn’t hurt, did it, Sara?” the woman asked.

“It doesn’t hurt when when this slave displays her ass, mistress – it hurts when she gets fucked in her ass,” the slave answered.

“See, Barb? I told you she was smart.”

***

Sara continued answering their questions – she actually enjoyed it. No one ever asked her about her tasking, about the different ways guests casually hurt and humiliated her or how she endured it. Yet, even while she felt a profound sense of freedom – even catharsis – she could not escape a growing dread.

She was giving these “producers” the keys to her soul – her hopes and her fears, her dreams and her nightmares – and she knew that they could use them to inflict completely new types of pain on her. The experience was even more disturbing because she sensed that they were not seeking satisfaction for themselves.

She was always the most comfortable when she understood what she needed to do to get a guest off. It allowed her to protect herself by channeling all of the their energy and attention towards their own orgasm. The producers’ interests were much more remote, and therefore harder to understand and control.

Finally finished with their questions, one of the men sitting out in the audience said, “Okay, Sara, now we’re going to see how well you follow instructions. It’s very important that you do exactly what we tell you to do. Do you understand?”

“Yes, master,” she answered.

“Behind you, there is a rope hanging down from the ceiling. Pull on it.”

“Yes, master.”

Sara found the rope next to the tall, black-draped object at the center of the stage. She tugged on it and the drapes fell away. Underneath, she saw a slut, bound between two tall posts by her wrists and ankles, so that her arms and legs were held tight and wide. She had short blond hair and big tits. A red ball gag with a thick leather strap filled her mouth. She glanced fearfully at Sara.

“Do you recognize this slave?”

“Yes, master. Her name is Chrissy. She completed the lesbian conversion program with Sara.”

“Have you ever had sex with Chrissy?” asked one of the women.

“Yes, mistress.”

“Did you cum?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Did she cum?”

“Yes, mistress.”

Sara heard a noise behind her. She glanced back and saw an attendant wheeling a cart onto the stage. It carried a small cylinder with a red button on one end, surrounded by a dial with numbers on it. At the other end were two wires – one red, one black – connected to a pair of alligator clips.

Chrissy saw what was on the cart and looked over at Sara, terrified. Sara closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath.

“Go ahead and connect the wires to her labia,” said one of the men.

“Master, please, sluts are not permitted to be punished on their...” Sara began.

“We know you’re not that stupid, Sara. Get on with it,” said one of the women.

“Yes, mistress.”

Sara gathered up the items on the cart and knelt down between the bound slave’s trembling legs. She parted Chrissy’s lips and gently set an alligator clip on one of them. Chrissy flinched.

“If you want, you can put the other one right on her clit. That will be good for a few bonus points,” said a man’s voice. “You don’t have to, though – not unless you really want to.”

Chrissy pleaded wordlessly into her gag. Sara hung her head. She reminded herself that she wasn’t attaching electrodes to Chrissy’s sex: it was the faceless masters and mistresses sitting out in the auditorium doing it – she was merely their instrument, with no more choice in the matter than the  wires themselves.

She carefully opened the folds of Chrissy’s feminine flesh and lifted the tiny steel jaw towards her clitoris.

“I’m sure it would be worse for her if you stimulate her first – you know, so she’s extra sensitive. That would be worth a couple of more bonus points for you,” said one of the women.

Sara shivered. She took a moment to find her resolve, then set the one remaining wire aside and pressed her lips against Chrissy’s sex. The bound slave moaned, although Sara recognized pleasure had no part in it – it was the horror of knowing what was going to be done to her.

She vigorously worked the bound slave’s clitoris with her tongue, but it stayed stubbornly nestled within its hood, almost as if it understood its fate. Satisfied that she had done all she could, Sara picked up the alligator clip and prepared close it on Chrissy’s spit-slick clit.

The helpless slave watched Sara intently. Seeing the gleaming metal teeth rising towards her unprotected genitals, Chrissy fought desperately to close her legs. Her muscles stood out like cables beneath her supple skin, but it was futile. There was nothing she could do but scream in frustration and terror as the slave kneeling between her legs carefully attached the clip.

Sara stood and turned towards the auditorium.

“Pick up the controller,” said the other woman.

The slave obeyed.

“Turn around and look at her, then go ahead and press the button,” she continued.

Chrissy frantically shook her head “No!” – her wet eyes fixed on the terrible device in Sara’s hand.

“Mistress, please...” Sara whispered.

“Do it, Sara,” said one of the men. “Burn your lover.”

Sara held her thumb over the button. In her mind, she rehearsed pushing and then releasing as quickly as possible. Chrissy was frantic, tugging uselessly at her restraints. Sara recognized ending her terrible anticipation was the best thing she could do.

She pressed the button.

The bound slave shrieked. The stout posts that held her bowed inward as she reflexively sought to curl into a ball around her tortured sex.

It was done in a fraction of a second, but Chrissy was changed by it. Stillness replaced her frantic struggles and she was soaked with sweat, which shined like glass beads in the spotlights. Her head hung down between her taut arms, her eyes dull.

“Sara,” said one of the women.

The slave did not respond.

“Sara,” she said again, louder.

“Yes, mistress,” the slave answered.

“This time, we’re going to use the dial around the edge of the button,” she announced. “Do you see it?”

The slave’s shoulders sagged.

“Yes, mistress.”

“Do you see how the numbers increase from zero to 30? That’s how many seconds the shock will last after you let go of the button. That way, you don’t have to hold it down the whole time. Isn’t that convenient?”

“Yes, mistress,” she said softly.

“Don’t forget to speak up, Sara,” said one of the men.

“Yes, master.”

“What you’re going to do now is choose how long you want Chrissy to burn,” he continued. “Go ahead and set the dial.”

Sara obeyed.

“Show Chrissy what you decided,” he said.

She held the cylinder up to the bound slave’s face. Chrissy’s eyes went wide. She began screaming into her gag and thrashing around so hard that Sara wondered if it would be possible for her to tear off her own limbs.

“It looks like you made a good choice, Sara. Now, press the button.”

Chrissy was suddenly still again, her total attention focused on the controller. Sara held it up and cocked her thumb.

She closed her eyes, steeling herself to send Chrissy to hell. In that instant, her thumb twitched – a tiny movement that no one, not even Sara, would have noticed under any other circumstances.

Then, a wet sound interrupted her thoughts, like a cup of water being poured out onto the floor. Sara opened her eyes and saw Chrissy pissing herself, her urine streaming freely into a growing puddle on the stage between her legs.

She waited until the last few drops had fallen, and then she pressed the button.

***

It had been a wonderful morning for Sara. After a week of safe and comfortable display assignments, she arrived at the dispatch desk to see “RSLV” written beside “2280” on the dingy white board behind the dispatch desk.

“That stands for ‘Real Sluts of Las Vegas,’” House Master Turner explained while escorting her back to a small classroom behind the overseers’ shared offices.

The space had been converted into a makeshift cosmetics studio and dressing room. A pair of attendants applied Sara’s makeup and gave her a skimpy swimming suit to wear.

She spent the next two hours outside, frolicking with Miranda, Jessica, Tiffany, Rachel and Jewel in a secluded pool surrounded by lush palm trees. The warm air felt good on her skin, but the shade kept the blinding, burning rays of the sun away.

A man with eyeglasses and a salt-and-pepper goatee that she heard identified as “the director” ordered the six sluts to pose together – smiling, pouting, hands resting on each others’ hips – all for the unblinking gaze of three cameras that swept across their bodies.

Before it was over, Sara had sucked Tiffany’s heavy breasts to firm peaks while Jewel knelt behind her, pressing her tongue into Sara’s anus.

Afterwards, she found herself in a luxurious suite near the apex of the pyramid. The director ordered Sara out of her house dress, panties and bra while half a dozen people rigged lights and attached cameras to sturdy, three-legged stands. A young man wearing jeans and a black t-shirt looked up from the equipment he was preparing and stared at her while she stripped, his cock swelling visibly inside his pants.

At the sound of a key in the door, Sara turned and watched House Master Turner lead in a pair of slaves. The first was a slut named Erika, who glanced around nervously at all of the unfamiliar activity in the room. Behind her was a lean, chiseled buck, wearing only a loincloth. Sara’s heart skip a beat when the director ordered him to strip out of it, revealing his substantial male organ, locked in chastity.

“Have you got the key?” the director asked House Master Turner.

Turner dug it out of his pocket. The director took it and tossed it to Erika.

“Work him up,” he said.

“Yes, master,” the slave replied.

She dropped to her knees and released the buck’s meaty shaft from its plastic prison, then took it into her mouth.  The buck closed his eyes and groaned quietly, obviously unaccustomed to being serviced by a well-trained slut.

Watching Erika’s lips sliding up and down his swelling manhood, Sara felt an urgent heat rising between her legs.

“That’s enough,” said the director. “Randy, check and see if that one needs any attention.”

A fat man with a full beard walked over to Sara.

“Spread,” he said.

The slave opened her legs. She could feel her own wetness dripping down the insides of her thighs. Randy reached down and fingered her. He laughed. Turning back towards the director, he showed off his glistening fingertips.

“I’d say she’s ready, boss,” he said, smiling.

Sara felt her cheeks burning and lowered her head, humiliated.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” Randy said, giving her a playful slap on the ass. “That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do right before you get plowed...”

He stepped away.

“Roll cameras,” called the director.

“Camera speed,” answered a pair of voices.

The director looked over at the buck.

“Okay, stud, lay back on the bed. Get comfortable – this is all for you. You’re a guest – relax and enjoy,” he said, watching to see his commands were obeyed. “That’s it... Honey, you’re on top. Straddle him. That’s right – good girl.

“Now, grab that big dick and put it inside you. Do it slow, honey – he’s huge. You’re afraid it’s going to hurt. That’s right, just the tip. Now, react! Good... Good... You don’t even know if you will be able to take the whole thing.

“Okay, stud, you want more. You paid good money for this twat... Put your hands on her hips. Good. Honey, when he pushes down, it hurts – but you like it. Do it! Now! Arch your back! Eyes shut! Perfect! Watch her, stud! Watch how it makes her feel! Good! More! Faster!”

Their rhythm established, Sara looked down into the buck’s eyes. Hidden deep within them, she could just pick out a trace of concern: he wanted to know if she was okay. Sara liked him immediately. She answered him with an imperceptible nod. He smiled.

“Listen up, stud,” the director said, watching the young slaves fuck. “This is a good news-bad news type situation for you. You will get to shoot before we’re done today, but it’s going to be a while, so just hold back.”

“Yes, master,” he answered.

“Have some fun, honey,” he said to Sara. “I want to see you to cum – for real. No faking.”

“Yes, master,” she gasped.

“Quiet on the set – I want nat sound for this.”

Sara leaned back and the buck shifted his hips so that the broad tip of his hot organ pressed against the special place inside of her that would bring her to orgasm.

She squealed with delight. He was perfect. He was strong, gentle, thoughtful and he knew how to use that big tool between his legs in ways that most men had never even considered – as a way to give pleasure, not just receive it.

Sara cupped her own breasts in her hands and threw her head back, panting. She imagined what it would be like to be a woman, a guest, and to have a buck all to herself: bliss, pure bliss.

After another few moments, her clit twitched and an orgasm tore through her like a bomb. She screamed and slumped forward, her trembling body resting on his broad, muscular chest. Lost in the hazy afterglow, she lifted her head and kissed him gently on the mouth.

“Cut!” shouted the director. “That’s a good first setup. Thank you, everybody.”

He walked over to the edge of the bed and looked down at the buck.

“That was pretty intense. You didn’t give it up for her, did you, stud?”

“No, master,” the buck answered, he erect organ still planted deep inside Sara.

The director nodded.

“Good boy.”

“Thank you, master.”

Sara’s eyes fluttered. Hearing the crew shifting equipment around the room, she tried to center herself, but the orgasm had ripped away all of her discipline and self-control. Sensing her weakness, the buck took her in his strong arms and carefully rolled over onto his side, sliding his long cock out of her. She shuddered.

“Up, stud,” said the director.

He obeyed, leaving Sara curled up on the bed.

“Where’s that fluffer?” he asked, glancing around until he spotted Erika, kneeling in the corner of the room. “You – come here. Suck your friend’s juices off him while we get ready for the next setup.”

Sara absently watched as Erika move across the room and kneel down in front of the buck. She looked back at Sara, her eyes smoldering with envy.

***

With Sara kneeling on the edge of the bed, the buck took her from behind – fucking her vigorously until she succumbed to another screaming orgasm. Afterwards, she lay on the bed, watching as the director ordered him to put on clothes: a dress shirt, jacket and slacks.

Even apart from the radiant, glowing feelings that she felt towards him after her second explosive climax, she admired him – his extraordinary stamina, his flawless technique, his gentle and preceptive approach. He was magnificent. Sara’s heart ached at the thought of a night alone with him.

“Okay, last scene,” said the director. “We’re working backwards here, so what’s happening now is that our guest has just arrived, and so our slut is going to greet him with a nice blow job.

“Remember what I told you, stud? Now it’s your turn – you’re gonna squirt all over her face... Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

“Yes, master,” the buck answered quietly.

A few minutes later, Sara was kneeling at the foot of the bed, slowly working her mouth up and down his thick shaft. His eyes were closed and he groaned softly, enjoying every nuance of her service.

“Pick it up, stud,” the director snapped. “It’s not like she’s your girlfriend or something. Take her deep.”

The buck opened his eyes and looked down at Sara. She met his gaze – he was unwilling to make her suffer for his pleasure. She encouraged him with a tiny nod.

He put his hand on the back of her head and lightly pressed down until she gagged. He relented immediately.

The director snarled and jumped up from his chair.

“C’mon, boy! I’m giving you a chance that I know you don’t ever get otherwise...” he said.

Stepping forward, he slapped the buck’s hand aside, took a fistful of Sara’s hair, then pushed down hard until his entire length had vanished between her lips. She gurgled, then wretched – her throat in spasms.

The buck twitched, his cock immersed in an unfamiliar kind of pleasure. The director nodded.

“That’s it, boy,” he smiled. “Take it. Enjoy it.”

He released Sara. Her head snapped back. She coughed, gasping for air, as thick strings of saliva dribbled down from the corners of her mouth. The buck looked down at her. She took him back into her mouth, her eyes urging him on.

Sara understood what she was inviting on herself: being throat-fucked with a wide, eight-inch cock was pure misery, but it was what what the director demanded and she did not want to see the buck punished.

He looked down at her, kneeling between his legs, anxious to gag on his rigid male organ, then he closed his eyes, put his hand on the back of her head, and forced her all the way down.

Sara choked and spat as he continued, hesitant at first, but then with wanton enthusiasm. There had been an instant – Sara felt it – when animal lust finally broke through all of his restraint and discipline. Even as her lungs screamed for oxygen and tears streamed freely down her cheeks, some small part of her was grateful she had been able to give him that.

“On her face! Shoot on her face!” the director shouted. “You, honey! You keep your eyes open! Even if he shoots needles out of his prick, you keep your eyes open!”

He cried out, launching heavy ropes of milky white seed onto her face. The first one shot deep into her open mouth, another plugged her nostrils and two more laid down over her right eye before the sensation merged into a spattering spray.

***

His work done, the buck’s flaccid member was locked back in chastity and House Master Turner led him away, along with Erika. Sara was allowed to clean herself up in the bathroom. When she emerged a few minutes later, the suite was nearly vacant, except for the young man in the black t-shirt who had watched her undress earlier, his erection straining inside his jeans.

“The director called lunch,” he said, looking the naked slave up and down. “Too bad you missed it. No lunch for you today.”

Sara dropped her eyes to the renewed bulge in his pants.

“You could give this slave her lunch,” she said, biting her lip.

He smiled.

“You’re right,” he said. “I could.”

She sauntered over to him and dropped to her knees, looking up at him, her eyes hungry.

“Please, master,” she begged. “Please feed this slave.”

“This is only because I’m a nice guy,” he said, unbuckling his pants.

She pulled them down to his ankles along with his white cotton briefs, then took his cock into her mouth. He was big – about seven inches – but he didn’t force himself too deep. His endurance surprised her: it took several long minutes to coax his load out of him.

She swallowed it down and then sucked him clean, exploiting his relaxed, comfortable mood to ask a question: “Master, will every day that this slave is tasked for ‘The Real Sluts of Las Vegas’ be like this?”

“No, today we’re just getting footage for the opening credits, bumpers, b-roll – stuff like that,” he said. “You’ll start in on the scenarios in another couple of days. That’s when it gets rough.”

To Be Continued

***

Your observations, insights and feedback are welcome and sincerely appreciated. Sara and the dark world that she inhabits sprang from my imagination, but they come alive in yours. Please share what you see, what you feel and what you enjoy – those are my only rewards for the time and effort I invest in creating these stories.

I would like to offer my thanks to everyone who has taken the time to respond to this series – I’ve read all of your remarks many, many times. I especially want to recognize Serpentis and dontmindme, who have offered their thoughts on the later episodes. Serpentis was so specific and appreciative with praise and incisive and on-target with criticism, I find his or her comments compelling. Dontmindme honors me with the sympathy that he or she feels for Sara and the acknowledgment that my writing has touched him or her on an emotional level. Thank you!

TXR-92U-2280 – Call Name: Sara – Part VII

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.

***

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.

He was old, but the younger man had given him a full tablet of Erexor, and she had watched him take it – he should have been as rigid as a buck released from chastity.

Bewildered and terrified, Sara continued to work his cock. She chanced a glimpse up at his face, expecting to see a deadly mix of humiliation and rage spreading across it. To her surprise, he was still smiling, but his eyes revealed a glimmer of fear. He glanced up at the video crew, then back down at her, desperate.

In that instant, Sara realized that he was just as confused and frightened as she was. It would destroy him to be shown on television with his cock withered and useless. Whatever had gone wrong, he would be utterly humiliated, a laughingstock, the butt of cruel jokes that would never end.

He had been so gentle, so gracious and kind, that Sara determined that she was not going to allow that to happen to him. With her head still bobbing up and down in his lap, she took a moment to center herself. With a plan taking shape in her mind, she reached up under her dress and unhooked her thong, making a show of tossing it aside.

Next, she slid up into his lap, carefully using her body to shield him from the cameras. Pressing close, she passionately kissed his neck and tongued his ear.

“Act,” she whispered.

She leaned back, pulling down the front of her dress and her bra to flaunt her tits for him. He looked up at her, his smile still just a mask for his terror.

Sara reached down between her legs and pretended to guide his shaft up into her vagina.

“Please, master,” she sounded afraid. “Please – you’re so big. Please be gentle with Sara.”

At that, she watched his fear melt away, replaced first with recognition, and then relief. He put his hands on her slender waist and pushed her down until their hips met under her dress.

Sara cried out, clutching her abdomen.

“Too much! Please, master!” she begged. “You’re too big!”

She lifted herself up, making sure that her skirt was still concealing his manhood. He pressed her down into his lap again, a convincing groan escaping his lips.

“Too big! Too big!” she squealed.

***

After they had both faked their orgasms, the slave slipped back down onto her knees and licked him clean, impressed by his performance. He had been as persuasive as the best sluts she had ever seen. With the crew packing up their gear, he tucked his manhood away and gestured for Sara to sit beside him on the couch.

“They’ve got me on a flight back to L.A. this afternoon, so I can’t stay,” he said.

“Sara is grateful that she had the opportunity to serve you, master,” she said, smiling.

He leaned in close, speaking softly.

“I want you to know that I’m going to remember what you did for me today. You really are a very special girl: beautiful, smart and brave. I hope someone here realizes what they have in you.

“I’ll see you again, the next time I’m in town.”

***

Sara liked being one of ‘The Real Sluts of Las Vegas.’ When she wasn’t performing for the cameras, her tasking was simple and safe – to avoid the possibility that she would be damaged before her next scene, she realized.

Also, she was taken to parts of the house that she had never seen before – including a dim room above the casino floor, where security officers sat watching ranks of monitors that displayed the gaming tables below.

Following the director’s instructions, Sara stared intently at one of the monitors, smiled, pressed a prominent red button on a console, then lifted her skirt and stroked herself to actual arousal through her silk thong. None of it made any sense at all to her, but she preferred it immensely to eating a middle-aged man’s bitter load out of his wife’s sagging cunt.

Finally, having been chosen to appear on the show allowed her to spend time with Jessica, the beautiful blond slave that she admired – and envied. Given a choice, Sara would always lie down with her to sleep in their tiny, crowded cell. Occasionally, the two slaves would stay awake for hours, sharing whispered conversations.

“May this slave ask Jessica a question?” Sara began one evening, long after midnight.

Jessica nodded, reaching out to encircle Sara’s delicate shoulders with her arm.

“How does Jessica... Why is Jessica allowed to grow out her pubic hair?”

The blond slave blushed.

“A guest requested it,” she explained. “He was an executive with a construction company, and he was  in Las Vegas for six months while a new casino was being built. The company paid for him to have a suite and a house girl – Jessica – during his stay. He called Jessica his ‘play wife.’

“He wanted her to grow it out, so she was allowed. During that tasking, Jessica posed for a new set of photographs for the house website. Other guests liked it, so she was permitted to keep it.”

“This slave wishes that she would be allowed...” Sara’s voice trailed off.

“Jessica thinks that she will be – someday.”

“Really? Why?”

“Has the house used a laser on Sara?”

“No – she is waxed.”

“See? She will be allowed – otherwise, the house would just use the laser, right?”

Sara smiled. Jessica always made her feel happy.

***

The elevator stopped. Already feeling anxious, Sara consciously took a slow, deep breath to keep her fear from rising further. House Master Griffin had put her on the elevator alone, then reached through the door and pressed a button to send it high up into the pyramid.

“There will be someone waiting for you up on 20,” he said, before disappearing behind the doors.

It was strange enough that she had been sent alone, but now the elevator had stopped on the eighth floor.

The doors parted, revealing a male utility. Seeing Sara, he paused for a moment, his eyes moving up her legs to the space between her hips, then on to her breasts and face. He stepped inside and pressed the button for floor 18, a bead of sweat running down his temple.

Sara let the air flow silently out of her lungs. Male utilities – intact male utilities, like this one – were easy to control. Although they were given periodic “relief,” Helios kept them all locked in chastity. As a result, they were so sex-starved that just the sight of a house girl in her skimpy uniform was enough to addle them.

Left alone together, house girls would often flirt with male utilities. Sara thought that it could easily go too far and become cruel, but she herself indulged just the same. Also, even though there was no hope that they would ever actually get off, the utilities themselves seemed to enjoy the attention – in a desperate, even pathetic, sort of way.

For Sara, it was a perversely fulfilling experience. Every man that she ever interacted with recognized, at some level, that she would immediately perform any sex act that he demanded, so there was no need to flatter or seduce her. Therefore, to have a male – even a slave – fumbling and fawning over her, stealing glances at her body, made her feel special in a way that she was otherwise denied.

She studied the utility. He stood with his back to her, watching the display above the doors counting off the passing floors. He was tall and lean, with short dark hair. His hands were closed in tight fists, and she almost thought that she could see him trembling.

The elevator stopped abruptly. Engulfed in darkness, Sara stumbled forward, pressing up against the utility. They both swayed unsteadily for a moment, until a dim red light switched on, allowing them to regain their balance.

Sara backed away and put herself in a corner, listening intently, her eyes searching for some indication of what had happened. The male slave stood perfectly still, holding his hands up, away from his body, to catch himself if the elevator lurched again.

After a long, uncertain moment, they heard a voice, cracking and distorted.

“This is building maintenance,” said the voice. “Is anybody there?”

Both slaves were silent.

“Hello?” the voice continued. “Is there anybody in the car? Our board shows two calls – one for 18 and one for 20. Did somebody in there push the buttons for those floors?”

After another moment, the utility answered.

“Yes, master. This slave is guest service utility 9704 – William. He was instructed to take the elevator to floor 18. There is also a house girl here.”

“Okay,” said the voice. “What’s her name?”

The utility looked back at Sara.

“Master, this slave is 2280 – Sara,” she said. “House Master Griffin put her on the elevator and said that someone would meet her on floor 20.”

“Got it. Is there anybody else in there? Any guests?”

“No, master,” William answered.

“There’s a bit of good news, at least,” the voice sighed. “Listen up, kids. You’re both perfectly safe, okay? We’ve got an indication that a cable jumped the pulley at the top of the shaft, but the e-brake clamped down nice and tight. You’re going to be fine, but it’s going to take us a while to get it moving again, so just sit tight – got it?”

The utility and the slut glanced at each other.

“Yes, master. Thank you, master,” he said.

***

The two slaves sat against opposite walls in the dim red light. Sara had no notion of how much time had passed, but she felt certain the air was getting warmer inside the elevator. She could see beads of sweat on William’s forehead – although she recognized that she herself might be the cause.

She was sitting sideways, with her legs pressed together and folded back under herself – seemingly the most demure posture her skimpy dress would allow. However, she had allowed her skirt to ride up a couple of inches over the curve of her ass, displaying a wedge of bare skin above the top of her stocking.

William’s eyes were pulled to it like a magnet. His intensity almost frightened her, but she knew that with his manhood locked inside the cruel bend of a chastity belt, he was literally impotent to do anything more than stare. She decided to make the elevator a little bit hotter for him.

Glancing down, she pretended to notice her exposed skin. She tugged at the hem of her dress to cover herself, watching to see his reaction. He shook himself, then cast his eyes submissively at the floor.

“How long has it been since William was given relief?” she asked.

“It’s... uh... it’s been, um, 23 days,” he stammered, looking back up at her.

She smiled sympathetically.

“Sara understands – that’s a long time for a man to hold his load.”

Of course, he wasn’t a man any more than Sara was a woman, but she knew that just saying that word – man – would cause his mind to start spinning out fantasies about what he could do with her, if he was free.

He swallowed hard.

“When William is given relief, is it a girl – like Sara?” she asked, touching the wide, low-cut collar of her house dress.

That gesture switched off his brain, leaving him staring at breasts, mouth open, his eyes burning with pure need. Sara turned away, drawing up her arm to cover herself. He shuttered and looked back down at the floor again.

“Please, forgive this slave...” Sara began, feigning regret.

“No,” William interrupted her. “This slave understands. He has talked to house girls before. He knows that they are trained to... uh, when they are serving, um... men... they are required to...”

As his voice trailed off, Sara smiled: he was making excuses for her – he wanted it to continue.

“This slave is grateful that William understands,” she said. “Is that how the girls behave when they are giving him relief?”

He giggled nervously, “William has never seen the slaves that give him relief.”

She tilted her head quizzically to one side.

“He is, uh, separated from them. There is a special wall with a hole in it, and he is bound so that his parts stick out through the hole. His chastity is removed and he gets relief from a hand. Afterward, when he goes soft, the chastity is put back and he is released.”

“Has William ever been pleasured any other way?” she asked. “By a girl’s mouth – or her vagina?”

He looked down again, his cheeks burning.

“No... Just the hand.”

Feeling a surge of genuine sympathy towards him, Sara suddenly understood why the sight of a house girl was enough to make utilities so feeble and pathetic.

“Has he ever seen a girl naked?”

“He has seen pictures... Sometimes they get passed around the stable. Once, William was sent to a room with a, uh, a delivery... The guest had a house girl tied down on the bed. He couldn’t see all of her, but he saw her... He saw between her legs. His cream was leaking out of her.”

Sara deliberately met his gaze with her eyes.

“Does William want to see the other parts of a girl?” she asked. “The parts he hasn’t seen before?”

The only answer he could manage was a groan. He was actually trembling.

Sara pulled her dress and her bra aside, pushing her tits out into the warm, humid air.

“No...” he gasped, waving her way. “Please, no...”

She frowned, confused. She expected that he would bubble over with gratitude and maybe even beg her to touch or suckle her exposed female glands. Instead, he was rocking back and forth – almost like he was being tortured.

Suddenly, he jumped to his feet. In the dim light, Sara could see his enraged cock pushing out hard against the fabric of his trousers. Stunned, it took her a moment to understand the obvious fact that he was not secured in chastity. By the time she recognized the danger facing both of them, he was already moving in on her.

“Wait, William!” she shouted, holding her hands out in a desperate attempt to keep him away.

They would both be punished for having sex. For Sara, it would mean a severe electrical correction and the other sluts making humiliating jokes about her for a couple of weeks. For William, it would be much worse: he could be flogged with a heavy leather whip, or branded. She knew that whatever the house did to him, it would be permanent.

“Don’t! These slaves will be punished!”

He swept her flailing arms aside and grabbed her around the waist, kneeling down behind her and pulling her bucking hips back into his crotch.

“Stop, William! Please!” she begged. “Sara will get William off with her mouth – just like a high roller! She will swallow his cum and no one will know it happened. Please, stop!”

He lifted up her skirt then clawed at her thong, tearing it away. Hearing the fabric rip, Sara stopped struggling. The damage was done – there was now evidence of his assault that she could not explain away.

Behind her, she felt him opening the front of his pants.

“William, listen to Sara,” she said, suddenly calm. “Be gentle with this slave. The punishment will be worse if she is damaged...”

She screamed as he jammed the entire length of his organ into her.

“Gentle!” Sara cried. “Be gentle!”

He reached down, took a handful of her hair and swung her head around forcefully towards the wall. In the instant before it struck, Sara found herself outside her own body, watching herself being raped in exquisite slow motion.

Taking advantage of this strange new level of awareness, she turned her head, so that the scar which would result from her skin splitting open when her skull struck the wall would be hidden in her hairline. She did not envy the tasking of the sluts with facial scars.

Shifting her perception back towards William, she could see that he was humping her vigorously, driving relentlessly towards orgasm – which would come very soon.

Returning to herself, she could see that the wall was getting close. She imagined it was going to hurt very badly when she hit, but there was no pain at all. Instead, it felt like she was resting her head on a plush down pillow in a luxury suite. Suddenly feeling tired, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

After another few seconds, William screamed, emptying himself into the slut's unconscious body.

***

Sara woke up on a narrow bed in the infirmary. She first became aware of a vague pain behind her eyes. Then, she realized that she could not recall anything that had happened. It was a familiar pattern: a medical technician would arrive after a few minutes and tell her that she had a “bad night” and it was best that she couldn’t remember.

As her other memories began to reassemble themselves, she thought it was strange that she had a bad night while tasked with performing for “The Real Sluts of Las Vegas.” She felt sure it was the first time  that it had happened, because she had been deliberately given safe assignments while performing for the show.

While continuing to ponder what had happened, she took an inventory of her own body. She flexed the muscles in her legs, arms, hands, and feet – no pain. Reaching down, she touched her vulva. It was tender and sore. No doubt she had been aggressively fucked, maybe with a large dildo, but that alone would not warrant a night in the infirmary.

Rolling onto her side, she gently probed her own anus and was relieved to find that it had not been violated. Next, she slid her hands up over her firm, flat tummy and along her ribs, then cupped and squeezed her breasts – nothing.

Only when her fingertips reached her forehead did she discover the reason that she had been brought to the infirmary: her head was bandaged. The discomfort that she had been aware of since waking suddenly blossomed into a searing headache.

Sara screwed her eyes shut, hoping that the throbbing pain might subside. She felt frustrated to be suffering without even understanding the reason why. Then, all at once, she realized that there were much worse things than pain.

Panic took hold of her and she began tearing at the bandages, desperate to know if she had been cut on her face. She did not envy the tasking of sluts with facial scars.

A medical technician standing over another slut looked up, her eyes drawn by the sudden flurry of motion in Sara’s bed.

“Stop!” she shouted.

The slave continued, frantic.

Rushing over to her, the technician grabbed a prod from a hook on the opposite wall and triggered it. Hearing the crackle of electricity, Sara’s hands flew reflexively down to her sides, leaving the disheveled bandages hanging down across her face. Her lips trembled.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” the technician said. “You got lucky – you came in with a nasty cut and we had to stitch it, but it’s up in your hair. No one is ever going to see it. You’re okay. Everything is okay.”

The slave’s whole body started shaking, tears overflowing her eyes.

***

After she was released from the infirmary, Sara's life returned to its new routine: days of safe display assignments, punctuated by filming scenes for 'The Real Sluts of Las Vegas.' On one occasion, she and Miranda were taken to a secluded gaming parlor and bound naked, facing each other across a roulette table.

A buck was led in, dressed like a high roller. Each girl was given a stack of chips and the buck watched as they played. A pair of stick men pushed their bets into place after they called out their numbers, and a woman set the ball spinning around the wheel to determine their fates. Sara's stack of chips grew after nearly every spin, while Miranda's dwindled to nothing. As her last few were swept away, the buck turned to Sara with a sly smile.

He released her from her restraints and fucked her hard on top of the roulette table, scattering her chips like confetti. Sara lost count of how many orgasms she had as he serviced her with his cock, his mouth and his nimble fingers, before finally injecting a heavy load of jizz up into her womb.

Inches from where Sara lay writhing in ecstasy, her ample wetness saturating the green felt tabletop, Miranda sat watching the entire spectacle, still bound – envy and lust pouring out of her like sweat. She swayed back and forth as far as her restraints would allow, madly clenching her thighs in a useless effort to deliver some stimulation to her engorged clit.

***

Fear cut through Sara's middle like a frozen razor blade. House Master Gabriel had led her into the part of the infirmary where slaves were taken to be “modified.” After a display assignment that lasted late into the evening, she had anticipated being escorted back to her cell. Instead, she found herself staring at a sign that read “Non-Anesthetic Modification.”

Gabriel opened the door and gestured her inside. The slave did not move.

“Let's go,” he chided her.

“Please, master, what will be done with Sara?” she asked.

He shrugged.

Reflexively, Sara began to seduce him.

“Master, please... Sara would be very grateful if you assign her to some other tasking,” she moved closer to him, lowering her voice to a breathy whisper. “She would do anything to please you, master – anything.”

She let her jaw hang open, dropping her eyes to his crotch.

Gabriel glanced back over his shoulder, finding that they were alone in the hallway. He looked past her and noticed a supply closet just a few feet away. Sara reached down and started massaging his cock through the front of his pants.

“Thank you, master – Sara will be very good for you,” she said, turning to lead him into the closet.

He grabbed her hand.

“Damn it, Sara!” he scowled. “Not now! This isn't up to me! Now let's go!”

Gabriel pulled her through the door by the wrist.

“Please, master... Is Sara going to be inked? Or pierced? Or...?” she begged, frantic, pure instinct driving her in a futile attempt to pull away from him. “Please! Sara will be a better slut! Please, master! Please don't modify her... Please!”

The overseer's shoulders slumped. He let go of the slave. She shrank back towards the door, trembling.

“Sara – you're going to be okay,” he said. “This has got something to do with the show – it's not a big deal. Here, I can show you.”

He lifted up his tablet.

“See, that's my schedule for tonight... I'm supposed to get you situated down here, then come back in an hour and take you up to the stable: makeup, lingerie, house dress – ready to go,” he explained. “If they were going to do something really bad, I guarantee you they wouldn't have me coming back to get you in an hour.”

Sara stared at the tablet, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths.

“Are we good?” he asked. “I don't want to collar you, 'cause then I'll have to put you down for a correction. Let's just get this over with so I can take you back up to the stable, okay?”

***

The slave obediently followed House Master Gabriel into a room labeled “Female Genital Modification.” He led her past six plain-looking, naked female slaves, restrained in lariats. The steel cords looped around their necks lifted them onto their toes, giving them three options: strain the muscles of their calves and feet to keep the cords off their throats, use their hands to accomplish the same purpose – or strangle.

They alternated between the first two options as their cramped legs and sore fingers demanded in a constant, squirming display of pure misery. Their desperate eyes fixed on House Master Gabriel the instant he entered the room, hoping he might give them some relief. He ignored them, ordering Sara to strip and lie back on one of three heavily reinforced gynecological examination tables inside the sterile white room.

Sara closed her eyes, her breath coming shallow and quick as he applied heavy leather straps to her ankles, knees, thighs, waist, chest, elbows and wrists. Her mind raced as she tried to imagine the purpose for the restraints – if not to make her utterly vulnerable to some agonizing procedure that would leave her permanently changed.

Gabriel's promise that she would be okay and a glimpse at his tablet suddenly seemed like a very thin thread to support the full weight of her hopes that she would not be mutilated – and constant sound of the six girls struggling to breathe was already causing it to fray. Fear held her in its icy grip, and she knew that panic was close at hand.

Her eyes snapped open and she jerked against her restraints as Gabriel gently touched her shoulder.

“Easy, Sara. Easy,” he said. “Everything is going to be okay. I'll see you in an hour.”

To Be Continued