I couldn’t believe I was doing this. Slavery had been legalized in my senior year of college, and ever since I had dreamed of the day I could finally buy my own slave-girl. After eight years of living well below my means, I had nearly paid off my college debt, purchased a modest home in a small city, and slowly amassed the exorbitant amount of money that was now stuffed in my wallet as I stepped into the nondescript warehouse building that housed the slave market. Slavers didn’t exactly take credit cards.
Once inside, I was surprised to find a rather sterile-looking lobby, not unlike a doctor’s office. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected- torches on the walls and the clatter of chains? A young woman sat behind a desk, her brow furrowed in concentration and her computer keyboard clacking away. I cleared my throat. She glanced up at me.
“Can I help you?”
I suddenly found myself nervous. I was silent for a moment before replying. “Yes, I was hoping to take a look at your available female slaves”.
“Ah. Just go through the door on the left and then the first door on your right. Good luck!”
I thanked her and did as I had been instructed. Once through the second door I found myself in a room that reminded me distinctly of the shelter where I had adopted my orange tabby cat, Creamsicle. Lining each wall were large kennels, and most were occupied by a solitary women. All of them were nude, and all had pretty faces, though their physiques varied a bit. There were a few fatter girls and a few who looked like they could have been personal trainers, but the rest were beyond thin- they looked as though they had been malnourished for a long time. All of them looked like they had never seen the sun. I was disappointed- none of these girls were matched to my tastes!
I turned to leave, and I stopped abruptly. In a corner kennel, a girl with astonishingly long ash blonde hair was staring at me, her hands pressed against the glass. Her eyes made me realize what was so off putting about the others- their eyes had been disturbingly vacant. None of them reacted to my presence in any way. But this girl was looking right at me- at least until her gaze met mine. She turned away slightly, smiling bashfully as her cheeks flushed bright red. I looked down at the rest of her. She had pale skin with just a hint of freckles dotting her shoulders and perky breasts with soft pink areolas and nipples that, at present, were wonderfully hard and swollen. Her pussy was permanently bare, like all slave girls. She had an ownership tag hanging from a piercing in her labia and a temporary tattoo with the emblem of the slave market on her mons. I could see from here that her pussy and inner thighs were slick with her juices.
I had also noticed that her stomach and thighs had just a little visible fat on them- which intrigued me more. She wasn’t overweight like some of the others, who were doubtlessly kept that way intentionally for buyers with particular tastes. She was fairly thin in fact. But she was a healthy kind of thin- a freewoman kind of thin. She couldn’t have been a slave for long. Which only made me wonder more- she clearly hadn’t been broken like the others yet, but she showed no signs of distress or resentment of her new station in life. There was a button on the wall with a sign that said “Ring for Assistance”. I pressed it. I needed to know more about this girl.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/c5pv9k/the_slave_girl_chapter_1_mf_bdsm_slave_noncon
Great start. The writing is excellent.