The Slave Girl Sold

A quick authors note: This is something of an origin story to my series about a slave girl,  Part 1 here.

I sat on my bed, and began to cry.

I had just finished a long conversation with my parents, where we had been discussing our less than stellar financial situation. Why would they have such a discussion with one of their children? Because their answer had been to sell that child into slavery.

Although technically speaking I wasn’t a child, really. I had just turned eighteen, which is why this was legal at all. But my parents still considered me their little girl, and that just made it so much. The fact that they had even considered this was heartbreaking, but also very telling of just how much debt they had acquired.

I still had a hard time believing that I was going to become a slave. I remembered visiting a friend’s house that had a slave. They had kept him naked and chained outside like a dog. I was among those had mocked and humiliated him, because he was a slave and it was OK to subject slaves to abuse

Now I was going to be stripped, humiliated and used like a slave. The very thought of it brought on more tears. It was going to happen soon too, my parents promised that they would sell me tomorrow…

I walked into the selling house with my father. His face was stony and showed no emotion, I had no idea what was going through his head. I wish I could say the same for myself, was breathing deeply, fidgeting and fighting back tears.

We walked through a waiting area to the front desk. A middle aged woman looked up at us through her reading glasses. “Hello and welcome. How can I help you?”

My father looked at me, the look in his eyes telling me he wanted me to talk to her. I took a deep breath first. “I… I want to… to sell myself…”

The woman, thankfully, interrupted me. “Take a number and have a seat.”

We did as we were told, in complete silence with neither one of us knowing what to say. After an hour of agonized waiting, we were finally called inside.

The room we walked into was actually really small. In it were four men in uniform, one was an old man sitting at a desk, the other three stood and looked vaguely menacing. Before the desk was a single, luxurious chair.

The man at the desk looked up at us after writing something down, and then spoke. “The benefactor sits in the chair, the slave kneels next to it.” He instructed.

It hurt to be referred to as a slave when I technically wasn’t one, but regardless I got on my hands and knees next to the chair while my father sat in it. The painful symbolism was not lost on me.

The man at the desk, whom I couldn’t see anymore due to my position, spoke to my father. “Do you consent to being the benefactor of this deal and receive the amount of money this slave is sold for, regardless of how much that amount is?”

“Yes” my father replied instantly.

I heard a scratching sound that might have been a pen being used, and then the man spoke again, this time to me. “Do you consent to becoming a slave, forfeiting all human rights and submitting the wishes of your masters, regardless of what those wishes are?”

My reply came slower than my father’s did “Y…yes…”

“You are now a slave. Your body will be examined to determine how much you’re worth and then you will be shipped to a slave training house.”

A guard walked over to me and I felt something wrap around my neck and lock into place. A collar. This drove home what had just happened to me and my tears flowed. I was pulled to my feet and taken through a door, but not the one I had entered from. I caught sight of my father on my way out; his eyes were full of pity.

I found myself in a long corridor full of doors. The guard that had me open one and shoved me inside, where I remained, all alone.

The room was square and tiny, probably only about eight-by-eight feet. The floor was stone and cold, with the walls being much the same. There was nothing to do, except for think about the mysteries of the future. I was no longer in control of my own life; I was going to spend the rest of my days making someone else happy, with my own happiness completely irrelevant. It made me sad to think of it, but I had to accept it. I had seen slaves get punished, and I certainly never wanted to get punished.

I wasn’t waiting for very long, probably only about forty minutes. It felt like a lifetime, so regardless of the situation I was glad when a woman walked in. She had a bag slung over one shoulder and a clipboard in one hand. I was about to stand to met her, but she gestured that I remain on the ground. Not wanting to start things off on the wrong foot, I obeyed.

“Hello, I am here to inform you that the paper work is now complete and you are now officially a slave. Congratulations, your first order is to submit all articles’ of clothing you are wearing to us, with the exception of your collar of course.”

I was dumbfound. I suppose I should have seen it coming, but it was still a shock to hear what was expected of me. “Um… But I don’t want…”

The woman interrupted me. “If you refuse, which you no longer have the right to, then I am free to call the guards in here and forcibly strip you.”

That sounded horrifying, and suddenly I couldn’t get my clothes off fast enough. It was still humiliating, and I did my very best not to look the woman in the eye. I knew what I was going to see in there, and I didn’t want to see it. So when I finished my clothes were piled up next to me and I sat naked next to them, staring at the ground with a blushing face.

The woman put her bag down and from it pulled out a smaller plastic bag. She handed it to me. “Pack the clothes in here then lay on your back with your legs spread.”

I did as I was told, stuffing my clothes inside the bag. Stupidly I started to wonder what would happen to them, even though I should be far more worried about myself. Feeling nervous after putting the clothes away I obeyed the woman’s second command, laying on my back and spread out my legs, feeling a little like a whore.

The woman kneeled and got in between my legs and with gloved hands started examining my pussy. She poked and prodded and I did my best not to squirm, fearful of the consequences. After a little of that she went back to her back and, to my shock and horror, pulled out a long dildo.

The woman saw my expression and laughed. “This is just to test how much cock you can take, you’re not supposed to take it all, although I would be impressed if you did!” And with that, she began to insert it into my pussy, and kept pushing it in until I felt ready to burst. When it wouldn’t go in anymore, she marked the dildo with a marker she pulled out of her pocket and, to my relief, pulled out the dildo. Just when I thought it was over she instructed me to turn over and spread my ass.

Knowing what was going to happen next, I reluctantly obeyed. Sure enough, the woman began to push the dildo into my anus. I squealed and tensed up, but the woman kept going, making it even more painful for me. I took a deep breath and tried to relax, but pretty soon I was in tears.

The woman pulled the dildo out when she couldn’t get it any deeper. “You’re doing well so far, now sit up and face me.”

Taking another deep breath, I obeyed this latest order, showing the woman my tear streaked face. She raised the dildo slightly. “Now, open your mouth.”

Shocked, I clapped a hand over my mouth and shook my head. No way, that thing had been in my ass, she wouldn’t seriously expect me to deep throat it, would she?

She slapped me for that, and then held my face still to look me in the eye. “Listen you bitch, you better learn to do as you are told. You are a slave that means you do whatever people tell you to do. If someone tells you to open your mouth, then you better open your filthy whore mouth. Understood?”

Tearing up, I nodded and open my mouth as wide as it could. Feeling disgusted with myself, the woman put the dildo inside, sliding it into my throat. I gagged and involuntarily drew back, which earned me another slap and the woman shoved the dildo back in my mouth, this time holding the back of my head.

Like before she kept forcing it in until it wouldn’t go any further, then pulled it out and marked it. Thankfully she put the dildo away after that, but then she pulled out something far more sinister looking: shackles.

With a look of warning, she came towards me with the shackles. “Lay on your stomach, hands behind your back, don’t move.”

Feeling defeated, I submitted to the shackles. I felt them wrap around and secure my wrists together. I could no longer separate them, this made me feel even more helpless then I was already.

She smiled at me, but it wasn’t a kind smile. It was a malicious smile, the kind that made it clear she was enjoying my pain. She took my breasts in each hand, at first fondling them. Then she cruelly pinched my nipples and pulled on them, making me scream in pain and surprise. She then turned her back to me and went to her bag.

I heard her rummage through her bag and pull out a couple things. She walked around to my head and I saw a ball-gag in her hand, which she shoved into my mouth. In her other hand she held a cane, a long and wicked looking thing. “This is to test your pain tolerance. If you can go without screaming for ten strikes, you’ll get a reward. “Without anymore explanation, she whipped the cane down on my ass. I was unprepared, but managed to avoid screaming by biting down on the gag. Was I really expected to survive through ten of those? I couldn’t see my ass but I was sure a long, nasty welt was rising.

Another cruel strike followed, but using the same biting technique from before I avoided screaming a second time. This went on for three more strikes, and I wasn’t sure how much more I could take. I was only half way through and I was already crying my eyes out, and I had gotten teeth marks on the hard plastic of the gag. A few seconds passed before the woman came around to face me. “You look like you can’t take much more. Too bad, looks like you’re not getting that reward after all. Except there is one other thing you can do…”

Before she even finished I was already nodding franticly. I didn’t care what she wanted me to do, as long as she put that cane away.

She laughed “Eager little whore, aren’t you?” She then pulled down her own pants and for a moment I was confused. She pulled the gag out of my mouth and left around my neck and then I understood what I was supposed to do.

She pulled my face closer to her pussy. “Hurry now, if you can make me cum you’ll get your reward.” I could see that she was already wet; apparently caning me had aroused her. I stuck out my tongue and started licking her juices and, after some hesitation, stuck my tongue insider her. I had never gone down on a woman before, but I must be doing something right because she started moaning. I took that as encouragement and increased my speed. I didn’t know what this reward was, but I needed something, anything to brighten my day.

I could tell I was getting close, she grew wetter and began shoving my face into her, riding my face with no regard to my own comfort. I just kept going, I had to bear it, there was nothing else for me to do. It would only stop when she came, so I had to make her cum.

Even though it had been my goal, it was still shocking when it happened. Liquid burst out of the woman, most of which ended up on my face. The woman laughed again, using her gloved hand to spread out her juices on my face and hair. She got up, pulled up her pants and took the cane off the floor. “You did alright, whore.” And with that, she struck me with the cane one last time. Caught by surprise, I screamed loudly. She then grabbed by my hair and pulled me up to look her in the eye. “Wait here, I’ll get your reward.” Dropping my hair, she left the room.

I curled up in a fetal position after she left, I would have hugged myself had my arms not been restrained. I started to cry as I realized I’d just been used, like an object that had fulfilled its purpose. I tried to tell myself to get used to it, that this was my life now, but it was difficult to say the least.

The door opened again and the woman was back. With a wink she set down a bowl fun of mushy brown paste, which I recognized as slave feed, a food not well known for flavour. I leaned down and started licking it, since I couldn’t use my hands. It tasted as bland as I expected it to, it certainly didn’t seem like much of a reward. Still, as slave I have to take what I am given.


Story Teller

Story Teller

Mainly the story writing alter ego of 'confessionsofPOFer' not always. Writing about whatever takes his fancy at the time. Any similarity to actual people living or dead and all that jazz is purely coincidental. Probably. Think you can do better? email [email protected] to discuss having your work posted or even having your own blog. Think you could sell your work? check out our sister site

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The Slave Girl Sold

by Story Teller time to read: 16 min
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