TXR-92U-2280 – Call Name: Sara – Part 1

TXR-92U-2280 – Call Name: Sara – Part 1


She would blow him and he would tell her things about what is going to happen.”

“Did he make the slave swallow his cum?” a new voice asked. “This slave always had to swallow when she sucked off a master and it made her feel sick inside.”

“Men always make slave girls swallow.”

Sara was mystified. She knew the words that they were using – cut, blow, suck, come, swallow – but she could not fathom their meaning in this context. For a moment, she pondered adding her voice to the discussion, but she was embarrassed to reveal her ignorance.

“This slave heard that it will hurt bad when she gets her cherry is popped,” said a different voice. “Will it? Have any of these slaves had their cherries popped yet? Does it hurt?”

A new voice answered: “This slave hasn’t had her cherry popped yet, but she heard that, too.”

“A master said that this slave was going to be ‘deflowered.’ Is that like getting her cherry popped?”

“This slave heard that they are the same thing. A mistress told this slave that it will hurt, but it might not be really bad.”

“A trainer said that sluts are special, so they can't be punished on their tits, on their cunts or on their asses, and also the overseers can’t use anything that leaves a mark, so it is good that all of these slaves are sluts – it won’t hurt as bad when they are punished.”

A quiet voice asked, “When will this slave be taken back to her stable? She wants to see the other girls in her stable again.”

The first voice that answered a question spoke again: “These slaves are never going back to their stables. These slaves will never see all those other girls, or each other, ever again. Tomorrow, these slaves will be sold into different houses. Then, men will fuck them and it will hurt.”

No one spoke. For Sara, the day had happened so fast that she had not even considered its implications, but the voice in the dark caused her to think. For as long as she could remember, she had lived in a dormitory with 59 other girls. She knew each of them, knew each of their names. She had fought and laughed and cried with all of them, shared secrets and ideas and fears with all of them.

Now, there were only four left: Jasmine, Tracy, Electra and Jordan. Tomorrow, they would be gone andSara would be completely alone. She felt absurd for having imagined basking in pleasure as the terror of realizing her place in the world turned her guts into ice.

Tears welled up in her eyes and she began to cry. She took a fold of the blanket between her teeth and bit down hard, trying to silence her sobs. All around her, she heard the other girls weeping, too.


The morning began abruptly, with a blast from an air horn. Stable mistresses with prods dangling from their belts were moving among the stacks of cages, opening locks.

“Up, bitches! Up!” shouted the woman holding the horn. “You will move directly into the showers. You will clean yourselves thoroughly using soap and shampoo.

“Each of you will be given a razor. You will shave yourselves under your arms and between your legs. You will be bare and smooth in both of those places so that the buyers can see what they are going to be bidding on.”

Sara joined the press of naked slaves moving towards the showers. The frigid spray bit into her skin like needles, and she shivered while she cleaned and shaved herself. Next, the slaves were driven down a dim concrete hallway and then into a room lit with dazzling white light. Each of them was secured atop a low platform with ankle cuffs that held their legs apart, while their wrists were bound together and drawn up tight above their heads, making their entire body available for inspection.

Attendant slaves moved from girl to girl, drying and styling their hair, touching up the shaves they had hastily given themselves, and applying warm oil to the folds of soft flesh between their legs, making them glisten.

Sara gasped as the attendant massaged the oil into her sex. She looked down at the attendant, who did not meet her gaze. A stable mistress supervising the work immediately touched her prod against Sara’s tummy.

“Mouth shut,” she said. “If your mouth opens to do anything except show off those pretty white teeth, you have made a mistake.”

Sara locked her eyes on the waist of the girl displayed in front of her, her face a mask of passivity.

Satisfied, the woman did not burn her.

With the slaves prepared for their viewing, the attendants withdrew and men and women began to filter into the room in groups of two or three. They walked slowly among the slaves, glancing down at tablets they carried and speaking quietly among themselves. A pair of men approached Sara.

“Okay, who have we got here,” said the first, sliding a finger across the surface of his tablet. “Says the call name is ‘Sara’ – 32B-22-34 – got a 9.2 on the Moore-Fordham index. She’s 5’5” – 108 pounds. Blue eyes. Bred at the Trexler stable in Kingman. Age 18. Certified virgin. Hymen intact.”

“Nice ass,” said the other man, walking behind her.

Spreading her cheeks, he revealed the tight brown bud within. He pressed tip of his finger against it.

Sara shivered.

“She feels really tight,” he continued. “I’m not to sure about the pixie cut, though. I like being able to get a good grip on a girl’s hair – more control that way.”

The first man took hold of her hair and yanked her head back sharply.

“I don’t really think that’s an issue,” he said. “Besides, I think these lithe girls look better with short hair.”

The other man nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “Who’s next?”

A man and a woman were waiting to inspect her. The man began by pinching her nipples.

“Perky,” he said, lightly slapping her breasts to watch them move. “Still, I like girls with a little more meat up top. Also, I’m not sure about the black hair. Her skin is so pale, it makes her look a little goth – don’t you think?”

“Remember, Schneider wanted to find some new looks,” said the woman, glancing down at her tablet. “We’re already pretty well stocked with D-cup blondes.”

“Hey, guys like D-cup blondes,” he replied with a smile.

The woman rolled her eyes and walked away.

Next, three men approached her, staring intently at the tablet they carried.

“I just don’t get it,” one of them said, looking up at Sara. “Why bother providing all that academics for a slut? What’s the point?”

“Well, we always end up having to do some rudimentary literacy training anyway, for tasking, so we’d get a jump on that whole process with her,” said another.

“Sure,” said the first man. “I just don’t think it’s worth paying any extra, that’s all.”

“Ah, found it,” said the third man, still looking down at the tablet. “She scored really high on her initial intelligence testing, prior to her first Moore-Fordham assessment. If she wasn’t a looker, she would have ended up as a high-function utility for sure.”

“Nice muscle tone,” said the second man, running his hand along her body from the elbow to the knee. “Who was the breeder?”

“Trexler International,” answered the third man.

“They do make a quality product,” said the first man, slowly surveying the slave – his eyes lingering on her vulva, her breasts and her face.

Next to approach her was a single man, talking on his cell phone.

“Yeah, I found her,” he said. “Short, dark hair – small tits? Yeah, this is her. Yeah, she looks good to me. Hang on – I’ll send you some pictures.”

He held out his phone and pressed a button. It flashed, blinding Sara. He held down between her legs, its lens facing up towards her sex and it flashed again. Next, he moved it in close on her breasts. Flash. Her ass. Flash. Her face. Flash.

He pressed a few more buttons, then resumed talking.

“You should be getting them right now. What do you think – nice, huh? Yeah, I know, that’s a great ass.”

After four hours of constant attention, the buyers cleared the room and the attendants returned. They fed and toileted the slaves while still in restraints, then cleaned them up. The buyers were re-admitted and continued to touch, fondle, grab, pinch, slap and probe the slaves for another four hours. When it was done, Sara and the other girls had lost any sensation in their limbs, the painful cramping having long since given way to numbness.

Released from her bonds, Sara’s limp body collapsed into the hands of three waiting attendants, who gently lowered her onto the floor and began to vigorously massage her arms and legs. Regaining the feeling in her limbs proved to be nearly as painful as losing it.


Sara stood naked, except for heavy leather cuffs at her wrists. They were connected by a length of chain that passed through a steel loop atop a waist-high hitching rail. She had watched 23 girls disappear through the heavy black curtains in front of her – she was number 24. From beyond the curtain, she occasionally heard the muffled shouts and clapping.

She felt her heart pounding in her chest. She knew that in another moment, she would vanish through those curtains and her fate would be decided on the auctioneer’s stage.

A burst of applause signaled the end of the previous auction. Sara felt dizzy. A stable mistress opened the lock that bound her to the hitching rail. She swayed. A beautiful blonde woman in a sparkling gold evening gown stepped back through the curtains and motioned to her. The stable mistress took her by the arm and brought her forward.

Sara looked back over her shoulder at the six remaining girls. Jordan, Tracy and Electra were already gone, but she saw Jasmine, looking back at her.

“Goodbye, Sara,” she said, a hopeful smile on her face.

Then Sara was standing in front of the blonde.

“Listen to me...” she paused, glancing down at her tablet, “...Sara. The next few minutes are going to be the most important time in your entire life. The higher the bidding goes, the more valuable you will be to the buyer. The more valuable you are to the buyer, the less they will want to see you damaged. Do you understand?”

Suddenly feeling nauseous, Sara managed a quick nod. The blonde looked unconvinced. She grabbed the chain that connected the slave’s wrist cuffs and led her through the curtains.

Sara emerged onto a small stage and was immediately blinded by spotlights that shone down on her from above. Eyes shut, she stumbled after the woman down a short catwalk to a tall metal pole. The woman dropped the chain into a metal loop on the side of the pole. It snapped shut and rose towards the ceiling, pulling the slave’s hands up over her head.

“Ladies and gentlemen, where shall we start the bidding for this fine filly, bred by Trexler International just across the border in the great State of Arizona,” an amplified voice boomed. “Do I hear $12,000? $12,000? $12,000? $11,000? Do I hear $11,000?”

The blonde woman leaned close, her flawless smile never leaving her face. She hissed into Sara’s ear: “Show the merchandise, you cunt, or they will cut you up for dog food.”

Sara had panicked. Eighteen years of strict discipline prevented her from making a futile attempt to actually flee back through the curtains, but she was incapable of moving.

“Do I hear $10,000?” the booming voice continued. “Surely someone will give me $10,000 for this versatile specimen.”

The woman was in her ear again: “Sara, if you don’t start moving right now, you will go off strip and you will end up in some dingy fuck club taking it up the ass ten times a day.”

The auctioneer continued: “She is well-suited for intimate service, breeding or even top-end utility work.”

“Did you hear what he just said, Sara?” the woman snarled. “He said ‘utility.’ Do you know what they do to utilities, Sara? They circumcise them. They cut out their clits. That will happen to you tonight if you don’t move that ass!”

Sara was nearly blind and deaf. Although she was standing in the convergence of four powerful spotlights, the room seemed pitch black to her, and the sounds were even more muffled than they had been when she had been waiting behind the curtains.

All that changed in an instant. She could hear the quiet chirp of a cell phone in the very back row of the hall. She could see the face, the eyes, of every person sitting in the audience, looking at her, looking at the woman in the gold dress, looking down at the glowing tablets in their hands. She recognized that in this one instant, which was already slipping away from her, she could shape her own future. It was a profound realization for a slave that had never thought beyond the present moment, and never had any goal except to avoid humiliation and pain.

She frantically searched her memories for something she could use. During her fashion training, she had been taught to walk in peculiar shoes with tall, narrow heels. They caused her to have a distinctive, swaying gait, which she was instructed to accentuate through the placement of her feet as she walked.
At the time, it seemed like a useless exercise that she mastered only to avoid the stable mistress’ prod, but she wondered if this was expected of sluts. She rose up to the tips of her toes, swung around to face the audience and paraded around the pole, her hips gyrating.

“Okay, folks! Here we go!” cried the auctioneer. “Probably just a little stage fright – it happens to the best of them! Do I hear $10,000? $10,000! Do I hear $12,000? $12,000!”

Sara remembered another lesson, from her interpersonal skills class. Like all slaves, she had been trained from a young age to keep her eyes low, and never to meet the gaze of a master or mistress. However, the instructor explained that sometimes slaves tasked with providing “intimate services” – a term that went unexplained – were expected to make eye contact with the person that they were serving. She had been made to practice and it was an intensely uncomfortable experience but, again, she decided it must be expected of a slut.

She flung her eyes out into the audience, lingering in particular on the faces of older men wearing suits and ties while she shaped her own face into a pensive, pouting mask.

“Do I hear $15,000? $15,000! Who will give me $20,000? $20,000!”

Having strutted as far as her bonds would allow, Sara twirled to face the other direction, deliberately pushing her breasts hard against the cold metal pole as she turned. As she hoped, her nipples bloomed into firm, dark points, which she thrust out at the audience. Men started shouting their approval.

“No doubt we’ve got a hot little piece of merchandise right here!” the auctioneer hollered. “Who will give me $25,000 for this prancing filly? $25,000? I have $25,000! Do I hear $30,000?”

Sara reversed again, and put the pole between herself and the curtains, then pushed out her legs, bent at the waist and arched her back, showing off her ass. The audience clapped and howled.

“$30,000! $30,000! Do I hear $35,000?”

“Spank this slave!” Sara shouted at the woman in the sparkling gold dress.

“What!?” she replied, incredulous.

“Spank this slave hard!”

The woman delivered a firm slap to Sara’s ass.

“$35,000! Do I hear $40,000?”

“Again! Harder!” she cried.

Smack! The audience cheered.

“Oh, my!” the auctioneer marveled. “We really have something special here tonight! I have $40,000!$40,000! Who will give me $45,000?”

Smack! Sara’s eyes sought out one of the glaring spotlights and she stared into it, unblinking.

“$45,000! I have $45,000! Do I hear $50,000?”

Smack! The crowd was wild.

Tears began streaming down Sara’s face as she continued staring directly into the beam.

“$50,000! I have... $60,000! I have $60,000!”

The crowd was on its feet, cheering. Bidders pressed phones to their ears, shouting to be heard.

“$65,000? I have $65,000! $65,000!”

Smack! Sara’s ass glowed red from the abuse.

“Do I hear... $70,000! I have $70,000! Do I hear $75,000?”

The crowd was frantic, pumping their fists in the air and shouting, urging the bidders on.

“Will anyone give me $75,000? $75,000? $75,000 for this feisty little dynamo?”

Smack! Sara looked back over her shoulder, her face wet with tears, her lip trembling. The crowd exploded.

“$75,000! $75,000! I have $75,000!”

Sara twisted away from the blonde in the gold dress and fell limp against the pole, hanging from her wrists as sweat and tears flowed down over her breasts.

“Do I hear $80,000? Will anyone give me $80,000? $80,000? A remarkable performance from aremarkable property that is sure to satisfy your guests. $80,000? Anyone?”

Sara looked up at the blonde, who met her gaze with an approving wink.

“$75,000 going once! $75,000 going twice! $75,000 going three times... Sold! Sold to the gentleman representing Helios... Helios, the new home of one of the finest properties ever to be auctioned from this stage!”











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