Sarah's Story

Master and I are walking along the beach toward a bungalow. He's got hold of my chain leash, and I like being led by my leash.

We head inside. Outside, it's a bungalow. Inside, it's another room. I sense furtive movement and then I see the boys clustered around a futon. They're holding me down. It's not hard to do that, but the one gripping my hair is hurting me. I'm naked and clumsily sucking dick. I'd been a virgin a few hours before the party and now I'm taking them two at a time. I'm drunk, drugged, and barely eighteen.

"Wait, stop," my owner says. All movement and laughter stops. There's at least seven frat boys. They're holding my hands down. Later they'll hold them behind my back. I'm struggling, but weakly. I scratched someone's face but he punched me and now my left eye's swollen shut. And it's hard to keep track, but I think there's another group still drinking and working up the courage. The whole scene smells of cheap beer.

My owner steps into the light. He walks around a frozen frat boy. "On with the simulation," he says.

I'm crying. I mean, my younger self is crying. I'm just a thing to them. Some finish quickly. Others take their time. The scene speeds up and goes dark, and when I wake up, it's just me curled up on the floor. There's no younger version of me, and I'm leashed to a radiator, naked and covered in graffiti.

"Does this resonate?" Master asks. "It has to, otherwise your mind will reject it."

I know we're in VR, but everything hurts. "It feels true, sir."

"Good enough," he says. He cuts the leash and picks me up. He carries me outside and toward the surf. The water is cold and stings my cuts. We wade deeper. He dunks me -- once, twice, three times. I gasp. He carries me toward the fire on the beach, sets me on a blanket, and stakes the leash into the sand. He pours a little olive oil into his palm. "On your belly, slave."

I roll onto my stomach. The collar and the leash pull slightly as I move. The sand is warm beneath the fabric. Master kneels between my legs and starts rubbing me down. He massages my upper back and then my lower back. His leg hair bristles against me he works the oil into my buttocks and thighs. As his palms glide over my skin and work out the knots, I forget how it felt to have other hands on me.

"Do you still want to see the world?" he asks.

"I do, sir," I say. "Can you fix me so I can?"

I used to be one of Master's dairy slaves, producing the active ingredient in Horni-Cola. But then he switched to bioengineered yeast, let my milk dry up, and took me off the farm. I'd looked forward to passing on to another owner but I still age too slowly to pass as an ordinary thrall, at least not for long. More importantly, I know too much about his operation to hit the market.

"There's been a breakthrough," he says. He's working my shoulders now and sitting partly on my thighs. His dick rests on my butt crack. "That little scene back there is going to be part of your backstory. How are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling a bit better, sir. I'm wet for you."

"Good," he says, and rolls me over. "Hello."

"Hi, Master."

He places a hand between my legs, warming me with his palm while the wind whips my hair across my face. He takes his cock in hand and inserts it. The leash drags in the sand as I writhe. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer. "Do you like fucking me, sir?" I ask. "I like you deep inside me."

"I like it fine," he says. He's pushing and he's pulsing. He holds my arms down and I marvel at how strong he is. "Does a slut want kisses?" he asks.

"Yes please!"

As our lips lock, I wonder if he'll really sell me. I love belonging to him but I more or less came willingly. I've never simply been merchandise. He pulls his face back. I look him in the eye before closing the distance with my mouth. He's thrusting, nibbling and thrusting, hitting my deepest places. I push off the sand with my feet. He bends to suck my nipples. I mewl and he kisses me again. I imagine a new owner who keeps me in the basement almost full-time. That would be okay -- I like being caged. I imagine being the door prize at an upscale sex party. I see myself getting fucked on a coffee table while holding in an enema. Or maybe I would be companion to a puppyboy, a big one. I would be his bitch, and completely below him. Or maybe a new owner would want more body mods. I don't like them but it doesn't matter.

"You're drifting, girl," Master says. He knows me so well -- he must have read the shift in my breathing as I fantasized about other chains, other basements. He pins my wrists above my head and starts thrusting faster.

"Mmmmmnnmmmhm," I say. "Do you know who's going to own me next, sir?"

"I might. He runs a temp agency. I know he'll appreciate an old cunt like you."

I smile. A new owner is scary but exciting. Master puts his mouth on my breasts and I sigh. He raises my legs, tucking them behind my shoulders. "I'm getting close," he says.

"Are I going to cum inside me, sir? I love it inside me."

He smiles. He's fucking me slow and deep, deep and slow. I can feel him filling me, pushing against my cervix. Oh God, what if my new owner tattoos my cervix?

"Oh yeah!" Master says as he almost lunges forward. I feel heat bloom inside me and I cry out as the wave crashes through the both of us. For a few seconds we are locked together, panting, and then he kisses my cheek as he relaxes on top of me.

"There's a good girl," he says, as he shifts his weight and slowly goes soft. "You're amazing, you slut."

"Thank you, sir. You spoil me."

* * *

Master's house looks like a greenhouse and it faces the sea. There's a forest on either side, a huge front garden, and a long stretch of beach. Inside, the humidity is like walking into a damp sheet. The air smells of flowers and wet earth. There are guest cottages along the pebble path and among the plants, and at the end of the path is a set of cages. There are four sleeping cages and the last one is mine. I'm curled up on the mattress inside, and I'm naked, because I'm always naked.

My owner usually visits me around sunset, when the place fills with golden light. Today he tells me to put on running shoes and follow him outside. He vaults onto his favorite horse, a gray stallion, and whistles for the drones that buzz over the roof and the puppyslaves that surge out of the trees. These are big men and their muscles glitter under their skin.

Master sits tall in the saddle. I know this game -- I look up at him and lick my lips. I'm sweating already. "Go," he says.

I break into a sprint, my breasts bouncing. The hounds start baying. We run through the gardens and there's slaves crucified or hanging in gibbets or suspended from frames. They watch me go past toward the beach where there's more open ground. The puppyboys lope behind me and the drones circle us. I can hear is my heart in my ears. The hounds carefully keep pace and some of them run ahead so I can see them in my peripheral vision. The leader, a brute named Bear, cage, lets out a whoop. I know what's going to happen and I'm wet.

The sand is a hundred yards away. My owner canters up and cracks a whip at my heels. It doesn't hit me but I lose my balance and tumble to the lawn. The petboys pounce. Callused hands clamp onto my shoulders and keep me on all fours. The grass is cool under my hands and knees. I can smell the sea and masculine sweat. I know they're going to take me, with the strongest going first.

Bear sniffs my rear and I whimper. He looks up at Master for approval before pressing his nose into my butthole. "Eep!" I say. A slobbery tongue goes lick, lick, lick at my pussy and then I feel the puppyslave climb onto my back, his nails raking my hips. He stabs at my rear and I arch my back and the huge man pushes in. "Hnaaaugh," I say. His weight presses my chest into the lawn. I moan again and turn my head to the side. I see other slavegirls watching as they hang in their bondage. The drones dip low and there are flashes as they take pictures. Bear starts humping me in earnest. I push my face into the grass but these are trained slaves and they never neglect a hole. One comes around and gives me a view of his engorged penis. "Open your mouth," he says. I relax my jaw and he claims my mouth. I wrap my lips around the shaft and lick while behind me Bear keeps thrusting. I'm being spitroasted by puppyboys and it leaves me lightheaded.

"There's a good girl," Master says. He drinks from a wineskin and starts building a charcoal fire. "You dirty girl,"

I'm sure I must be as red as the slaves' cocks. I know I'll cum from this -- I was trained to. Bear digs his fingers into my hips and drives toward my womb. The slaveboy at my mouth grabs handfuls of my hair and fills my mouth. They pump into me, front and back. As both men groan, their cocks swell and spurt and I cum too. We lean against each other for a moment and then they withdraw. That's two hot loads sliding down my chin and thighs, but there's ten more hounds to go. The next pair steps forward without a word. One takes my ears, preparing to thrust into my mouth, while the other lifts my hips and slides in behind me.

My owner shows me the branding iron. I gasp. It's reversed, but it says BITCH. "You're going to be my bitch forever," he says. As the puppyboys pile into me he lowers the iron into the coals and plays a fan over it. "Cum for me, slut, it'll make this easier."

I groan and focus on the rhythm, letting the pleasure build. I accept load after load. I cum with every puppyboy.

"Are you ready?" Master asks. "Where would I like it?"

I spit out a cock. "I want it on my mound, sir!"

The last two petslaves shoot their loads and then more push me onto my back. The brutes sit on my arms and legs and I lie there. Our owner gives an order and Bear licks my mound clean. The iron has gone from red to yellow. I'm shaking.

The charcoal fire casts dancing shadows on the grass. Master stands over me, a dull light in one gloved fist. He signals and the men tighten their grip. FSSSSSSS. He presses the brand into my flesh. I scream and pass out.

* * *

I wake up to Master pissing on my pubic mound. I scream again, weakly. He gives the order and his brutes surround me. "Oh God no," I say. They empty their bladders and the pee mixes with the cum and the grass stains and the dirt.

My owner takes a handful of ash and rubs it into the wound. "Aaugh!" I say. "It hurts so much, sir!" He spreads the gray stuff over the raw, weeping brand, grinding it in with his thumb. I close my legs but that only smears semen and pee across my thighs. I sob as he helps me to my feet and ties my hands behind my back. "Open your mouth," he says.

He gives me a squirt of wine. It's laced with horny juice, which is a painkiller as well as a stimulant and aphrodisiac. I swallow and the pain starts to blur. Master ties a rope to my collar and loops the end around his saddle horn. He gets back on the horse and gives me a look. "Don't make me drag you."

He waves his hounds away and, panting, I follow him to the beach. His horse kicks up sand and all I can do is half-run through the dust cloud until I'm caked in it. My owner looks back and laughs. I burn with shame. The brand still feels like a hot coin against my skin. When we reach the sea my owner walks me into the surf. The waves lap at me, washing me. He pulls out a bar of yellow soap and starts scrubbing me down. It burns, but it's a dull thing. He isn't gentle as he lathers me up. I whimper but don't pull away.

"Whose bitch are you?" he asks. "And are you having fun?"

I look up at him and I shiver. "I'm yours, sir. I'm lower than your hounds. It's wonderful."

He smiles and forces my head below the surface, onto his cock. I suck it as my hair spreads into a halo.

When he yanks me up by my hair, I fill my lungs before I go down again. Over and over we do this. Each time my head plunges beneath the surface the world turns bubbly and blue. The pressure fills my ears and he fills my mouth. I gasp when he pulls me up, and then he pushes me down.

Eventually he hauls me out of the sea and I kneel in the sand. I shiver and cough as he spreads a blanket. There's just enough of it to keep the grit off my ass. He drives stakes into the sand and ties me spread-eagle.

He walks around me. "You look good like that. Yes, very good. Make a duck face."

I make a pout. He produces thread and a curved needle. "Are we having fun?" he asks.

My eyes go wide. He starts stitching my mouth shut and I can't even scream. The world narrows to sensation of the needle piercing, sliding, and pulling the silk through my lips. "It hurts good, doesn't it?" he asks. "It's just what a dirty girl needs."

I nod, knowing it's what I deserve. Master ties the stitches off. "Can you open your mouth now?" he asks.

It hurts -- I shake my head. He chuckles and strokes my cheek. The stitches pull at my mouth, locking it into a pout. I can only grunt and hum.

There's a sting in my crotch and I whimper. When I lift my head, I see him making small, neat stitches. The last stitch goes through my clit and I feel down to my toes. Now every movement of my hips pulls against the thread. He closes my eyes and starts on my eyelids. I piss myself.

"Heh. Dirty girl," he says. "Can you open your eyes?"

I shake my head. "Mmmmph!" With my major holes sealed I exist only to feel things. There's the darkness behind my eyelids, the throb of my pubic mound, the grit of the sand under my shoulders. There's the tension in the ropes and the coolness of my own urine drying on my thighs.

Master mounts up and gallops away. "Mmmmmph!" I say. I'm naked, staked down, with my eyes, mouth, and lower mouth sutured shut. And I've been abandoned. I weep and struggle in my bonds. I feel the wind. When a seagull shrieks, I jump. I focus on the rhythm of the waves, trying to steady my breathing. The loneliness is a weight pressing on my lungs.

There's a downdraft and then something pecks at my brand. "Mmmmmph!" I say and try to wriggle it off. There's just enough give in the ropes that the bird hops away. I can feel the sun's light crawling across my skin. I can smell the pungent soap still clinging to my pores. Most of all, I can feel the stitches. Every time I shift or sob or breathe they tug and remind me that I'm just a sewed-up sack of meat.

A wave licks my foot. Oh God, no, I think. Something splashes over my body and I think it's a wave. "Mmmmmmphm!" I say, nearly tearing my lips open.

Master penetrates me. He came back on foot, walking along the water so I couldn't hear him, and then dove in. He leans down and seeks my breasts with his mouth. Despite the pain, my nipples harden. He starts moving inside me and the dry anal is both agonizing and electric. Every thrust feels like he's carving a path through me. He kisses my eyes and lips and the waves lap at my ankles. I am blind, mute, and pinned to the earth. All I can do is moan and grunt. Each time he drives deep, it threatens to split my labia open. The ocean spray is cool on my skin. My master is hot inside of me.

"Can you cum before the tide comes in?" he asks. "I'm going to leave you here if you can't."

I work harder to make him cum. I've got to climax too, or I drown. I try to kiss him with my stitched lips. Even as my owner thrusts inside me, I think of the puppyboys and their cocks inside me. I think about being a quad amputee -- just armless and legless in a cage, blind, deaf, mute, and barely-human. Permanently hooded. A fuckable torso. A dirty thing. The thought of being just a lump of flesh makes my clit pulse. My torn anus spasms and grips him desperately.

"Cum when I cum," Master says into my ear. Yes, I think. "Think about all the decades of use you're still good for," he says. God yes. "All the pain, and humiliation, and twisted pleasure." I climb the pain like it's a ladder. I'm almost there. The smell of blood wafts up my nose. Every thrust puts pressure on the brand. My cunt is weeping through the stitches. He's gonna cum in my ass! "Are you ready?" he asks. I nod and nod.

"Hnnnngh!" he says. The world collapses to a single point. He slams and crushes me into the sand. Something hot and thick sprays into my rectum and I snap. It makes me feel so dirty and that makes the climax like a gut-punch. I pull on the ropes, fighting the orgasm that won't stop.

"Dirty, dirty, dirty," he says. "Dirty girl!" I'm shaking and sobbing beneath him. He pulses inside me and then goes still. The sea is up to my calves and thighs now. I thrash some more and my breasts heave. The cold climbs and swirls around my hips and mixes with the warmth of his release. The saltwater stings my brand and the stitches.

The knife barely has to brush it over my stitches. Suddenly, the sky is blinding me. Master places a hand over my pussy. "Would I like me to cut the stitches here?" he asks. The water is rising fast.

I nod but instead he cuts the sutures on my lips. The sea washes over my ears and I grimace as he pulls the threads out of my lips. "Open your mouth," he says. I taste brine and blood. Our lips seal together and he cuts the ropes at my wrists and ankles and I know I will live. I hug him and cry.

* * *

We're walking along the beach. My brand is still puffy and itchy. Master scratches a circle in the sand with his walking-stick, then draws the outline of a man. I look at it, then look at him. He touches the outline and I jump when the sand sits up. VR technology has gotten really good. The golem shuffles aside and my owner steps into the circle. His body swells. His skin and clothes burn to ash and he shakes them off and trots out on four hooves.

As a man, Master is tall and powerful. As a centaur he's an absolute mountain of muscle. He invites me to examine him and I brush his glossy coat. It's hot -- his body radiates heat. He huffs and it vibrates in my chest. He sniffs my hair and grins. A hoof taps and something comes out of its sheath. I start to reach for it with a shaking hand but the golem pulls my arms behind my head. It ties my wrists and forces me on my knees. Master sidles over until I'm under his belly. I look up at the cock hanging under there. It's dripping for me, so I lean in and kiss it.

"Suck me," he says. I try my best to get much of it as I can into my mouth. "Good girl," he says, and my stomach flips. I'm already a whore, I might as well be a centaur's whore. He shifts his weight and drives the shaft forward, nearly knocking me into the sand. The golem is dragging a log from the treeline but I focus on sucking. It starts sanding the wood smooth and pounding in stakes with its bare hands. I know what happens next and I'm wet for it.

Master groans. "Get on your back," he says. "I want you to see it going in."

"Yes sir," I say. The golem ties me on my back, spread wide on the log, and then the centaur walks forward until he's covering me. He rests his member on my belly and then he's positioning the tip at my entrance. He start to push. I'm gonna be a horse-man's cocksleeve! I think.

He presses in, pushes inside, and never stops. There is no time to adjust, there is only the relentless pressure. He sinks deeper and all the air leaves my lungs as I stretch beyond what seems possible. My mouth is wide, my eyes are popping. "...!" I almost say.

"Mmm," he says. "You're so tight. Have you taken as much as you can?"

I'm panting. It feels like I'm giving birth in reverse. "I-I think I have, sir. I feel like I'm part of you."

"We'll see," he says. He drives in and seats himself inside me. "Gahhk!" I say, my fingers clawing the air. He starts rocking in and out. He's being gentle but he's so huge that every movement is mind-melting. He snorts. "Is it good?"

"God, yes!" I say. The golem bends to look me in the eye. I'm sure my face is red. Every thrust feels like it's rearranging my organs.

"Getting close," my owner says. It feels like a jackhammer. "Mine!" he says. "Mycocksleeve!"

I sob. "Oh my God, I'm a centaur's cocksleeve!"

The log creaks under us. Master's body, always hot, starts to boil. "Hunh!" he says, and spills a torrent. I'm instantly filled and it sprays out the sides. He pulls out and covers my belly, my breasts, my face. I open my mouth. The gigantic cock fills my vision and glazes me completely.

* * *

I'm hanging in chains inside an iron ring, and the ring hangs inside an operating room. There's leather cuffs on my wrists and ankles and more at my elbows and knees. I am splayed open and Master is stroking my pubic mound, which has healed fully. The touch is almost teasing, his fingers tracing the edges of the brand, which is a a simple design: BITCH bordered by a rectangle.

He keeps me fit and muscular, so I can hang for a long time. I normally have long brown hair but it's been shaved off to get at my brain. My owner says he wants to fit me with a few implants. I already have the standard ones but these will suppress my aphrodisiac secretions, hack medical devices, and otherwise conceal my nature. One will make me forget that I'm really a hundred and thirty years old.

The air is so cold it almost hurts to breathe. My owner withdraws the warmth of his hand and the hoop tilts down until I'm facing the floor. The drill is cold and sharp but not painful as it goes into my skull. I feel nothing as the implant goes in. Afterward Master slides my collar up to get at the base of my neck. Another device goes in. "Is everything okay?" he asks.

"I feel good, sir. It doesn't hurt."

"Good, good," he says. He taps something into a touchscreen. He starts drilling into my spine, coring something out. He tilts the ring upright and turns it to face him. He pulls off his gloves and catches my jaw. "Look at me," he says. "Do you know who I am?"

"You're my master and owner."

"All right. Do you remember who you are? How old you are?"

Words and images try to form, but they slip away. "I'm sorry, sir. It's all a blank."

"That's perfect," he says. He touches his forehead against mine. "You are a clean slate. A vessel for another man to fill. Does it bother you?"

"No sir," I say. And it really doesn't. What else do I need to know, except that I am slave?

* * *

The slave kennel is under the old post office and the air smells of bleach. The walls are cinderblock and the basement windows are barred. I share the space with forty other girls. Some of them are working the street. Others are in the next room. As the head bitch, I answer only to the man who took me in after I scored high on submissiveness.

The new girls are kneeling on ishidaki boards with their arms tied behind them. This is a punishment for them, but I was ordered to give them a blowjob lesson so I drag the practice dummy in front of them. It's a wooden post with a few attachment points. Right now it has a dildo at waist-height and a rubber foot at floor level.

The novice slaves are trembling from having to balance on hard wooden ridges. "Eyes on me," I say, folding my arms behind me. I start sucking the phallus and rubbing my cunny on the foot. I've been here a year already and I'm their role model, the result of twelve months of breaking and rebuilding. I moan as I take the cock in my mouth and rock against the thing between my legs. A rubber toe slips inside and I grind on it. The dummy's foot provides a steady pressure against my clit. "You need to keep up the rhythm," I say between throating the dildo.

The new girls whine. The boards are torture even without the sandbags on their laps. I slobber on the cock and work the toe in and out. I pinch my own nipples and rock my hips. The artificial cock slips deeper down my throat. My pussy squelches on the dummy foot. I imagine a man grabbing the back of my head, cumming in my throat. I pull back and show him my tongue and I wait until he's said Good girl before swallowing the salty load and licking the dildo clean.

* * *

The floor is cold. My hands are cuffed behind my back and the dealer's black plastic collar stands out against my skin. There are lots of empty cages around mine and I'm shaking at the idea that I'm finally going to be sold. It's late in the day, however, and there aren't many buyers walking the auction house floor.

A man leads a tall slave over to me. The girl has lovely pale skin and a statuesque build. She has an easy grace and the amount of slack in the leash never changes. Her eyes are a liquid brown that don't quite track the real world. She's a rich man's toy, obviously, which is weird because the man is wearing a plaid shirt, jeans, and work boots, and everything looks comfortably broken-in.

He looks looks at me, and then the price tag dangling from the bars. He hands the girl her own leash and she kneels and stares at the floor. "Hello, er, Sarah," he says. "How come nobody's bought you yet?"

"I don't know, sir," I say. I know I'm pretty and it scares me that people don't want me.

He picks up the laminated infosheet dangling from the side of my display cage. "Another smart girl," he says. "And a natural submissive. Nice!" I feel myself blush.

He pats his slave on the head. She has nose, nipple, and chastity piercings and "SLAVE" is tattooed prominently on her chest. "Do I think she's well-cared-for?" he asks. "Would you like to join her?"

I think she must've done something to warrant a punishment tattoo but I don't say that. "She looks healthy, sir," I say. "And yes, please buy me."

He grins and the girl rolls her eyes. He introduces themselves as Bill and Becky and tells me to try and scare off the other bidders.

"What do you want me to do, sir?" I ask in a small voice.

"Can you put up a fight on the block?" he whispers, before attendants open my cage and clip a pole to my collar.

"Come on, girl," the older attendant says. My knees are weak as they lead me to the stage. Oh my God, I'm going to be property, I think, which is odd. I've been property for over a year now. The catchpole guides me to the front of the stage. The stage lights flatten people's faces but I can see them judging me. I shiver and search for Bill. He's toward the back but I can't see Becky.

This time of day, the hobbyists and collectors have long since gone home. What's left are the jaded slave-dealers, the traders and resellers. The auctioneer's droning voice fills the converted gymnasium. "... Did well in reeducation. Low aggression, high endurance. Trained in domestic service and low-end sex work. The opening bid is five thousand."

I look at all the faces. Some sneer. One man says, "We stayed here late for this?" But paddles start going up. "Fifty-five hundred!" a voice barks. "Six thousand!" another man counters.

I remember that I have to do something to lower my value. I don't have it in me to fight, so I start crying. I kneel, crying hard. Now I feel worthless. My bladder twinges and I pee myself. Sobbing, I try to crawl off the stage.

People grimace. The auctioneer's voice stumbles as he looks at the spreading puddle. Someone says, "Not another high-maintenance slut!" and the paddles stop going up. Through tears, I see Bill trying not to grin. Becky stands up beside him and wipes her mouth. But the auction is over and they're handing him my leash.

"Nice work!" he says, dabbing my face with a handkerchief. "You saved me a nice little pile. There, there." He pulls me close and rubs my shoulders. "You're mine now."

"Yes sir." I sniffle. I have an owner now!

I follow them into the parking lot with my head down. Master Bill chains Becky's wrists to the front handlebars of a tandem rickshaw. I climb aboard and he cuffs my wrists behind her bike seat. We can get out of our bonds if we need to -- they're mostly symbolic. "You look lovely," our owner says. I smile.

He settles in the passenger seat and tells Becky to take us around the city. She starts pedaling and I match her pace. As we drive the bike taxi down the city's glowing corridors, I feel the eyes of a thousand stranger. Atlantic City is a tourist town and it's a Friday night, so lots of international tourists are seeing slaves for the first time. So many people are staring at me while I'm naked and collared. Some watch with curiosity. Others give flashes of envy or disdain. But as the wind whips my thighs I realize I'm happy to be on display.

"Take us down Punishment Avenue," Master Bill says.

I start breathing faster. That's where they crucify slaves. Nonlethally, of course, but every street lamp is a cross. We get there and seeing my fellow collared folk writhing and suffering makes me cry again.

My owner reaches forward to stroke my back. "Don't be afraid. Were you crucified in reeducation?"

"Not often, sir. But I can't imagine a worse way to spend a day."

* * *

The sex arcade is a neon-pink fever dream, a haze of flashing lights and electronic beeping. I'm tied up on my knees in a plexiglass box. I'm hooded, but underneath I've got goggles patched into a security camera. There's a bass line thumping up my legs and the taste of semen in my mouth. I'm a discounted attraction, which means the customers don't swipe their phones to use me. They drop coins through slots and bounce them off my breasts and thighs. I'm sticky, so some of them stay on me. I'm tired and dirty, and I've lost count of how many men I've serviced.

Someone tugs on the leash threaded through the box, bringing my mouth forward onto a cock. I can taste stale piss and sweat. The sybian I'm straddling is broken and hums only sluggishly. Through the goggles I get a wide-angle view of my current customer, a middle-aged man with a sweaty upper lip and a hungry look. He pulls on my lead, forcing me to deep-throat him. There's holes on the other three sides of the box as well. While I'm sucking one cock, others are sticking theirs in to pee on my shoulders and back, trying to dislodge the half-dollars glued to my skin. The drain in the box is slow and there's two inches of urine around my knees. Coins rub against my legs like I'm in a demented wishing well.

I apply my lips and tongue. The middle-aged man is breathing hard as he reaches his peak. He dumps the whole bitter load down my throat and I show him, but he doesn't look at my face as he zips up and walks away. Another man steps up. Oh God, how much longer is my shift? I can't even smell the piss anymore. I'm just another cheap thrill at the mall.

* * *

My home kennel is always busy -- it was Master Bill's house before he started keeping slaves. I have some merit tickets I want to use, so I go to Desiree, the head bitch, and ask if I can cash them in. Most of the things on the reward menu are sexual, but I ask for real food.

"All right," she says. "Go see what's in the kitchen."

I do a little hop and go to the kitchen to make myself slave muesli with real milk. It isn't too sweet, but after years of kibble the full-cream milk feels unbearably luxurious. I chew slowly while Bill's favorite laps up gruel at my feet.

Becky is on her hands and knees at her dog dish, having a late breakfast. She'd spent the night making money for our owner and there's a tremor in her thighs that suggest she was used hard. A comfortable silence settles between us. Here we are, just two pieces of property attending to our needs before the world calls for us again.

I'm about to say something when Master Bill comes in. "Sitting on the furniture, Sarah? he asks. "And eating with a spoon. Are you cashing in some points?"

"Yes, sir. Desiree said it was okay."

"That's okay then. Want to order a pizza?"

Becky is licking her bowl clean. "Can we get Chinese food, Master?" I say. "Enough to share?"

"Sure," he says. He pulls out his phone and turns away. I wiggle my butt, I'm so excited for real food.

The collared delivery girl is wearing a helmet, gloves, and pads in a concession to safety. I carry the food into the living room, which hasn't changed much since our owner's bricklayer days. The couch is nowhere enough for all the occupants of the house but that's okay since most of us are slaves. There is a plush new carpet, and a coffee table I put the takeout boxes on.

Master Bill is cradling Becky in his lap and cleaning her with a hot towel. He pats the couch beside him and I cuddle up to his back. He points to the carpet and his favorite gets up and kneels there. As the lowest slut, the one who gets all the dirty jobs, I'm far below the former law student, but our owner gives every dog her day.

"Have I been doing good, sir?" I ask.

"You're a gem," he says. He opens my legs and inspects his moneymaker. "Mmmmnh," I say, moving under his hand.

We watch Monica on the TV while everyone eats. It's the latest episode of the popular slave-opera but I'm barely paying attention. My world has shrunk to the couch and my owner's warmth. He feeds me pieces of shrimp and broccoli while Becky rests her head on his lap. He sips his soda and goes back to playing with my pussy. I've already had my drink, but then I remember that Horni-Cola makes me gassy.

"What--!" He gasps in mock horror. "You farted on your master!" I blush, but I feel him getting hard against my tailbone. "You'll wait your turn, my little fuckhole."

He holds up his phone. "By the way, your hometown's mayor called. They're having a slave-festival and want to call back some local talent."

His fingers are between my legs and I feel myself getting hotter but I'm horrified at the idea of my friends and family seeing me as a slave. "Please, sir, don't send me. It would be so humiliating."

"Don't you want to see your friends?" he asks. I shake my head but he rubs my cunt. "And yet, it makes you wet," he says. "Straddle me.."

I turn around like a good girl. He goes in, hot and hard, and I ride him with my sore cunt. He mouths my nipples and puts his hands on my waist to force me onto his cock. I moan. Every thrust is a jolt to my core, a reminder of who owns me, and the thought of being on display back home makes me cling to his shoulders and arch my back.

"Tight," he says. "Get on your knees so I can cum in your mouth." I climb off and he quickly spends inside me. I lick my lips and swallow him salty cum. "Get it all down," he says. "There's a good girl."

* * *

I'm marching in ponygirl harness, pulling Master Bill in a pony trap. It's a humid day and my harness is sticking to my skin. The straps do nothing to hide my body from the hundreds of people watching the parade.

"I didn't know your town was famous for obedience schools," my owner says. But it's true: homegrown cunts have won all sorts of awards. He pulls lightly on the reins, the bit shifts in my mouth, and I adjust my course. Nipple-reins would make me more responsive but the piercings are new and still tender. here's a hook in my ass and a plug in my weeping cunt. Having to march stuffed front and back is humiliating and arousing and a constant reminder of my status. Every prancing step makes the intruders grind and slide until I want to scream. All I can do is mewl around my head harness.

Master Bill waves. We're going down Main Street and I keep seeing familiar faces. There's an English teacher who praised my writing. There's a cousin who played tag with me. I see my former chemistry teacher squinting through his glasses. The parade route goes past the library where I spent Saturdays breathing in that old-book smell. I try to avoid eye contact with the librarian but she's chanting "Sarah! Sarah! Sarah!" with the crowd. I want to hide but the anal hook keeps my back straight and the harness pushes my tits out. Shame pools around my hips and I tighten around the plugs. The pussy plug keep pumping and the crotch strap is only reason it doesn't pop out.

"Whap!" A flick of the whip reminds me to keep high-stepping. The movement makes my thighs glisten. Raising my legs so much puts pressure on my bladder, and I drank a lot of sports drink before the parade. I whine and my owner says, "Go piss, girl. You're a pony now."

Oh God. A few drops sprinkle out and catch the light. I hear cameras and I redden with every flash. My bladder can't hold it anymore and a stream of pee runs down my leg. People whoop and cheer as it turns to a cascade down my things and splashes onto the pavement. "Sarah! Sarah! Sarah!"

* * *

I'm grappling another naked woman. We're both up to our knees in mud and wearing strapons. Back and forth we grunt and slide. I know the basic holds and counters but my opponent has gotten more training. Her head is shaved too, so it's probably her specialty. She forces me into the muck and my face barely clears the surface. She twists one of my arms behind my back and I feel her dildo at my anus. It's well-lubed, and I loosened up before the match, but I still try to twist out of the way. She gets her other hand on my hip and thrusts into me. "Aaaaugh," I say. There's townsfolk all around the pit, casting shadows over us.

My former classmate says "I won!" and starts thrusting. She's only allowed to cum when she wins. She humps furiously and all I can do is take it. My resistance melts into the gray dirt as she grinds my breasts into it. It's in my hair, it's in my face. I'm unrecognizable but the crowd keeps saying, "Sarah! Sarah! Sarah!" The other girl screams as she climaxes. Suddenly she doesn't want to be touching me and leaves me splayed out in the sludge. She falls into a display position, her chest heaving, and her owner hooks a pole to her collar and pulls her out. She steps on my head and pushes it into the muck. I'm no longer a smart girl or even a person, I'm just trash in a pit.

Master Bill crouches at the edge. "Come on out. I've got a horny pill for a good girl."

I huddle at his feet. "I'm so sorry I lost, sir."

"It's okay. I knew you never had a chance against a mudwrestler-in-training."

"Yes Master." The pill he slips past my teeth is chalky and fruity, like a chewable vitamin. It doesn't take long for the world to soften and I start to ache in a different way. He grabs my collar and guides me to a tree stump. We're in the park and there's tables full of food, people playing games and eating. The marching band plays the town anthem. I keep my eyes down, avoiding the eyes of the free people.

The stump is worn smooth. "Lie down," my owner says. I settle on my back and stretch my limbs. My body fits into the depression as if it was made for me. Men tie my wrists and ankles and I tug at the bindings. My left arm has a little slack so they hammer the stake deeper.

I lift my head and I whimper -- the men are lining up between my legs and taking off their shirts. The first one who enters me is an old gym teacher. A little mud, forced into my ass by the strapon, squirts onto the stump. He moves inside me, varying the angle with every thrust. I'm blushing at being used like this but my face is still caked in mud. There's a warmth in my belly and things are glowing in the late-afternoon light. My wetness grows despite or because of the humiliation. He spurts and pulls out. My fuckhole barely has time to gape before it's filled. This next man is coworkers with my foster dad. He plays with my nipple rings while a second man looms and cradles my head. I can't see him, only taste his dick when he thrusts it in my mouth. The two men start pushing into me from both ends like I'm an accordion. I can't help but moan. Everyone who takes his turn is a ghost from my past -- a classmate, a neighbor's son, the hardware-store clerk. The dirt on my skin has begun to dry and crack, except where it's kept wet with cunt juices and cum.

The wind changes. I smell corndogs, grilled corn, caramel popcorn, french fries. Two more men cum and one shot goes down my throat and the other fills my cunt. And then the next man who fucks me doesn't mind the muck. He cleans it off my breasts and sucks my nipples. "Oh!" I say as another member slips inside.

A pretty blonde slavegirl bends down to look me in the eye. "Avril Ravine for the World Slavery News," she says. "How do you feel, Sarah?"

I try to smile. "I feel like a pinned butterfly."

The camera flash leaves an afterimage of the newscaster's teeth. "This town has turned out three Slave Olympics gold medalists, a bunch of slave actresses, and even a decorated janissary," she says. "Can I tell us why the thralls from here are so special? And what do you do exactly?"

"We're taught respect in this town. But I'm nothing special."

"She's the best girl for a dirty job," Master Bill says. The man using me splashes cum up my belly. "She's very modest," my owner says. "But she's reliable. Tell them about the temp job you did at the truck stop."

I smile. I may be a dirty thing, but I am a useful dirty thing. "It was having plumbing problems, so Master rented me out as a urinal until the parts arrived. How was he to know the truckers were holding a convention there?"

The crowd laughs and my face heats up. The man on top of me flattens my tits with his chest. Our eyes lock -- we used to date when we were teens. His eyes go wide as he spends and then his friends pull him off and slot another man in.

"Oh God, please," I say. "Keep going." I feel the pressure and the pleasure building. It builds, and builds, and builds. My toes turn up. My fists clench. I cum as I'm fucked by men I grew up around. They whoop and spray me with beer as I tense and shudder on the stump.

"Can you keep going for me?" Master Bill asks. I nod. Master Bill replaces the previous man between my thighs. He strips to the waist and covers me with his body. I close my eyes and focus on his cock inside me. "Look at you," he says. "My little broken thing."

He moves slowly, grindingly, claiming every bit of my internal space. The whole world may use me, but he is the one who allows it. The slave-reporter watches with interest. The cameraman records our coupling for people from around the world and the video will probably make its way to other planets. All I can do is take it and moan. My owner cradles my head so he can kiss me. I kiss him back. "I'm close," he says. "Get ready."

I bite my lip. "Yes Master." He keeps going. The town is watching him claim me for the hundredth time. The only sound is the slap of wet skin. The tension in my belly is starting to scream. I'm gasping. Every time he hits that one place, my hips buck. He turns his head to look at an older couple. "Are those your folks? Say hello."

"They're my foster parents, sir. Hello, Mom and Dad."

My owner grunts. "Why don't you thank them for raising such a good slut? And thank the town too."

I sob. "Thank you for raising a slut. And thank you all for helping raise a slave!"

"Invite them to see you cum."

"Hnnnnnnh. Please, everyone watch me cum!"

"Now," Master Bill growls. "Cum for everyone, Sarah!" And then he groans and spends. That's all the permission I need. Still pinned underneath him, I convulse. I climax with the whole town watching.

* * *

My owner pecks me on the forehead and pulls out. "Good girl. Good, good girl," he says. Someone puts a padded stool under my head. The semen from many men drips from my well-used cunt.

"Aren't you glad we're here?" Master Bill asks.

I close my eyes. "Yes, Master," I whisper.

He turns to the crowd. "She's done for now, gentlemen, but if you'd like your picture taken, step right up!"