Is BDSM inclination an innate instinct or an acquired taste?

Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve always been fascinated by sexual slavery. When I was in junior high, our American teacher Mrs. Dalloway in social studies (or perhaps it was history class, I don’t remember now), in her very stereotypical American attempt at indoctrination, wanted to impress upon us the horror of chattel slavery, so all the students had to lie down on the floor, and have our hands and feet wrapped round with ropes. Then the teacher told us to use our imagination: “Imagine yourselves, immobilized as you are, you now lay supine in the over-crowded cabins underneath the main deck. The bucket at the corner are overflowing with urine and feces. The dreaded slave-ship is sailing across the Atlantic Ocean. Naked, bound, beaten, tortured, hungry, thirsty, and sick, your parents murdered and your little African villages pillaged and plundered and your shoddy little huts which you once called home burned to the ground, you, and you alone—alone in this cruel world, alone on the sea of darkness, directionless, hopeless, clueless—are now being shipped to a foreign land in America, where, once you arrive, if you are a man, you will be forced to work as a slave laborer in the cotton fields under the bitter sun; and, if you are a woman, you will be forced to work as a domestic servant inside the mansion of your white owners, serving your white masters and mistresses on your hands and knees, and, if you are young, fertile, and seductive, you will upgraded to become a breeding slave, forced to engage in coitus with any male your owner so demands you to …”

Later that evening, as I went back to my own bedroom, in the privacy of my bed, I tried to use my imagination once again to conjure up this world where slaves existed, and I imagined myself to be lucky enough to be living as a sex slave to a cruel and sadistic white master, and that night, it was the first time in my life that I found the pleasure between my legs as my dainty figures meandered their way to stimulate my clitoris and thus began my life-long obsession with sexual slavery.

Later on in college I read novels by 村田喜代子and 村上龍, and I encountered the fantastical works of Iris Chang, author of the very romantic novel Rape of Nanking; and, as a woman of Japanese heritage, I was told that I should feel ashamed and humiliated of the fantasies that Iris Chang have concocted, but I never felt that way. I felt proud, on the contrary, proud of the accomplishments of my great grandfathers, the heroes of Japan whose spirit is overseeing their descendants even today, the noble Japanese warriors who once conquered China and turned Chinese women into their sex slaves.

Of course those words were never uttered by me in any instance publicly during my college years.

I was the quiet, silent, and polite Asian girl. I never beeped a sound in class, and if you approached me, I would smile and be polite but I never said a word more. I took long walks by myself along the tortuous roads of small parks near the Johns Hopkins campus as I contemplated those things within myself. I also enjoyed shopping and I walked long hours in department stores where I stood and gazed at all the various merchandise surrounding me like Alice in Wonderland. I looked at each item carefully. I held them up and examined their parts. All Made in China. I would smile to myself. I imagined that in addition to those manufactured cheap gaudy baubles and trinkets, made by diminutive Chinese slaves in steamy, overcrowded sweatshops in the remote villages deep inside the heartland of China, the store also offered a wide selection of live, breathing Chinese sex slaves on display and white-American customers would walk down the aisle ogling at them and poking at their naked flesh like any other Made-in-China commodities.

And whereas Home Depot and “99 cent” stores offered cheap, inferior quality Chinese sex slaves, places like Petco and PetSmart offered higher quality Chinese sex slaves whose purposes extended beyond mere sex, and who were able to perform duties ranging from being cooks, nannies, chefs, gardeners, to other recreational purposes as well as being submissive and docile companions to their white owners much like domesticated pets.

All Chinese sex slaves were female, as Chairman Mao famously declared to Henry Kissinger when he happily extended to export 10 million Chinese women to America.

Those sex slaves also varied in price due to a number of factors such as age, health, experience and training. And there would be luxury item slaves that catered to the upper echelon societies, where the slaves had to have had an American education at elite universities, could converse in multiple languages, and be able to be impregnated to pass down the genes of their white American masters.

As I walked down those aisles looking at those Asian sex slaves, sometimes I can’t help but fantasize about what it would be like to be owned, just like them, by a white man I love, a gentle yet cruel white master who will love me, cherish me, but also be stern and disciplinarian and he would beat me when I made mistakes or merely to entertain himself.

And those all Asian sex slaves were completely naked except for the shocker collars around their necks. Their buttocks and breasts would be fully exposed so the customers could examine the quality of their muscles and the smoothness of their skin. Their hands were tied behind their backs and their dainty bare feet were planted to the floor with metal chains secured around their ankles. And to add insult to injury, a dildo mounted on a stick was sticking directly into their vaginas forcing them to stand up straight and spread their legs. I was lost in my fantasy when I heard a familiar voice.

II

“Jenny, is that you?”

I turned in the direction of the sound and saw my American guuuurilfrieeeend Jessica. Jessica and I were classmates at JHU. She was wearing a smart two piece skirt suit with a light black pinstripe, black stockings and a pair of cutesy 3 inch black pumps. And she wore her blond hair in a super-cute French braid. I was so jealous of her because of her nice curvy body and athletic build and the fact that most white guys on campus had a natural predilection for blonde white girls. “Hey Jessica, what’s up? Why are you so dressed up?”

“Believe it or not, I got a job here.”

I was surprised. “Really? How do you get a job at this store? You do not have any experience selling Asian slaves.”

“Well I can’t take too much credit,” Jessica smiled. “My father has a friend at the company and mentioned I was majoring in business at JHU. He hooked me up with this position.”

“Wow that is really cool. How has it been going? I mean I have always been fascinated with this section of the store. Since I was a little girl I always like to imagine what it would be like to buy my own Asian slave, but my family is too poor to afford one.”

“The job is great. It’s pretty easy. I get to work about an hour before we open and familiarize myself with the merchandise. Then I come onto the floor and talk to potential buyers. I make $80/hour plus a 10% commission. Given that the average slave sells for around $60,000, there is a huge opportunity to make some great money.”

“10% commission!” My eyes perked up. “That is some serious money. Have you sold any slaves yet?”

“No not yet. I have been here about a week. The other salespeople mentioned that in a good week you can sell one or two, but it is not that common. I mean a lot of the merchandise is more expensive than a car. Those kinds of decisions take time to make.”

“Yeah, I would imagine so.” I wandered around a couple of the slaves. To Jessica they were all Asian, with petite bodies, slim waist, and almond eyes covered by epicanthic folds. To her, they looked just like me, even though I could tell they were Chinese. In fact, when Jessica and I just met for the first time, she assumed I was Chinese. Only later did she find out I was Japanese. “Do they talk much?” I asked her. “I mean it seems like they’d be nervous or something. I know I would be.”

“No not really. This is a high end store and most of the merchandise have had lots of training. This includes a lot of mental training as well, and they accept that this is their lot in life. Still I am not sure how they remain so calm. I think it would be a bit scary to be on display, but they are treated well. For every four hours they are standing we let them rest for an hour. They receive three meals a day and the holding cell is quite nice.”

“Hahaha! I bet it is. I heard China is now fighting a civil war again. After America-Japanese alliance defeated China, the allied forces carved China into multiple pieces and none of them were satisfied with what they got, so they are now fighting each other, just like they did for thousands of years.”

“Oh yes! Very much so. Many of them said they are so happy to be exported to America as sex slaves instead of being eaten if they stayed in China.”

“So you mean they love being slaves.”

“Yes! It’s in their genes. Also their contract. All of them have voluntarily agreed to sell themselves off as slaves in America. Ownership of Asian slaves is completely legal in America. According to the legislation passed by Congress, in section 13C6, in reparation for Chinese COVID virus, the Chinese Communist Party agreed to remit as payment in the sum of 2,000,000,0000 dollars in the form of Chinese women of breeding age to the United States of America for the recreational purpose of sexual slavery, indentured servitude, breeding programs, scientific experiments, human experimentation for the greater purpose of life quality improvement …”

The fact that they all wanted to become slaves fascinated me and I again drifted off into my fantasy while Jessica spoke, not really hearing the words coming out of her mouth anymore, as it contained too much technical bureaucratic mumble-jumbo.

This was so very different from anything I had ever experienced in a typical day on campus. Sure, slavery of Chinese women has become legal for some time now, but the average US citizen from a rather poor family rarely experienced it first hand. Only the wealthy and upper middle class families, mostly white families, could afford personalized Asian slaves. Clearly there were slaves all around me, and the most exciting part was the fact that they looked indistinguishable from me. To a white woman like Jessica, that is. I rarely ever saw them at JHU.

“Jenny, Jenny, you still with me?”

I was startled from my daydream by Jessica calling my name, “Ummmmm, yes I am. Sorry I was just thinking about slavery. I mean there are slaves all around us and I hardly even notice them. I wonder what it must be like to be one of them?”

Jessica paused for a moment. “Well I’m not sure. Seems kind of boring to me. They just stand around all day, not terribly exciting.”

“You are looking at it from your perspective, not theirs. Clearly it looks really boring, but they must be terrified. I do not care how much you are trained to do this job, it must be frightening for them knowing that they are only property and their sole purpose in life is to please someone else.”

“Maybe you are right.” Then suddenly she got a smile on her face. “Hey I have an idea.”

“What?” I looked Jessica a little suspiciously.

“Listen Jenny, why don’t we try a little experiment?”

“What kind of experiment?”

“Jenny, this is going to sound crazy, but hear me out. We could dress you up as one of the slaves and put you on display.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Listen, it would be easy. I could get you prepared in the back and put you on display. There are like five hours left before the store closes. We could put you on display until the end of the day.” Jessica was getting more and more excited by the idea.

“Look, it sounds exciting, but I do not want to be sold. Besides, I’m not really Chinese.”

“Oh come on Jenny. You all look exactly the same to a white person. Besides, you won’t be sold for real. We don’t have your spec’s and I will mention to any buyer that you are on layaway and not able to be purchased, but you would still experience what it feels like to be a slave. There is no risk. I mean in reality we only sell like a couple slaves per day in the entire store. We could even pair this up for our sociology class. You know we need to do an experiment. This would be a guaranteed A.”

My interest seemed to peak up a bit, “You sure there is no risk? We are not going to get in trouble?”

“I promise there is no risk and we will not get into trouble. Everyone would just think you are a slave. At the end of the day, we end the charade, you go home and we get an A on our sociology paper.”

“Ok, lets do this.”

“Great! Come with me.” I followed Jessica through a small metal door to the side marked STAFF ONLY.

Once through the door, I noticed a room that was rather plain-look, not like the ornate and elegant display area full of shiny decorations and brightly colored signs. The floor was tiled and there were a few old, brown couches and a dusty vending machine. Jessica told me, “This is our break room. We should not be disturbed here but we need to move quickly. I am not supposed to be on break for another two hours. Wait here, I will be right back.”

While Jessica was gone, I kept going over things in my mind. Am I really going to do this? This is crazy. Slavery is not a game. I felt the appeal but at the same time I also felt a bit guilty playing around given that everyone on the floor outside was a real slave. After all, I felt, I was different from those inferior Chinese slaves. Even if I was indeed to be sold as a slave, I should be sold at a higher price. Oh my god, I can’t believe you are even thinking about selling yourself, the inner me’s started arguing over one another.

As my mind wandered, Jessica walked back into the room. “Okay Jenny, strip.”

“What?”

“Sorry Jenny, we do not have much time and you need to get naked. Slaves are not allowed to wear human clothing.”

I hesitated for a moment but then began to slip out of my clothes. First I unzipped my black skirt and let it slide down my legs. Next came the blouse. I was standing in front of Jessica in just my bra and panties set. Jessica did not look away and instead stared intently, which made me blush a bit. I continued removing my clothes by slipping out of my shoes, taking off my socks, and then sliding my panties down my legs, and finally removing my bra.

I was completely naked from head to toe and I felt so vulnerable and out of instinct I tried to cover my breasts.

“Here put these on.” Jessica handed me a small transparent round thing with straps. “Slaves are not allowed to speak when they are standing outside so you have to put this in your mouth.”

I was a bit rattled. I’ve always been a fairly shy girl. I didn’t realize that to be a slave had all those requirements. But I was already here. There was no going back. I put the little gag in my mouth and Jessica helped me tighten it around my head. It was like a harness that horses wear. I felt myself biting down on the plastic/rubber material and it felt weirdly stress-relieving. After Jessica helped me secure the harness around my mouth, she took out a pair of thick, heavy-duty plastic zip-ties and, binding my arms behind my back, wrapped them around my wrists. The plastic made click-click-click-click noises as the teeth of the fastener caught in rapid succession until I felt the edges cutting into my wrists.

After my hands were tied behind my back, Jessica wrapped little gold chains around my ankles. Then she ran to another side room and came back rolling out a small movable stand with a pole and a dildo sticking on top.

“Hop on it, Jenny. This is the slave post.” I was shocked by what I saw but before I had time to react, Jessica had bear-hugged me, lifting me in midair and impaled me on top. Being only 5 feet 2, and less than 100 pounds, I was easily manhandled by Jessica, who was 5 feet 9 and very athletic.

My pussy was stuck on top of the dildo and it penetrated me to the hilt. Blood started dripping down the pole and that was when Jessica screamed, “Oh my god, Jenny. I didn’t know you were a virgin!”

But that was the end of my ordeal. She used nail guns to secure my pussy lips on the top of the pole and if my gag wasn’t securely tightened around my mouth, I would have been screaming my lungs out. I desperately tried to flail my arms which were now bound behind my back, almost to the point of dislocating my arms, my legs kicked wildly, to no avail, and in fact, the more I moved my legs, the further down my pussy slipped to the base of the dildo and I could almost feel it piercing my innards. I could almost feel the dildo poking at my stomach from the inside.

“Jenny, if I were you, I wouldn’t move your legs too much. Try to stand on your tiptoes so you don’t impale yourself further.”

I tried my best to do what Jessica told me to and blood mixed with sweat and tears were forming a big puddle of mess on the small circular disk of the “slave stand”.

Then she moved to my front side and clipped something onto my left nipple. She used the needle on the stitch holder to pierce my nipple from one side and the needle came out from the other side and once she let her hand go, the weight pulled my nipple downward like a small rock.

“It’s your price tag. I thought $100,000 was an appropriate amount. Since you are Japanese and currently a freshmen at JHU. Normally, slaves would also have a bar code stamped on their wrist, but since you are not in our system yet that is not possible. This will also guarantee that you are not accidentally sold since no one would be able to process you. Now we need to get you rolled onto the floor.”

I was in a daze. I was shocked by my transformation from an innocent, well-educated, smart Asian girl, all of a sudden, into a slave, naked, bound, tormented, to be displayed and, potentially, sold.

“Ok Jenny, it is time to get you out on the floor. You are now a real slave.”

Jessica rolled me out onto the main floor. There were wheels underneath the small disk on which I stood. Anxiety was killing me. Quivering tremors of fear went at and through me. The strange, bewildering and fascinating sensations of becoming what I feared, what enchanted me, and what horrified me all congealed in that moment.

Jessica led me into the middle of the domestic section. Before I had time to relax, Jessica attached another tag to my right nipple. This time with a steel paper clamp that clamped over my nipple, elongating it painfully. I shook my head as big drops of tears rolled down my cheeks. My teeth sank further into the rubber gag in my mouth and I mumbled unintelligibly through the gag.

“Relax Jenny.” Jessica stood up and caressed my hair. “The store closes in 4 hours and I will be near by. Nothing is going to happen to you.” Her soft and tender voice reassured me. Then Jessica walked off, leaving me standing there just like any other slave.

III

The pain was unbearable and no matter how hard I tried I could never get used to it. As I looked around, I realized that I was situated in the middle of the domestic section of slaves. “Chinese female slaves, Chinese virus COVID reparation” discount sign could be seen in the center of where I was standing.

From my quick count there had to be nearly 20 naked Asian females who looked just like me and who were put on display in the same way as I was. It seemed like quite a lot of inventory. As I thought about the economy I realized that inventory was probably building up. Seeing myself being positioned among so many other Asian slaves who looked just like myself made me feel a little better. There is no chance anyone would even look at me today, let alone buy me, I figured. Also, my price was the highest among all the slaves. Which made me proud!

I felt like I could teach the store a bit about how to market to customers. Every slave looked the same and from what I could tell they were not labeled. How was anyone able to find what they want without looking at every option first? Perhaps that was the point. In the end it did not matter, there was no way I could get a job working at this store since this was a “white only” store where all the staff had to be white to apply, and Asian slaves were only sold to white families.

The pain started to numb me and my mind began to drift off, thinking about all the things I needed to do later that evening and the homework that I needed to finish. Even though I was only a freshmen, because I already took AP calculus in high school and scored 5 out of 5 on the AP exam, I had started taking calculus III and it was still a breeze. I didn’t really feel challenged and I got 80 out of 100 on my first midterm. The class average was 40. Clearly an A or A-, depending on how the professor felt. I was thinking about becoming a math major since math just came so easy to me. Physics was a bit more challenging. I was taking introductory physics and even though I still did okay, it did not come to me as effortless as math. I had to study really really hard just to get a B+ in physics. Other classes were absolute jokes. Introduction to philosophy and introduction to literature. I have read almost all the books that the professors were going to discuss already when I was in high school. Even those books that I did not read, I have read about other authors talking about those books so I know the gist, or the main geist, of what they wrote about. Introduction to literature especially was where I had to pretend to sympathize with the fate of negroes, where I had to pretend to enjoy reading the autobiography of someone named Douglas, and a violent black panther named Malcolm X, and some other literary work written by niggers whose name I didn’t care to remember. I absolutely hated the humanities, and according to some of my high school friends at other colleges that I talked to, it was all the same everywhere. Harvard. Cornell. WashU. MIT. Berkeley. But thankfully, after the first year, I would not need to take anymore waste-of-time courses and potentially focus on just taking either math or maybe economics, the last option being a backup if I were proven to be not really cut for the hard sciences. I already signed up to on take introduction to macro-economics and finance next semester.

My mind was thus occupied when Jessica came by with a customer. Their conversation startled me. “We have a wide variety of domestic slaves that can meet all of your needs from cleaning to laundry and some that are even trained in personal service like styling your hair and giving massages.”

“Well that is great. I am looking for a sex slave for my son actually. You see, he is at that age when he can no longer control himself around women, and the last one we had was, very fortunately, tortured to death. He is a bit of a sadist and enjoyed inventing torture methods to be tested on his slaves.”

I could see that the woman talking was a middle-aged white woman holding a walking stick. She looked very polished in her dress. Her hair was auburn and came down to her shoulders. She was wearing an expensive black pencil skirt, a Saint Laurent silk-satin blouse. Her shoes were black pumps with gold lacing. Very likely to be Manolo Blahnik. And based on the Van Cleef Anillo Fleurette ring on her finger and the earrings she was wearing, I surmised that this woman came from a very wealthy background.

Jessica brought the middle-aged white woman to the slave next to me. I had a feeling that Jessica was planning to do this all along to spice things up a bit. The slave next to me was probably around 30, long straight black hair, pale complexion. Round eyes and pointy face. Typical of northeast Asian face-type, possibly Korean. “Well this slave may be just what you are looking for. She was originally trafficked from Hailar District in Communist controlled China. She has a lot of training, and she is known for her very high pain tolerance. She is 28 years old and had given birth to three children back in China to her French master, the one who sold her. As you can see, she is built for labor and has a lot work left in her. Here, you can touch her buttocks to see how firm they are. And her thighs.”

The woman began inspecting the slave. She lifted her arm up and began feeling her stomach before turning her around. The slave stand that she was being impaled on, I noticed, would start to turn as soon as the customer pushed on the slave. And the slave barely reacted as she was inspected like a piece of meat. She kind of reminded me of the roasted pigs sold at shawarma restaurants.

“And you can touch her breasts too. Look at how firm her breasts are. Those utters can take a good thrashing. You can slap her around to test it.” Jessica reached out her hands and slapped the slave’s breasts and then motioned for the customer to do the same.

“Oh that is nice. Because my son loves torturing a woman’s breasts. He’s got some kind of a nipples fetish, where he liked to put mouse traps on those nipples, using pliers to twist them until they break. He broke three slaves already. This is going to be his fourth.”

“Oh, then this one will be great. She has a very high pain tolerance. See the lashings on her back. She used to get beatings from her owner and during those beatings, she didn’t even scream.”

“So how much is she?”

Jessica moved to scan the slave’s bar code. She seemed to be getting excited at the possibility of closing her first sale. “$65,000. And there’s a special discount because she is infertile. Her uterus was damaged beyond repair by her French master. So the total price comes down to $55,000. She also comes with a three year rebate/lease guarantee combo. Meaning, if you are able to keep her alive for 3 years, you can take her back to us at the en of three years and we will give you a new one for half the price and take her back to be liquidated.”

The wealthy woman raised her eyebrow, “Oh that is nice, but $55,000. That seems a bit high for a cheap Chinese slave. Other stores sell them for only $30,000.” Without even passing another glance at the Chinese slave, the woman turned and moved to me, “What about this slave?”

I was shocked that the white woman had expressed interest in me. Before I could react the woman was brushing against my vagina and caressing my pussy mound. Then out of nowhere, she plucked a big chunk of my bare flesh right above my pussy mound and squeezed them hard.

Then I was being turned around, exposing my bare buttocks to her, and she used her cane to strike at my bare buttocks.

“This slave looks very pretty. She is petite and delicate-looking. And she looks so much younger. What are her specs?”

Without waiting for Jessica to speak, she turned me around again so that I was facing the woman and she started to used her cane to poke at my breasts.

Jessica only hesitated for a moment, “Well let me see. Ah here she is. This is Jenny Suzuki. She is a relatively new acquisition. She is 19 years old and we estimate that she could provide up to 20 years service as a domestic slave. And she is Japanese.”

The woman looked over at Jessica. “Oh my son loves Japanese girls. How much is this slave?”

“Let me see…. oh here we go. She is $100,000. As you know, Japanese slaves are of much higher quality than Chinese slaves. ” Jessica was sure the woman would balk at such a high price, but she still seemed interested.

“It’s a bit high. Would you take $80,000 for her?”

Jessica hesitated for a moment.

“Oh I am sorry I just noticed. This slave has already been purchased. She is on layaway.”

Neither Jessica or the woman noticed, but I let out a deep sigh of relief. All of this was fun, but I was very worried that I could end up as this middle-aged white woman’s property, or worse, the plaything of her sadistic son who enjoyed mauling breasts off of humiliated female slaves.

“I am happy to pay $90,000 if that gets her taken off of layaway.”

I was getting nervous again. I did not like where this was going or how this white woman was looking at me now.

“I appreciate your interest in this slave, but I could get into serious trouble for selling a slave that someone else already purchased.” I relaxed more as Jessica spoke. Clearly Jessica was not going to allow me to be sold.

The white woman looked frustrated, thanked Jessica and walked away.

After she walked away, Jessica turned to me and said: “I’m sorry Jenny. Honestly I thought there was no way she would be interested in buying you once she heard the price. I did not even try to do a hard sell. I promise I will not bring anyone here again. Are you at least having fun?”

I thought about that for a moment, and nodded yes.

Jessica smiled, “Well I should have sold you. With that commission, I could be buying that new bracelet I have always wanted.”

I shook my head vigorously when I heard that.

“Alright, I promise that I will not. You can just sit back on your dildo and relax. I am going to head to the break room, do you want anything? Oops. Sorry, I forgot you can’t speak. “

She padded my head like I was a pet dog.

“Just 30 minutes. When I get back we will be at the home stretch. See yaaa soon slave. “

I watched Jessica walk off and exit back into the STAFF ONLY room where all of this first began. For the first time since all of this began, I realized that the display area was very quiet. There were lots of people around, but the majority of them were slaves with only a few customers walking by in between and none of the slaves were able to talk. This was a really boring, dreadful existence.

I did not notice as another person approached me. This woman was slightly older than Jessica, late 20s with brown hair and green eyes. She was a bit stocky but still attractive in her smart navy blue skirt suit, nude stockings and black leather pumps. “Is this the slave you were looking at earlier?”

“Yes that is the one.” I was startled by the voice and saw the middle-aged white woman from earlier with another salesperson. “The other salesgirl told me she was on layaway.”

The salesgirl who’s name was Beth grabbed my wrist and scanned my bar code but there was nothing to scan. “This is strange,” she said out loud.

She grabbed my other wrist but could not find a bar code either. Beth looked up and saw the price tag hanging from my nipple. “Well this says she is $100,000, but I cannot seem to find a bar code. I cannot find anything at all that shows this slave is even in the system.”

“Well the other girl told me she was on layaway. I would love to buy this slave. Is there anything you can do. I am ready to pay $90,000 in cash.”

“Well I should probably go talk to Jessica. Perhaps she sold her earlier in the day. I could get into trouble if I sell her again.”

I looked at the door back to the break room hoping Jessica would come out. How long had she been gone?

“Look I do not have all day. I need a new slave for my son’s 21^st birthday and I am ready to purchase this one right now. I am happy to pay you $5,000 directly if you approve this sale.”

Beth’s eyes brightened up as she heard these words. “Alright. I am going to need to process her though since she is missing some key identification.” Beth pointed toward an area.

“Can you come with me to finalize the paperwork and processing?”

My mind was a blur. Beth had rolled me off the display podium toward a door off to the distance. I was completely immobilized on the slave stand and I could not speak. They paid no attention to the fear I was expressing through my facial expression. “It is nice to see that someone here thinks about customer service. That other salesgirl was so difficult to deal with. I will be sure to put in a good word with your manager.”

“Ma’am, I am sorry you had a bad experience. Jessica is one of the newer salesgirls here and was probably worried about breaking a rule. Our store always strives to give the best possible service.”

As they talked they continued to roll me away from the exhibition place and I looked back hoping that Jessica would come out and notice I was gone. but as I saw the clock, I realized that Jessica would not be out for another 10 minutes. My mind raced. I needed to get out of this situation and I needed to get out of it fast!

I had no idea what the penalty was for impersonating a slave, but I guessed it was fairly stiff. I was also certain that Jessica would lose her job. As my mind went back and forth about what to do, I began to rationalize. Certainly, prepping and selling me would take more than 10 minutes. That would give Jessica enough time to come out, notice I was gone and find me before the transaction was completed.

I felt even more unnerved as they passed through the door and it closed behind me.

As the door closed, the middle-aged white woman asked, “How long will this take?”

“Probably around 15 to 20 minutes. We have to enter your information and get this slave into the system so we can track the sale.”

“Well I am in a bit of a hurry. I have my frequent shopper card if that helps.”

“That makes a huge difference. I will just need to get her processed and we can close out the transaction.”

My eyes got big as I was rolled like a mannequin on a stick into yet another office. The salesgirl pulled over by the desk and pulled up a screen on her computer. “Ok, let me just get her into the system.”

Without hesitation, Beth spun me around, grabbed my wrists, which were still tied behind my back and applied what appeared to be a metal instrument. I felt an electrical shock to my wrist and I grimaced and bite down on my harness and I let out a loud, muffled groan.

I needed to speak up! I thought to myself. I had to stop this before it went too far, but the fear I was feeling had me almost paralyzed.

“Will that be cash or credit card?”

“Credit please.” The woman pulled out her American Express and handed it to Beth. This was surreal.

I knew I needed to speak up now! But how could I speak up with my mouth gagged. And where was Jessica? Certainly her break must be over by now. Large beads of sweat began to form on my forehead and I tried to wiggle on the pole I was impaled on which caused the dildo to plunge even harder into my vagina. The nail gun had stapled my pussy lips to the side of the pole and when I struggled, I could almost feel myself tearing my flesh off of me.

I nervously watched Beth swipe the card and print out a copy of the receipt for the woman to sign. The gravity of the situation was definitely beginning to sink in. This woman had just purchased me. She was going to give me to his son as his 21^st birthday gift and I would become his property. And he might mutilate me and torture me to death within three years! Even if I survive for 3 years, she might taken me back to the store for liquidation and find another slave for half the price.

I did not even notice when another person entered the room.

“Henry can you take this merchandise into the room to be processed?”

“Sure can do. Do you want her boxed up and shipped or would you prefer to take her with you.”

“I will take her with me. Can you put her in my car?”

Always happy to oblige, it seemed, Henry said very nonchalantly, “Of course Ma’am. Just pull your car around back and I will get her in.”

Without saying another word, Henry unplucked the staples off my pussy lips, like he has done it a thousand times before. Then he grabbed me by the arms, squeezing them into my body, like I was a tree bundle, and pulled me off, like he just pulled some fried chicken meat off its bone. My vagina suddenly felt very empty all a sudden and I tried to kick my legs in the air, but he was used to dealing with slaves and he held my ankles together by my chains, tightening them together. His hands felt like a vice grip and I was being carried out like a piece of lumber into the warehouse.

Inside the warehouse there were a few people working moving crates around and packing items for shipment. At the far end of the room there was a shipping door, the kind designed to back a truck or car into.

I was now frozen with fear. I wanted to run. I wanted to scream, but try as I might I could not get myself out of this place. The fear was growing inside me to the point that I could not even look at my surroundings anymore and I closed my eyes. All of sudden, I felt a cold metal wrap around my neck and a clicking noise.

“There we go little girl. I don’t expect you will give this woman much trouble, but this collar should keep you in order. Wonder why they didn’t put it on you in the first place. That is so weird.”

It was the same shock collar every other slave was wearing, and somehow Jessica had forgotten to put it on me when we started playing this silly game.

“Okay. Now time for the branding. Sizzle. Sizzle.” I passed out when I heard those words and I could no longer remember what happened next as a hot branding iron was pressed against my buttocks.