Changing Status Pt. 02

And then, I felt her pause, removing her right hand from my erect breast to reach for a bottle of lube she had dropped beside me on the bed. A moment later, I realized that we were about to enter a new stage as I felt her fingers anoint my wrinkled anus. My mind was still deciding whether I liked that sensation when my cunt suddenly felt empty, and a second later her plastic penis was pressing against my asshole!

We were both still excited and panting, but somehow Ellie managed to say, "Pretend you're taking a crap, Suzie--really push down there!" It seemed an odd instruction, but my confused mind decided that she had given me so much pleasure that I ought to comply. So I flexed my muscles, telling my lower intestine to empty itself out--only instead of feeling empty, it suddenly was as full as my cunt had been a moment before! The head of that plastic intruder was lodged inside my asshole, which was suddenly contracting in discomfort. I unconsciously emitted a little cry of surprise and pain, and the woman driving that monstrous marauder stopped moving.

"Breathe, Suzie," she urged me, remaining absolutely still while holding my body tightly. I struggled to accommodate the intrusion, inhaling deeply and moaning very slightly. Her voice was reassuring, friendly, and yet slightly amused. "When you were a guy, how many times did you dream about fucking a girl's ass?" I grunted: how could I tell her that I had thought about doing that quite frequently, especially about cornholing the beautiful E.J.? Although I'd never had the nerve to even suggest it to a woman. "Well, now you know why the girl didn't want you back there, right? Don't worry, I've had dozens of guys quote fuck my sweet ass unquote when I was a slave, often when I was tied up and helpless. Once you get over the stretching, it CAN feel kinda good." Although I'd often dreamed of sodomizing Ellie with her permission, as a male I'd never actually done the deed; it seemed kind of cruel to bind a slave and force myself on her. Only now I could look forward to having innumerable guys fuck MY ass!

A long minute later, she began to very slowly pump in an inch, withdraw an inch, and then repeat the motion, gradually increasing the length of each inward and outward stroke. Ellie's arm surrounded me to resume toying with my left breast and nipple, and eventually reached down to fondle my clit again. The pain of my stretched anus faded while the sensation grew of being possessed, occupied, controlled by the beautiful person behind me. I hate to admit it, but after a few dozen strokes it felt so good that I really began to enjoy it, and for a moment imagined being Ellie's live-in lesbian lover, getting rammed fore and aft like this every night. Sigh... if only. And then I thought of the cartel looking for me, and I worried about exposing the love of my life to those murderous bastards.

By that time, we were both lost in the sensations, breathing heavily and moaning very slightly as we pumped and swayed back and forth, enjoying the sensations. Eventually we both sped up until she was frantically thrusting forward and I was urgently pushing my butt back against her. We didn't climax simultaneously--that only happens in fiction, and besides I was still too recently-transgendered to have any control over this new, female body. Nonetheless, our shared experience was fantastic. I ended up spread-eagled face down on the bed with the love of my life collapsed on top of me, still connected by that strap-on as well as by a thin layer of perspiration. I mentally promised myself to remember this feeling every time I had to give my ass to some guy while enslaved--that would make it much more bearable mentally.

After we caught our breath, by mutual consent we took a long shower together, gently kissing and fondling in between soaping each other. I thanked her solemnly for taking all three of my virginities in such an enjoyable way, and she thanked me for the use of my body. After a simple meal of salad and sandwiches, she went over the process by which I would sell that body to a slave market the next day, and we cuddled together as we curled up in her bed, mine being too messed up for use! I stayed awake a long time, recalling old memories of what happened to female slaves when they were auctioned off...

*****

By late morning the next day, Sunday, we were in her car, me still dressed in the nondescript sweat clothes and tennies that Deputy Marshal Vance had given me Friday night. At her suggestion, I had given myself an enema and shaved my pubic hair and under my arms in preparation for what was to come.

We made only one stop, visiting her paralegal, Ginny, who was a notary public. I produced my fake ID, told Ginny that I was willingly indenturing myself for college money, and then scrawled my new signature as Susan J. Twinning on a power of attorney I had already read. The wording was very familiar from my previous work at the slave market; it authorized Eleanor J. Hastings, attorney at law, to

Consign the person executing this power of attorney to indentured servitude for any period of six months to eight years, under the provisions of Texas Civil Code, Chapter 5 Conveyance, 5.309.2, Voluntary Indenture.

Just reading those words struck terror in my heart, but it seemed like the best way to hide. Ellie made me feel a little better by telling Ginny, "Once Suzie is sold, I'm going to give you her I.D. and the paperwork for her account to bank the sale price. That way, when she gets out, you'll be her second point of contact. Let's agree on a password to identify her--how about 'Wally?'" (The thought that she would use my former nickname as a password when she didn't even know my true identity gave me a warm fuzzy.) As an aside, she explained that "Ginny and I both work for Morris, Kingsley, and Simmons--that's a law firm in Dallas. When you finish your indenture, come find us, OK?"

She parked outside the familiar bulk of my former employer, the Longhorn Slave Market, and silently looked at me, wondering if I were ready to begin. I took a deep breath, stepped outside of the car, and undressed my still-unfamiliar female body, carefully folding my clothes and laying them on the front seat of her car. I wondered when if ever I would be permitted to wear clothes again.

Elly collared and cuffed me, then led me, mentally quailing but outwardly calm, towards the main entrance. My ID and the power of attorney quickly earned me another collar, this one with the heavy bulk of battery and shock apparatus, as well as different, leather cuffs to secure my wrists. She gave me a brief hug, promising to return the following day for my auction. Then I was alone, with a bored-looking slave handler named Jim, who I didn't recognize, steering me inside with his fingers up my butt crack and his hand gently cupping my right buttock. How often had I used the same grip to walk naked women around when I worked here?

You've probably read about the procedure for slave grading a girl, so there isn't much to tell. It being Sunday, Jim walked me through medical examination, birth control implant, tattooing my new Slave Identification Number inside my lower lip, and entering my (fictitious) data into the national slave registry.

Before he began data entry, Jim ordered me to kneel and crawl backwards under the computer console. Knowing what was coming, I mentally braced myself so I didn't hesitate when he casually unzipped, whipped out his cock and balls, and sat down in front of me, ordering simply "mouth." Not wanting a shock, I started running my tongue and lips all over his equipment before taking a deep breath and engulfing as much of his semi-hard erection as I could. The taste wasn't too bad, but the act of swallowing him went against a lifetime of male attitudes. I told myself to think about making love with E.J., breathing around the edges as I quickly rocked back and forth along his shaft with my tongue fluttering against it. Judging by how quickly his prick expanded and grew more rigid, I must have been doing something right. Almost before I knew it, he grabbed the back of my head with one hand, holding me with his dick poised at the entrance of my throat as I felt a series of salty flows.

I managed to retain most of this revolting goo in my mouth, so when he released me I sat back and stuck out my tongue so he could see the load. He nodded, commending my performance as a "good cocksucker" as he petted my head while I tried to swallow as much of it as possible. Then, thankfully, he offered me a water bottle to rinse it down.

"Dinner" was the usual bowl of slave kibble, consumed while kneeling, thighs wide apart, on the hard concrete floor. Another slave handler on the night shift took over from Jim, necessitating another blow job, but soon enough the new guy (Bill, I think? I hardly noticed the nametag despite our intimacy) deposited me in a chain-link fence, locked enclosure that contained four bolted-down cots and three other naked girls, all of them wearing the purple collar band that indicated they were only being slave graded, not sold, whereas I had a red band for pleasure slave. Bill or whatever he was called released my wrists and locked me in with the three others.

My cellmates were clearly aroused by their experience, with nipples erect and the gleam of a sticky liquid on their thighs. They were talking, excitedly, about what a turn-on it was to be naked and controlled by hunky guys who could fondle them at will. I imagine it might have been a turn-on, if I knew that I would regain my freedom and clothing the next day. Their discussion was slightly dampened when, in response to a question, I told them I was up for sale, but apparently the thought of that only increased their arousal. They finally shut up when another wrangler arrived, several hours later, and told them to knock off the talking and get a good night's rest so they would look their best for the slave merchants in the morning. Soon thereafter, the lights went out and after some whispering and giggling silence finally fell. THEY were having a great adventure, a passage into womanhood upon reaching age 18, but I stayed awake for hours, worrying about the alternatives of being caught by the cartel or enslaved as a sex object.

*****

Early the next morning, the lights came on and a buzzer sounded. Knowing what was expected, I folded my blanket and knelt, fingers interwoven behind my neck and knees apart, facing the cage "door." A bored handler marched four nude and bound young women first to a pee grate and then to the bathroom, where he allowed us to brush our teeth (with disposable brushes) before again latching our wrists together, behind our backs, and hooking them up to ropes that forced us to bend over, torsos parallel to the floor and boobs bobbing. The three teenagers gasped as he shoved lubricated nozzles up their butts and gave them each an enema. Having been in his position many times, I was unsurprised but still felt uncomfortable as the cold water quickly filled my innards. After that, I was happy to be released and allowed to void myself into a commode. Back to the cage we went, this time given bowls of tasteless slave kibble. Eventually, other slave handlers appeared and resumed control of their helpless, nude charges.

Next stop was a round of Slave Yoga on one of the battered wooden platforms that I recalled so vividly from my time working here. Being naked in the chill of an air conditioned building, it actually felt good to dance around and flaunt my new body in various obscene positions. One such position was called "Cheerleader Toe Touch," which involved sitting on the platform, thighs and legs spread as wide apart as I could manage, with my hands reaching out to seize my ankles. As I leaned backwards slightly, this exposed my breasts, my cunt, and my asshole to the attentive view of the assembled slave wranglers--all of whom were sporting hard-ons in their jeans. The appropriate slave mantra we had to repeat was "Choose any hole--my body is your playground!" Damned if the combination of exercise, dirty come-ons, and aroused males didn't make me lubricate down there.

When we finished, the nude cavorting young women were split into two groups. As I had expected, most of the teenagers who were there only for slave grading were marched off to be exposed to the view of slave merchants and gawkers alike, while I and several other genuine slaves would have to wait. In the long run, waiting was to my advantage because the slave merchants inevitably graded low when looking at a bunch of wannabe teenagers. However, I knew that I wouldn't be left to my own devices. Instead, as I had expected, the slave wranglers put me and two other girls with red-banded collars "on to marinate" for a while.

Marinating began with the command to "DISPLAY!" which required me to turn away from the handlers, move my legs shoulder width apart, and then bend over as far as I could until my head was down between my legs. In that stressful position, I saw and felt a lubricated butt plug and vibrator inserted into my two openings, then held in place with a kind of G-string that the wrangler wrapped around my thighs. After that, I had to kneel on a thin rubber mat with my legs once again spread and my torso bent back. My wrists and ankles were strapped to columns behind the mat, holding me wide open and on full display. I remembered putting sluts [hey! That's what we're called, OK?] into this position when I had worked here; the last step was to turn on the vibrators in both lower openings, which proceeded to switch on and off at random schedules. Now I was acutely conscious of every millimeter of my new female body, especially my protruding boobs and nipples and my dripping nubbin and "snatch." No doubt about it, I was a female slave in heat.

Periodically, a bored slave wrangler would walk up to me, unzip his jeans, and order me to "mouth." That was the signal to do everything I could think of to bring him off orally; each time I succeeded, I had to go through the degrading procedure of sticking out my tongue and waiting for permission before finally swallowing his white protein shake. Some of these guys also used a trick I had learned while working there, slowly rubbing the tip of one boot against my open and dripping snatch to increase the friction.

An hour being tied and used like that and almost any woman, however new or resistant to slavery, would become accustomed to being fully exposed and casually used to pleasure free men. I, of course, did not have a lifetime of modesty and chastity to unlearn, but the sensations of my new body still brought me to a slow boil, eager to come and therefore willing to do anything a wrangler suggested, however lewd or disgusting. My body's reaction to all of this helped overrule any remains of my masculine identity.

*****

Finally, a wrangler whose nametag read "Bob" released me, ran me through another series of Block Moves, then marched me off to be put on public display. This meant Devoxer sprayed down my throat, hands cuffed and tied above my head, with my legs gently kicked apart and restrained in an inverted "Y" posture. Bob extracted the vibrators out of my lower openings, rapidly manipulated my labia, clit, and nipples, urged me to think dirty thoughts, and left me to the examination of the crowd. The actual slave merchants, many of whom I recognized from my time working there, weren't a problem--at most, they stuck two fingers up my cunt to check how lubricated I was. On the other hand, anyone who could prove being over the age of 18 could buy a ticket to the examination for fifty cents. As always, a gaggle of older, teenaged guys, making lewd comments about how much they'd enjoy putting their dicks into various openings, fondled my helpless body. This attention kept me panting and dripping, which was probably beneficial to make me appear horny. On the other hand, it was sometimes terrifying to be mauled by horny, sweaty guys, but at least Bob and the other wranglers discouraged the most extreme invasions of my body. It wasn't fun, and I was enormously relieved when Bob finally released me and escorted me to join the queue of naked young bodies awaiting auction. I learned that my brand new body had been graded Choice Minus, which, given my instinctive revulsion from sexual contact with men, was more than I had realistically expected.

He sprayed Devox antidote into my mouth and handed me a cool bottle of water, but insisted that I keep fondling myself while waiting, trying to maintain my arousal before final sale. I knew he was right to do so, so I frantically toyed with my body, eventually humping Bob's leg, rubbing my crotch against the rough jean fabric to keep myself turned on. His face reflected a sympathy for my desperation, and gently stroked my flyaway hair while keeping his leg straight for my use. Bob also spoke calmly, in a low voice, reminding me of how to act when I got to the auction block.

All too soon, it was my turn for auction, and Bob sent me through the flapping door with a brisk slap on my naked butt. My pulse was reverberating in my ears as I dashed onto the auction block, assumed the Present position with legs apart and hands interlaced behind my neck. My artificially-stoked arousal prompted me to declare, much to my own surprise, "Please fuck me in all my holes!"

For the next few minutes, I moved like an X-rated puppet, displaying myself obscenely in response to instructions from the auctioneer, whom I recognized from previously working together. He was offering me for an indenture period of five years.

Before I knew it, the auction was over, giving total control over my body for the next five years. I heard the auctioneer repeat "eighty-five thousand dollars" three times before he declared me "Sold!" Strung out on adrenaline, I almost collapsed with relief that it was finally over. As I dragged myself over to Bob, who stood waiting next to the auction clerk, I caught sight of a smiling E.J. who was giving me a thumbs up. For the first time in several hours, I felt embarrassed, flushing deeply and nodding to her as I staggered to Bob. He quickly restrained my wrists behind me and helped the clerk double-check my collar data and the SIN inscribed inside my mouth. Shaking in reaction to the emotional strain, I leaned heavily on the wrangler as he led me out of the auction room.

*****

I recognized my new owner, "Harry" Herring. He ran various sleezy enterprises, most prominently a slave brothel in Corpus Christi. He and his minions cruised the slave markets for young, innocent-looking women whom he could turn out as whores, call-girls, and street walkers (all of which were legal if they were collared; they couldn't be charged with soliciting or prostitution because they were incapable of refusing to have sex when pimped out.) Clearly, he intended to use Suzy who was (although he didn't know it) only about 60 hours old and felt completely vulnerable.

The first step of course was to impose his will on me, beginning (as I had expected) by having me branded. Harry had Bob march me into the sweltering-hot branding room--the same place, I reflected ruefully, I had taken E.J. after SHE had been auctioned off. I offered no resistance as I was strapped down, thighs apart, onto the elaborate framework. The head smith, who had been assistant when I worked there before, extracted a glowing-yellow branding iron in the shape of a triangular longhorn skull with two, projecting, hooked horns coming from the upper corners of the skull. I had heard that my former employer had substituted a new, much smaller brand for the massive, spreading one used on my best friend's ass. That was small comfort at the moment, when I was facing the possibility of this thing being pressed against me, followed by a smaller brand, reading "Ch" for Choice, to be stamped into my abraded skin just above the skull outline.