Make Every Dream a Reality Ch. 01

"ATTENTION! ATTENTION!" The histrionic female voice cut through the silence.

Everyone's heads turned to the diamond-shaped loudspeaker on the ceiling. It glowed in red and rotated counterclockwise, bobbing up and down with every word.

"SLAVE 52-123-523: GO TO ROOM 7 IMMEDIATELY," the voice commanded.

Jim looked vacantly at the wall in front of him.

He glared at the white marble tiles for a few seconds as if he were staring at a TV screen. "Interesting," he thought. "That number's almost the same as mine."

Then came the doubt.

Had he forgotten his number?

Was it actually him that they were calling for?

He was absolutely certain that his number ended in 532. It had been months since they had assigned it to him.

But the months of conditioning had gotten to him, and the math whiz in him had lost his confidence.

"TO KNOW IS TO BE WRONG," the deep, metallic voice from the conditioning sessions echoed in his mind. "TO ASK IS TO BE TOLD. A SLAVE ALWAYS ASKS; SLAVES ARE INCAPABLE OF KNOWING." If he had really forgotten his number and they were calling for him, Jim definitely didn't want to be late. Getting punished for being wrong wouldn't be worth it.

He wrestled with himself for a few seconds, hesitating over what to do.

"TO KNOW IS TO BE WRONG. TO ASK IS TO BE TOLD. A SLAVE ALWAYS ASKS; SLAVES ARE INCAPABLE OF KNOWING," went the voice in his head again.

In the end, he conceded and looked down at his left arm. The tattooed barcode on his inner wrist clearly said 52-123-532, and not -523. He knew it! He had been right all along. It wasn't his turn yet.

Up until a few months ago, Jim had had a well-paying job, a nice room in a shared downtown apartment, and, most importantly, his own identity. People used to call him by his name. He could choose what to do, where to go, whom to spend his time with.

That already felt like an eternity ago.

A woman in her mid-30s with lush tawny skin and a longish, wavy, and mane-like hair of hair stood up from the bench behind him. She seemed smart, gentle, caring. Introverted. Unbelievably attractive.

Her features attracted the gaze of the armed guards and the dozen male slaves around her who were waiting for their turn to be called. Her small, firm-nippled breasts were jutted invitingly upward. Her legs were long, slender. The taut, lightly defined muscles on her stomach were neatly sculpted.

"Move, slave!" barked the guard.

Fighting the urge to conceal her bare breasts with her arms, the blonde made her way quietly through the wide hallway.

The sight of her naked body must have aroused one of the male slaves over the legally allowed limit. The chip implant in his head sensed it and sent several sharp surges of pain through his spine, legs, and arms. He screamed out in agony, curling his body against the pain, weeping.

Slaves were strictly forbidden from exceeding the allowed limits of arousal when not in the company of a handler or master, Jim recalled from his conditioning. The punishment was "the inescapable and immediate suffering administered at random intervals by the implant." The randomness made it impossible for the slave to get desensitized to the punishment.

The blonde flinched. She had never heard a grown man scream so harrowingly. She paused, hesitating to turn around out of fear it might anger the guard and get her whipped.

"I told you to move!" the guard yelled. She flinched once more before disappearing into room 7. Proud of himself, the guard looked in the direction of the wailing slave and added, "Serves you right, Romeo. Remember your place."

Jim knew the pain wasn't real.

Nothing was physically hurting the slaves.

The implant was merely sending false neural signals to the thalamus area of the brain. But knowing that fact alone made no difference in how the pain was experienced. Artificial or not, it felt completely real to the person feeling it.

Jim kept reminding himself that he was a slave now. "SLAVES ARE INCAPABLE OF KNOWING." He would rather remember it himself than have others forcefully remind him of it.

Not long ago, Jim was a junior researcher on those implants' early prototypes. Everyone on the R&D floor thought they were developing an A.I. system for managing herded animals. Little did they know those implants would eventually be used to enslave them.

"ATTENTION! ATTENTION!"

"SLAVE 52-123-532: GO TO ROOM 7 IMMEDIATELY."

Jim jumped up from the bench, panicked.

Something seemed amiss. The stated room number must've been incorrect. It couldn't be room 7. The blonde had just entered that very room. She was likely still inside. It must have been some kind of software glitch.

"Sir, this must be a mistake-- The room is-- The girl before me already went to--"

"Shut up!" the guard interrupted, reaching for his stun gun. "Go to room 7 --now! You heard what the voice said."

The conditioning echoed in Jim's head again: "SLAVES NEVER QUESTION. SLAVES ONLY ASK. TO BE ANSWERED IS TO BE COMMANDED."

Baffled by what had happened to the blonde who had been called up before him, and visibly anxious about what awaited the two of them, Jim slowly made his way to room 7.

"Step into the middle of the room next to slave 52-123-523," said the handler.

"Be a good slave, now, and stay silent. Spread your legs and hold your arms above your head." She was a tall brunette dressed in black leather, with veiny hands and a menacing look in her eyes.

The steel shackles around the blonde's ankles and wrists shone like jewelry under the fluorescent lights in the room. Her arms, restrained together by the wrists, hung from a hook on the ceiling. Her legs were stretched spread-eagle by metal chains anchored to the floor.

This cunning posture prevented her from moving while exposing her tits, pussy, and ass for everyone to observe. Like a gazelle in a meat-packing plant.

Jim longed to speak to her. She was the only one who could understand what he was going through.

But he nodded in her direction and kept his mouth shut instead. He knew better than to speak to a fellow slave without being allowed to, or he would face the sadistic and brutal whipping of his genitals in public.

He positioned himself next to her in the center of the room, as he had been instructed. The handler held Jim's hands together. She was so much stronger than her physique revealed. She restrained his wrists, then pulled a couple of chains from underneath two tiles on the floor and snapped the shackles around his ankles.

"Well, aren't you two a lovely pair?" she taunted. "So snug, so comfy!"

A push of a button on a switch on the wall, and the chains around Jim's legs and arms retracted, stretching him uncomfortably into the shape of a wishbone. "Don't you think about trying to escape, now!" she chuckled. "Not that you could even if you wanted to!"

"See this?" the handler asked, pointing towards the wall opposite. "It may look like marble, but it's actually tinted glass. The people on the other side can see every little feature of your pretty little bodies." She paused before adding, "Put on your best smiles, now! You're being auctioned today. Deal of the day: two for one. Soon, one of those people behind the glass wall is going to become your master."

Jim's heart skipped a beat in disbelief.

The blonde blushed so hard, her cheeks became deep red.

Despite the humiliation of conditioning, the two had never felt this objectified -- and scared -- in their lives.

"Presenting SLAVE 52-123-523," a sleazy salesman-esque voice sounded throughout the room.

"An attractively tanned Caucasian woman, 33 years old, at a height of 61 inches and weighing 91.21 pounds. Look at those silky thighs and long legs!"

Jim turned to the enslaved blonde and saw tears streaming down her face.

"But wait," the voice continued, "there's more! This hot plaything has the perkiest B-cups, the most amazing abs, and the tightest pussy. She drips exquisitely when aroused and cums with the cry of an angel. That slap-worthy butt conceals a certified virgin ass. Our appraiser made sure of it! With enough stimulation, she might even squirt! Trust us, we know a squirter when we see one!" As the voice went over the blonde's features, the handler traced her gloved hands along her body parts, showcasing each in a demonstrative fashion for the crowd behind the wall.

"Make her yours today and we'll throw in this stud -- slave 52-123-532 -- for free."

Jim wasn't sure what to feel. Being auctioned off as a slave was troubling enough, but how was he supposed to react to being given away for free?

The handler fondled Jim's balls and stroked his semi-flaccid penis exhibitively, interrupting his inner monologue, and reminding him of where he was and what was taking place.

"This male, also Caucasian, is 34 years old, 71 inches tall, and weighing 13.62 pounds. He has an average-sized 6.29-inch penis with an atheistic mushroom head and a straight shaft of reasonable girth. His low-hanging balls feel nice and firm, and fill up quickly, and those butt cheeks hide an ass as virgin as a bottle of olive oil!"

The blonde found the situation absurd, and the olive oil comparison so funny, she let out a tearful chuckle.

It occurred to Jim that he could listen to that chuckle all day.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we're starting the bidding at a cool five million for this lovely pair. Do I hear five-one? Five-one, now five-two, five-three, five-five from the gentleman in the back. Will you make it five-seven? Five-seven, five-nine, five-nine, going once, going twice... Sold to the lucky couple!"

Jim and the blonde woman looked at each other. They realized their fates would be intertwined from that day forward, and their lives would never again be the same.