The Slave Games

As she took a short quick break before getting back to work, Chantelle took a quick glimpse at the clock as it ticked away towards her freedom.

It was friday afternoon, approaching five pm, and like so many others across the country she was looking forward to the freedom that the weekend temptingly offered.

Unlike most others however, Chantelle wasn't a nine to five worker, and as her steel collar and handcuffs attested, the freedom the clock offered wasn't metaphorical.

She sucked in another long breath through her nose, and then plunged forward. The thick dildo between her lips wet from her ministrations helping it slip deep into her throat. As she felt herself reaching the limit she finally felt her nose smash against the button.

She no longer needed to fight back the urge to choke, less than two hours ago she'd still had trouble with that, but after the rigorous practice she'd been performing of late, she could now rest assured that she could swallow sausage like the best of whores. Something new to put on the cv perhaps?

Her jaw ached from the strain as she pulled back after just a moment at the limit, sliding her lips back along so her lips gently wrapped around the head. Her neck hurt from bobbing back and forth, her tongue numb from being pressed down time and time again, her nose bruised from smashing into the button too vigorously. She was slowing down. She was reaching the limit of her stamina but as the clock ticked away she knew she must keep up the pace.

This obviously hadn't been her plan for the day when she woke up that morning. No secret wish to learn the finer points of sluttery, no application to dicksucker academy. She'd gotten up bright and early, ready for her part time job at the cafe, locked her house, walked to the subway, she stepped into the railcar and then everything had gone downhill from there.

The clock ticked down, four minutes and fifty nine seconds. She plunged forward once more. Back and forth back and forth. Each time she plugged away, her nose pressed the button at the end of her travel.

"Gentlemen, as we head into the last five minutes our final two contestants have been giving it their all for almost two hours. Please, give them a round of applause."

Oh, she'd forgotten to mention the audience.

Chantelle was a stunner. Her smooth sable skin was the envy of her friends, and her wavy afro looked almost effortless, though it most certainly was not. In summation, she was no supermodel but she knew she set some people's hearts aflame, and she liked that.

She'd read in the newspapers about women who'd been kidnapped and raped, and despite the mixed feelings she held about it, she always thought that it would be someone like her. She took precautions, never walked alone, always took public transport, and trained in women's defence.

It hadn't helped when a few strong men was all it took to manhandle her somewhere quiet where they could bundle her into a van.

She'd been brought here, wherever here was, after being bound and gagged. Blinded by a hood she'd been unable to offer anything but token resistance as she was shoved into a van and driven around for what felt like hours.

When they'd arrived she'd been taken to a bare concrete room and stripped before being chained by her neck to the ceiling. Finally her hands had been freed, but then the panic had set in. What was going to happen to her?

Most worrying was that the chain she had been locked into wasn't alone. There had been eleven other unfilled chains set into the ceiling with a collar at the end of each, steel devices that had been filled up as more women were brought into the room.

Once all twelve collars had been filled with naked nubile young women the men had returned with costumes for their upcoming debut. Black leather catsuits had been pooled beneath their kicking legs and under threat of being forced to go naked they'd begrudingly dressed themselves. High heeled boots had been locked around their feet, and leather mittens curled their hands into useless balls to render them truly helpless.

Only then, clad in skintight leather and helpless as babes, had a masked man entered and began to explain to them their predicament.

Of the twelve of them, eleven were set to be sold as slaves at the end of the day. To decide which of them would be free they would have to participate in a gameshow.

Obviously she protested loudly and wordlessly, but also recognised that she wasn't in any state to actually fight back. The only way to freedom would be to win it.

The man continued, explaining the rules with help of a diagram. A realistic looking dildo with a light sensor just behind the head and a button at the base at nose height. To successfully press the button the light sensor needed to be obscured, to reset the button the light sensor must be activated. They would have their hands handcuffed behind their backs and their lower body tied into a kneeling position over a saddle. Leaving them little choice, as was likely intended.

There were other rules, the masked man, explained, no teeth, no talking, no cheating. For each forbidden act, one hundred points would be deducted from their score, with a button press counting as one point.

The rounds would last ten minutes, at the end of the round the woman with the lowest score would be eliminated and would be sold as a slave at the show's end. With each round having a reset score, Chantelle quickly realised that the issue here wasn't about speed, it was endurance. With a ten minute ad break in the middle that meant they would be at it for two hours. And if any of them wanted to be free they needed to avoid being last for that entire time.

They'd been brought on stage shortly after, and a glance at the studio clock said three pm. She'd been missing for six hours. Hopefully her work had called the police to alert her, but she held no misplaced hope that they'd find her in such a short space of time.

As much as she hated it, she played along with their sick game. Even as the audience jeered and cheered as the timer started and their gags were removed she didn't try to retain her dignity by yelling at the freaks leering at her, instead she leaned forward and gently gave the twelve inches of silicone a test.

Unsurprisingly she fell extremely short of the goal. But as she heard another victim yell obscenities at the audience, she was certain that even if she earned no points that someone else would be eliminated this round.

But looking to the sides, she heard and saw her competition earn the first points of the game. Chantelle, lips still clamped around her cock and under no impression that she could win the latter rounds without experience, dove in for a second eyewatering attempt. This time she succeeded and gratefully pulled back to swallow a huge gulp of air.

For the first few rounds she took it easy, getting up to a steady pace and working to overcome her gag reflex and her fears. In those rounds the losers were women who'd not deigned to play, and were instead protesting in the strongest terms they could present. But after the three loudest had been thrown to the audience to be raped the remaining women were competing with forced enthusiasm.

Chantelle was a quick learner, and stayed just ahead of the rest of the pack. The hesitant were eliminated next, and she was forced to increase her pace to match the survivors. Luckily some of the more competent competition hadn't understood the assignment. The penultimate round saw the downfall of a woman who'd gone full pelt from the very beginning and was very clearly the quickest of all of them, but she hadn't paced herself. Now she joined the others who hadn't been able to keep up.

As Chantelle completed another rep of her throatfuck exercise she could hear the distressing moans of those very same women behind her, now entertaining the audience in a much more direct fashion. Every shriek gave her another reason not to lose.

She glanced up again and saw the timer tick down to the final minute. She had no idea the scores between herself and the blonde woman beside her, was she ahead? Woefully behind?

There was nothing left but to go for broke, and with a mad flurry she slammed back and forth with desperation, even as the jeering audience counted down, ten, nine, eight.

Finally the counter hit zero, and she stopped, face pressed against the wall, penis wedged down her throat. Ever so slowly she leaned back, let the dick fall from her lips for the first time in an hour, and fearfully glanced behind at the masked man who was their tormentor and narrator.

"Distinguished guests, viewers at home, give a round of applause for our finalists. But there can be only one winner. Here come the scores, in first place with a final round score of four hundred and seventy three is... Chantelle!"

The audience jeered. The poor blonde woman screamed obscenities. But Chantelle remained meek and silent as she was unstrapped from the saddle and turned to face the cameras.

She'd won.

"Commiserations to those who fell short of victory, we'll be back after the break for our slave auction and Chantelle's victory celebration!"

And then they were off-air. The place flew into a flurry of activity as the stagehands began to gather the other women from the audience.

Although a few petulant cries of 'just a little bit longer' the thugs were easily able to manhandle both the writhing women and their forcible paramours and bring the unfortunate women back onto the stage to join the now gagged blonde finalist. Each were brought back to their original saddles, though now turned to face the audience rather than the wall of cocks, and all were gagged once again.

The state of those returning from the crowd was varied. The luckiest of the losers had only been among the crowd for ten minutes. At the other end of the scale the earliest knockouts could barely be recognised beneath a thorough plastering of semen and lube that now coated their bodies, their eyes sealed shut and hair matted into disarray.

With viscous fluid dripping from their slack jaws it was clear that they'd been given as strenuous a workout as she had. Probably much worse really.

More stagehands arrived with buckets of sudsy water that were used to swab down the salty sluts. From their shivering and shrieks, the water must have been icy and hairdryers were brought on to bring them back to feminine beauty. After another five minutes of makeup the women looked as fresh as they had before they'd started, though the sluttishness of their makeup had increased somewhat.

Through this Chantelle had no idea what to do, to run in her still bound state seemed ill-advised, but she didn't know what else to do but stand and wait to be told what was next.

So she stumbled around on her high heels and tried not to get in anyone's way, right up until the masked man stepped back on stage and pulled her over to one side, carefully positioning her so she was standing beside him.

"Wonderful work earlier my dear," he whispered in her ear, "we'll go through the auction and ceremony and have you back home in no time, just follow my lead and we'll get you out of here as quick as we can."

Before she could respond he turned to the camera and pronounced; "Hello again and welcome back to our loser's auction and victor's ceremony. Soon we'll be giving lovely Chantelle here her prize, but before that we've got eleven lovely ladies just begging for a master. In just a few minutes you," he pointed at the camera, "could be the winner. To bid on any of our items from the show or in our general stock you can use our app or go online at-"

Chantelle zoned out. It was surreal, just standing beside this man as if it didn't have anything to do with her. Like she wasn't a victim. Like she hadn't just humiliated herself for the entertainment of these perverted freaks.

When the first woman was sold she was untied and let to stand, but only so she could be more easily tormented.

Her catsuit was unzipped to her crotch, where a vibrator the same length as the dildos they'd been sucking on was plunged deep into her quivering cunt. Unable to fit in fully, it protruded clearly, making a bulge in the leather catsuit that clearly displayed what was inside her.

Her wrists were uncuffed, but only to be forced down into a monoglove, her mittened hands protruding from the end wiggled but as always could do no more.

They bundled the poor girl's tawny mane into a ponytail, pulling it roughly through the top of a gwendolyn hood. Moments later her eyes were obscured behind a pair of goggles, securely strapped over her head and under her chin.

But for the unmistakable curve of her chest and the knot of hair above her head not an inch of this poor thing was identifiably woman, instead she was leather.

The leather being was dragged across the stage towards a collection of victim-sized crates, the first of which was wheeled out to meet her. Chantelle could see the crate had been lined with a soft foam, After the goons had placed her inside and nailed the lid down, there wasn't even a peep from the leather-clad cargo. The crates were truly and utterly soundproof.

She just watched as one after another the begging, exhausted, and violated women were packaged, boxed, and ready to be posted. She just watched, because if she intervened then the next bound and begging woman to be sold would be her. And then what would have been the point?

Finally, with fresh mascara running rivulets down her cheeks and a fiery look of vengeance in her eyes, the blonde who had rivalled her for top spot was restrained alongside the redhead that had come in third place. They had been mummified as securely as the others, but had yet to be placed in their crates.

"Gentlemen, that concludes our auction! Commiserations to those who missed out, but to you we wish good luck next time! Now finally we come to the climax of the evening. Our awards ceremony. In third place, Jaz! She displayed a strong technique early in the race, but unfortunately she didn't have the stamina to keep up. A word of advice for you Jaz, its all in the breathing. You've got to get that tempo right. Nevertheless, lets give her a round of applause as we present her with the bronze collar so that her new master can show off that skill."

A brute approached with a coppery ring clenched in one hand, and with the work of a moment, had secured it safely around the throat of the bronze medallist. Shortly after she too found herself face down in the cramped crate.

"The one with the golden hair and silver tongue is Kayleigh. She played the game strategically, but she just didn't have her gag reflex under control. But we can't deny she did her very best to overcome her handicap to take second place. We award her with the silver collar. May it make her that much more radiant as she kneels between her new master's legs. And don't worry Kayleigh, you'll get better with more practice."

Chantelle knew what was coming next. She thought about declining, knowing that she had no choice either way. It was just one final humiliation.

"And now the star of the show. She was very tentative early on but showed her appetite for learning as well as dick. Beating out all opponents as the fellatio mistress, the duchess of deepthroat, the queen of sluts. In first place and taking home the golden collar, its Chantelle!"

She heard the steps behind her. Felt the metal ring around her neck fall away only to be replaced by another that she knew without looking was plated in gold. Then to her relief, the release of the handcuffs around her wrists. She was free.

But the hands behind her didn't release her arms and kept a strong grip on her. Then to her alarm she felt a thick material snaking up her arms.

She didn't have time to question what was going on before a foreign object entered her mouth. To her horror she recognised it, the dildo.

She was being trussed up like the others!

As crucial moments passed her freedom, so temptingly close, was stripped from her as each new layer of bondage was applied to her. Her new gag was overwhelming, and humiliating with the knowledge that she had been willingly salivating over it just minutes prior. The vibrator in her pussy filled her to the brim. The straps tightened around her kicking legs felt like iron, and she knew even as she entered her final throes of struggle that she no longer had the willpower to break free from any of it.

She'd let them do this to the other women, stood idly by, now alone before the lurid gaze of the audience, it was her turn.

"I always find a woman is most beautiful in that moment when she realises her final hope is crushed. My condolences Chantelle, a great cocksucker you may be my dear, but clearly not blessed with wits. Gentlemen, for this most exquisite of items, bidding starts at one million."

She wept and cried but did not resist, even as her springy afro was pulled as far back as it could be, and the hood laced around her head, which she now saw held a pair of earbuds, muffling all sound, but allowed her to hear what the announcer was saying.

She realised that the other women, the other slaves, must have also heard precisely what was occurring. They all knew that her victory had never been anything more than folly.

Pointless. It had all been pointless. They'd pitted themselves against one another for the sole purpose of displaying their value at auction.

A final crate was pulled forward. Lined with foam. She would be bound, blind, mute, helpless.

She heard the final bid come in. A man approached with her pair of goggles, which she now could see had a pair of screens, the purpose of which she could guess at. She was lifted and placed face-down, the padding was at least soft on her knees.

A firm pressure on the back of her head pushed her down, and the muffled thump of hammers, and she was gone. The life she'd known. The friends she'd made. The dreams she'd held. Gone. Sold to the highest bidder.

"That's all for tonight folks! Join us next week when pit twelve women against the tide to see which of them can go with the flow to earn the title Queen of the Cumguzzlers! Until then, stay safe, and we'll see you next time."

Then silence. Only the shame of her naiveté to keep her company.

With the vibrator, the goggles, and the earbuds, Chantelle knew what would come next. Training would begin en-route.

As she slobbered and sucked a breath around her ever faithful companion, she knew one thing;

Her new master wouldn't need to train her to deepthroat.