The Forever Hangover

A hen party in Las Vegas is incomplete these days without a visit to the Slave Shack and that is just what Phoebe, Claire, Andrea, and Bride-to-be Marla were doing. They had been up all-night partying and reminiscing. Though they had all had a bit too much to drink they had all their faculties. They were all feeling supremely mellow.

"Oh, my, girls, this is so decadent!" offered Phoebe as they surveyed the infamous human flesh market.

They toured the display cages holding naked men and women. All the nudity was almost overwhelming, yet as unobtrusively as possible, they compared themselves to the displayed naked women. They all seemed so gorgeous, with their hair down, their pubic hair trimmed to a narrow band, and price tags on lanyards around their long necks. True the prices were just suggestions, the starting figure for the auctioneer to launch from. The naked, male slaves with their completely shaved privates were an entirely different thing. Feasting on their incredibly toned physiques was a sheer delight. They spent an especially enjoyable span of time lingering before a cell that held an especially fit and well-hung young man.

"Imagine owning THAT!" gushed Andrea.

"That ass! That rod! That chest!"

"God, I so want to suck that cock!"

"Imagine his pumping power!"

"We should rent us some slaves before we go home. You've seen the ads? "If you don't cum you don't pay!"

"They sure know what a lady wants."

"That's nice and all, but I only have eyes for Richard," stated Marla firmly

"Spoken like a true besotted bride," teased Claire, "But why would you want a wedding ring when you can collar a stud like him and have him wait on you hand and foot until the end of your days!"

"Or until you tired of him and bought a hotter, younger, even studlier model!" gushed Phoebe.

"It's all academic anyway girls, none of us could ever hope to afford him," stated Marla with finality as she gazed at the price tag affixed around the male slave's neck.

"We should all get ourselves assessed!" put in Phoebe, ringleader of the quartet.

"Hey, that's not a bad idea!" said Clare, "Cosmo magazine had a story about this place. They put you through all the steps of slave assessment. They tell you how much you would probably bring at auction. They give you a photo album of all your slave poses as well as a data stick with all the market variables and a virtual reality slave auction simulator. A perfect gift for our boyfriends or fiancés!"

"I don't know girls," began Marla.

"Oh, don't be such a stick in the mud, Marla! We came to Vegas to have fun and, so far, you've mostly been a wet blanket. Look at us! We are at our sexual and physical prime! You can tease Richard, when, sometime in the future, after the honeymoon ends and he's being a dick, about how much some guy could have paid for you. Then you can take out the album and remind him of the good thing he has."

"Well, when you put it that way!"

Four voices echoed in bawdy laughter.

**

The quartet approached the assessment window a bored-looking, dowdy, middle-aged woman greeted them with a pasted-on smile.

"We'd like the full assessment package, please," offered Phoebe.

"Are you girls selling yourselves?"

"Oh, no. We're tourists. Marla here is getting married, and we are curious."

"Say no more. The basic package is one hundred bucks but the group discount for four is only three."

"What luck, there are exactly four of us!" said a relieved Claire.

There was motion towards pocketbooks, but Phoebe stayed their hand. "I got this, girls. This was mostly my idea anyway."

The trim blonde slid her Visa card into the reader.

The clerk behind the desk instructed each girl, in turn, to place her right arm through a round opening. As each girl did so, the clerk placed a band around their wrists that read "Guest." The clerk then presented the girls with a tablet computer with some sort of legalese on it.

"After you have read the document, place your thumbprint in the acceptance box at the end."

"What is this thing?" asked Marla.

"Just a formality. You agree to behave yourselves and not make a spectacle of yourselves by inappropriate pointing or interfering with the technicians. It's also a consent form for those choosing to sell themselves."

"Hold on!"

"Just a formality, love," said the older woman.

After every box had been filled and the last wristband went on, a door opened to their left. Just inside was a girl about their own age.

She took one look at their wristbands and stated, "Group assessment, girls?"

"Yes,"

"Let me guess, job promotion?"

"Bachelorette party!"

"Even better!" replied the college girl who smiled knowingly.

"OK," she handed each girl a padlock. "Strip off at that line of lockers. Take off everything except your wristband. When you push the button on the top, here," she demonstrated with a sample lock, "while putting your index finger on the sensor pad it will only open for you."

"Can I keep my engagement ring?" asked Marla.

"Sorry honey, everything, and I do mean everything has to come off. A slave has no use for modesty and none of them wear an engagement or wedding ring."

A few moments later the girls sealed their lockers and contemplated each other's nudity. Sure, they had been naked in front of each other in the past, but this occasion was different. Marla looked at the naked ring finger of her left hand and then considered her three companions. Was she prettier than slim and trim and photogenic Phoebe? Did she have a better butt than brown-haired and long-legged, Claire? Were Andrea's crimson locks and cat-like green eyes, superior to her own midnight tresses and crystal blue eyes? She would soon know. Already she saw herself with the others in a corner booth of a restaurant on the strip, comparing notes and imagining hitting the auction block for real.

"The assessors are ready for you now," stated the college girl. She led them to the next door which opened to a stark white room. There was an audible gasp from the four friends when they realized that there were men in this room, both naked slaves being assessed and processed as well as men in lab coats toting tablet computers.

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Marla as she hastily tried to hide her body with her hands

A rather handsome young man in a lab coat standing nearby chuckled, "I can see you girls are tourists. It's no big deal, I'm as inured to female nudity as the average doctor. I mean I can, of course, appreciate female loveliness such as yours, but I can completely decompartmentalize. Let's give you all a pleasant and memorable experience."

His handsome features and calm and honest demeanor won the quartet over. The women moved to the first station where they were weighed and measured, and their irises scanned.

"Now you are in our system," the man stated.

"Gosh," said Marla.

"Oh, you are assigned a random number. When you are done your tour, your documentation will have that number. We don't use names here and nobody ever has to know you were ever here. Unless of course, you want to tell them, "He finished with a wink.

The girls giggled and progressed to the next station where each was assigned a photographer before a background emblazoned with the Slave Shack logo.

At first, the girls were a bit intimidated and embarrassed about the poses they were expected to take. The photographers, however, were old hands at putting reluctant models at ease. With the right words and the right encouragement, the girls shed their inhibitions. All four ended in the same pose, kneeling, legs spread wide, hands grasping their ankles, breasts thrust forward heads held high.

"I'm not sure I want Richard to ever see those pictures!" opined Marla.

"Oh, you'll change your mind when you are an old crone," returned Andrea.

"Or after you've had a couple of kids!" added Claire.

"I can't wait to show George mine!" stated Phoebe, "after I buy a new sexy collar of course. What fun we will have!"

"I don't imagine it would be too much fun after a while if you wore that collar all the time," said Marla.

"Like a wedding ring is any better!" shot back Phoebe.

"Oh, come on Phoebe, marriage is a meeting of equals. A slave is never an equal."

"Really? Ever hear of topping from below?"

"What do you mean?"

"Often the one running the relationship is the one wearing the collar."

"I find that hard to believe, Phee."

"Oh, really, Marla? I'm sure you've seen the tee-shirt "I have the pussy, so I make the rules." slavery is often just like that."

"How would you know?"

"I've tried it out, that's why. George thinks he's in control when he orders me about, yet somehow, I get everything I want and George splurges for the most fantastic presents afterward!"

"Well, bully for you, Phee!"

"Like you've never submitted to limp dick Richard."

"Well, of course, I have! It's called compromise and Richard is all man."

Oh, come on! George smokes him at golf and tennis regularly. His report from the shower room regarding his manhood means you'll never have to worry about me trying to seduce him."

"Why you..."

"Girls!" interjected Andrea, "This is neither the time nor place, plus we have the last station to attend."

"Yes, you are right," said Phoebe.

"Maybe we all had a bit too much to drink," added Marla.

The next station was a very routine physical given by a woman doctor, who told them, "Don't worry gals, I don't put tourists in the stirrups." easing everyone's mind.

From there it was to a rest station where handsome collared male slaves provided expert massages while the girls waited for their photo albums and other goodies.

"Imagine owning one of these guys!" stated Claire avidly.

"Now THAT would be living!" gushed Andrea.

"Check out the bride-to-be," said Phoebe.

Marla had been so relaxed by the massage that she was now sound asleep and snoring softly.

"What a lightweight!"

"Are you the bridal party?" asked a perky young woman holding a bundle.

"Yes," replied Phoebe.

"Here are your albums. You can leave any time you like. That door will return you to the lockers and restroom."

"Thank you." Claire accepted the bundle. Each bore a headshot from their posing session. Sticking out of each book was a red price tag.

"If you girls are interested in selling yourselves, I can send a counselor your way."

"Can we take one of these hunky massage wizards with us?"

"No. But working here gives me access to them when I end my shifts. Makes going back to my boyfriend's dingy apartment a definite anti-climax."

"Yeah, we're going to pull our cash and hire some slave studs tonight!" exclaimed Andrea.

"The bride-to-be as well?" asked the clerk.

All eyes turned towards Marla; she was still dosing.

"Well..."

The clerk smiled and turned.

Claire, Andrea, and Phoebe watched her walk away before Phoebe said,

"Don't just stand there, Claire. Let's see how much we are worth!"

Claire handed out the albums and set Marla's down next to her recumbent form.

Each girl tugged out the price tag on the lanyard.

"Wow!"

"Aww, come on, I'm worth more than that!"

"George wasn't too far off on his estimate. That means he's been watching those slave auctions on the internet again!"

Everyone giggled.

"What's Miss Prissy worth?"

"Phoebe slid the tag out of Marla's album."

"Shit!"

"No way!"

"What did she do, sleep with the assessor?"

The raven-tressed, future bride was valued much higher than any of her bridesmaids. Killing their mood entirely.

"This won't stand!" stated an irritated Phoebe.

"Not much we can do about it," said Andrea.

"Or is there?"

Blonde Phoebe took Marla's lanyard and gently slipped it around her sleeping friend's head. She then took some scissors from a nearby tray and sliced off Marla's wristband.

"Phee!"

"Don't worry. We'll spring her in the morning. Just a bit of a scare for Miss Killjoy while we all get laid in peace."

The trio of bridesmaids giggled and signaled with a finger in front of their lips for the collared male slaves to not let the cat out of the bag. They giggled some more as they made their way out to the locker room.

More than an hour later, Marla awoke to find herself alone on the massage table.

"Phee, Claire, Andrea?" she called.

It took her a bit of time to process the fact that her friends weren't present.

"OK, girls, you've had your fun!"

The room remained mostly silent.

"Girls! This isn't funny anymore!"

It was then that she noticed the lanyard around her neck and that her wrist was missing its visitor's band!

"What the fuck?" she cried.

At that moment a man in a lab coat different from the others Marla had previously encountered and radiating an air of authority appeared before her.

"What do we have here?" he asked.

"Oh, sir, can you help me? I came here with some friends. They seem to have disappeared."

The man drank in the loveliness before him, noted the assessed price on the tag dangling from the lanyard around her neck, and saw nothing but dollar signs.

"Surely, if you came with friends, they wouldn't have abandoned you."

"Yet that seems to have happened."

"You say you are a tourist, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then where child, is your wristband?"

"I don't know. Someone must have taken it."

"Now why would anyone do that?"

"I don't know."

"Neither do I. I have a better theory. You are one of those girls with cold feet. The enormity of selling yourself is suddenly overwhelming and you're trying to wheedle your way out."

"That's not true! I was here with my bridesmaids. We were having a lark."

"Some lark! If they left you behind, they clearly aren't friends. But, of course, they don't actually exist."

"Yes, they do! Phoebe, Andrea, and Claire. The massage guys worked on all of us at the same time."

"Which gentlemen?"

Marla noted that the four slaves that had stood beside the tables had vanished.

"The slaves that were working these tables."

"Point those gentlemen out, please?"

In a panic, Marla scanned the room. She could not spy any of the handsome men who had worked on her and the others.

"I don't see them."

"I'm not surprised," said the supervisor.

"Wait! I have a guest album. That must be where this price tag came from."

"OK, let me see this album."

"I never got it. Maybe the girls have it."

"The girls that don't exist?"

"I'm engaged to be married! We came here as part of a hen party. Later were going to tour the strip."

"I think I've heard enough. Your "excuse" lacks even a scintilla of originality."

"Wait, my clothes are in one of the tourist lockers!"

"Which number is the locker?"

"I... I... don't remember."

"Uh hu."

The man waved at a large bruiser standing with his arms crossed.

"Duncan! We have a backslider here."

The huge man closed in on the naked woman and the suited, lab-coated supervisor.

"Yes, boss."

"Finish the processing of this would-be escapee. Place her in a prominent display. I suspect she will set off a sweet little bidding war."

"No!" squealed Marla as the huge man grasped her by the left arm.

"Shut it, slave!" barked the huge intimidating man, "I assure you I know every trick under the sun to extract great pain from you without leaving a mark."

Marla began weeping piteously.

"I said shut it, slave!"

The man led Marla away.

**

Andrea was the first to wake the next morning. Sunlight spilled from the widow above the strip and over the bed. The sun felt good on her naked body. Slowly she stirred. What a night it had been. The three slaves they had hired were worth every penny! She's selected the dark-haired one with incredible muscles and a winning smile. Never had she encountered a man so dedicated to pleasing a woman. The things he could do! If that tongue of his was sold in stores, no woman would ever need a man again! Still, his incredible oral gifts paled in comparison to his cock! Sadly, the bed next to her was empty. Lazily, Andrea scanned the other beds in the suite, both Claire and Phoebe were also alone. The slaves must have left at an early hour of the morning.

"Phee," she called softly.

The trim blonde rubbed her eyes and said, "Wow!"

"It certainly was money well spent!"

"I'll say."

"Wake up, Claire!" said both at once.

The redhead shook off the cobwebs.

"Damn, that was nice."

"On that, we all agree."

"What time is it?"

Andrea reached for her phone.

"Holy shit! It's almost two in the afternoon!"

"Marla!" exclaimed Phoebe.

"Oh, my God!"

"Call that place NOW!" screamed Claire.

Andrea's fingers dashed across the surface of her phone.

**

Cowed into silence by the huge enforcer, Marla endured having her pubic hair trimmed to a thin ribbon, having nanobots injected into her bloodstream via a hypodermic needle, and then being forced to shower and carefully wash all parts of herself. Whenever she tried to raise an objection or explain her circumstance, she was ignored and compelled to remain silent.

This can't be happening to me! she thought in desperation.

With all her processing complete, the huge enforcer took her back to the supervisor who eyed Marla carefully.

"Splendid Job, Duncan! We can't have her all teary-eyed and morose while she's on display. Give her a shot of the mood elevator happy juice and then place her in a prominent sales position. I suspect she will sell quite quickly."

"Whaa!" cried Marla.

**

"This is precisely why I do my own shopping!" stated the well-dressed, trust fund endowed, middle-aged, but still trim and handsome investor with a net worth just shy of half a billion, as he considered the breathtaking raven-tressed beauty on display at the Slave Shack. She smiled slyly yet beguilingly at him when she noticed he was appreciating her. There was a physique to die for, he mused. "Those clods who work for me can be trusted with the decorating and managing the real estate, but the works of art will always be MY bailiwick! Come early, assess diligently, and don't get sidetracked." He noted the base price on the lanyard around her neck and conceded that only in flesh peddling were assessed values fair. Retail had huge markups; furniture sold for one hundred times over what the furniture store paid. This dish, however! He could have her for years! When he tired of her, he could sell her to a breeder or place her on the resale market. Once she was properly trained her value would only appreciate. This wasn't like driving a sports car off the lot and losing thousands of dollars once you completed your first left-hand turn. What he paid for her now would double or triple once she was trained to the collar and leash! He strode away from the display area determined to win the bidding. He checked the overseas stock market on his phone as he headed off toward the bidding room.

**

Ending up only getting an automated message, Claire, Andrea, and Phoebe hurried into their clothes, piled into their rental car, and hurried to the Slave Shack. Their high rate of speed did not go unnoticed, a LVPD cruiser pulled them over.

"Shit!" exclaimed Phoebe.

The cop strode lazily toward the vehicle on the road shoulder.

"Where's the fire, ladies?"

"Sorry officer, Cliche, we left our friend at the Slave Shack last night. We can't reach them on the phone, and we are afraid something bad will happen to her."

"Well, that's a new one. License and registration."

Getting nowhere with the peace officer, the trio of bridesmaids held their tongues and accepted the eighty-dollar ticket with no complaint. Much to their consternation, the police cruiser shadowed them for much of the rest of their journey, so they traveled just under the posted speed limit, losing valuable time.

At last, the cop sped past them, and the girls hastened the last few miles to the entrance of the Slave Shack.