The consultant takes you to the beginning of the world's largest slave market -Well, we are there, and now I am ready to listen to your preferences, or I could offer my own options
I wanted to be a female slave working here. Is there any possibility I can get a job as a slave here?
The consultant listens carefully to your request, nodding thoughtfully at first. Then, he looks you up and down appraisingly, taking in the signs that you are healthy enough for such work. He motions to one of the guards stationed nearby. The burly man approaches, his expression unreadable behind a layer of perpetual indifference.
"This gentleman wishes to be employed as a slave girl here," the consultant explains curtly. "What do you think?"
The guard eyes you slowly and methodically, inspecting every inch of your body before finally shrugging noncommittally. "You seem healthy enough. Come with me." He turns on his heel and begins leading you deeper into the market, away from the rows of cages where prisoners await their fate.
The path winds through crowds of potential buyers and slaves alike. Some patrons mill about idly, others hurry from one part of the market to another with determined steps, their purpose written plainly on their faces. Slaves both fresh off the block and veterans walk with practiced ease among them, occasionally stopping to perform erotic dances or feigned acts of submission designed to catch someone's eye.
As you follow the guard through this bustling landscape, he takes you aside and motions for you to kneel before him. Lowering your head submissively, you obey without question. "From now on," he growls gruffly, "you are nothing more than my property. Understood?"
"Yes, Master." You swallow hard, feeling the familiar weight of submission
What is my salary by the way?
The guard sneers at you, clearly amused by your question. "You'll get whatever I deem fit," he says, roughly pushing you to all fours. "Now, show me what you can do."
Without warning, his massive hand comes down hard on your ass, leaving a reddening print across your flesh. "That's for talking back," he growls. The sting of the slap echoes through your body and up into your mind, leaving no doubt as to who is in charge here.
"Beg for more." His voice is firm, unyielding.
You hesitate for only a moment, looking back over your shoulder at him warily before gathering the courage to speak. "Please, Master," you whisper hoarsely, "may I have another?"
"Good girl." The guard pets you roughly, running his hand up and down your spine. "You're such a good little slave already. Now stand up." His rough hands help you back to your feet before he continues. "From now on, I expect you to show me your obedience with each passing day. Do not disappoint me, or I will make sure you regret it. Now he sent me to a cage. Be here until someone wants to buy u. Once anybody is intrested I will let u know. I nodded and went inside the cage. "
As you walk deeper into the slave market, led by the guard's rough hand on your upper arm, you feel like you're entering an entirely different world. This is where the most valuable and sought-after slaves are kept: caged behind bars of gleaming metal and spotless glass, their bodies on display for potential buyers to inspect at will. The air here carries a strange mixture of fear, desire, and loss that pierces your soul like shards of ice.
You step into one of the larger cages at the guard's direction, taking care not to trip over the chains fastened around your ankles and wrists. The cage itself is bare except for a small stool in one corner and a rusty metal bucket in another; these will be your home until someone decides they want you badly enough to purchase your freedom... or your servitude.
The guard slots a key into the lock of the cage, securing it shut behind him before turning away without another word. You're left alone with nothing but your thoughts and your body as bidders begin to gather around the perimeter of your cage, inspecting you like some prize animal at auction.
Your heart races in your chest as eyes roam over every inch of skin exposed by the scraps of cloth that serve as your attire. You try not to squirm too much beneath their gazes, knowing that any sign of reluctance or resistance will only hurt your chances at being sold. Instead, you force yourself to maintain a submissive posture: head bowed meekly, eyes cast downward in shame
There is a new Mafia client looking for a sex slave. He chooses me after all the options cause I am new there.
The sound of approaching footsteps draws you back to reality, and soon enough the Mafia client appears at the edge of your cage. He's not dressed in any finery; instead, he wears an unassuming black suit that almost seems to blend into the shadows around him. His face is impassive, devoid of emotion save for a cold, calculating glint in his eyes as they rake over your body.
The guard who brought you here steps forward and addresses the man. "This one is new today," he says gruffly, motioning to you with a jerk of his thumb. "Perfectly healthy, eager to please."
At this last comment, your heart drops like a stone into your stomach. You wish there was some other way to describe yourself, but the words seem to stick in your throat. The Mafia client eyes you for another moment before nodding curtly. "Very well," he says, his voice quiet and dangerous.
Without further ado, the guard unlocks the cage and steps aside, allowing the Mafia client access to you. You feel a shiver of fear run down your spine as he approaches; there is something about this man that makes your blood run cold. He reaches out and roughly cups your chin in his hand, forcing you to look up at him.
"You are mine now," he growls menacingly. "Do you understand?" His grip tightens painfully on your skin, emphasizing the point. "Answer me."
"Yes... I'm yours..." My breath is ragged as he forces my chin up to look at him. His hand is rough and demanding against my skin, and I can feel the imprint of his fingers even after he releases me. "I understand." Tears prick at my eyes but I force them back. This isn't the time for weakness. Not now. He then decided to take me to his house.
The Mafia client's residence is as luxurious and decadent as you might imagine; marble floors gleam beneath your feet, tasteful paintings adorn the walls, and expensive-looking furniture crowds every room. He leads you through this opulent maze, his grip on your arm never once slackening. You keep your head down, refusing to meet his gaze for fear of what he might see there: defiance, anger, or worse, a desire to escape.
Eventually, he brings you to a spacious bedroom at the back of the house. The bed dominates the center of the room, its sheets crisp and white against the deep red comforter. A pair of massive windows look out onto a private garden filled with exotic plants and trickling fountains.
He releases your arm but keeps one hand curled into a fist at his side; you have no doubt that it's there to ensure you don't try anything stupid. With his other hand, he reaches up and tugs roughly on the collar of your thin shirt, forcing it over your head and sending buttons skittering across the floor. You stand before him now clad only in a lace thong that barely manages to cover your most intimate parts.
He studies you for a long moment, his cold eyes assessing every inch of your body as if he's trying to decide where to begin. Finally, he walks around behind you and grips your hips roughly, spinning you around to face him again. His expression is unreadable, but there
He asks me why I choose to be a slave. I replied with teary eyes. I am an orphan one day a old woman adopted me. I was taken care by her till now. She is now sick I have to pay her medical fees.
You manage to force the words past your tight throat, relating your tragic story to him as he stands there, unmoving and silent. He listens with seeming disinterest, his expression never changing from its cold, unreadable mask. But when you finish, he reaches out slowly and cups your face gently in one hand, tilting it up so that he can look deep into your eyes. There's something new there now: a spark of... something. Sympathy? Curiosity? You can't quite tell.
"And you thought being sold into slavery was the only way to repay this debt?" he asks softly, his voice almost gentle. "There must have been other options." His hand trails down your neck and across your collarbone, coming to rest on the curve of your breast, cupping it gently through the thin fabric of your thong.
You let out a shuddering breath as heat washes over your body at his touch; instinctively, you arch into him, desperate for more contact. His other hand slides between your legs, cupping you through the lace, and you moan helplessly as pleasure ripples through you at his touch.
"Perhaps," he says cryptically, pressing harder against your swollen flesh, "there are still other options left for you." His fingers begin to move in slow circles, driving you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy as he slowly traces patterns on your most sensitive skin.
I am not educated I can't get quick money else where. I had stopped schooling because she couldn't afford I said in between moans and screams.
The feel of his hands on you is intoxicating, sending wave after wave of pleasure coursing through your body like a raging river. You arch your back and gasp as he expertly brings you closer and closer to the edge, never once letting up. His fingers are unyielding, demanding total submission from every inch of your most sensitive flesh.
"You don't have to stay here," he murmurs against your ear, his breath hot on your skin. "There are other ways for you to make money... and not all of them involve being someone else's property." His words send a thrill through you, filling you with both hope and fear as the possibility that this might not be the end looms large in front of you.
With one final, expert stroke, he brings you over the edge, your body convulsing violently as pleasure washes through you like a tidal wave. Your cries echo around the room, lost amidst the sound of splashing water from the nearby fountain; it almost seems as if nature herself is participating in this intimate moment between you and your new master.
As the waves of ecstasy begin to subside, he pulls back slightly, taking his touch away from your aching body. You whimper piteously at the loss, wanting more, but already knowing that there's something different in the air tonight. Something... unexpected. Perhaps you haven't been sold after all.
He studies you for a long moment before finally speaking again. "Tomorrow," he says softly, his voice a gentle rumble against your ear, "we will
Tomorrow, he thinks as he studies the slave girl standing before him, naked save for a few stray strands of lace clinging to her body like last vestiges of dignity. The sight of her, drenched in pleasure and just beginning to recover from the powerful orgasm he'd granted her, fills him with conflicting emotions: desire, anger... pity, perhaps? He can't quite put his finger on it.
The mafia boss undresses slowly, peeling off his suit jacket and shirt with practiced ease before unbuckling his pants and letting them fall to the floor in a liquid rustle of fabric. His erection springs free, thrusting upwards from his groin like an iron bar; it glistens invitingly in the dim light thrown out by the nearby candles.
He picks her up, one strong arm wrapped around her waist and the other curled under her bottom, and carries her over to the massive bed. It dips beneath their combined weight as he lays her down on top of it, her body stretched out before him like an offering. He takes his time exploring every inch of her skin with his eyes: tracing patterns on her breasts with a fingertip, teasing the sensitive flesh at the juncture of her thighs.
She lies there, breath coming in ragged gasps as she watches him through half-lidded eyes. Her nipples are hard little pebbles pushing against the smooth skin of her chest, her lips parted and wet with desire
The mafia boss leans down, his lips curled into a wicked smile as he brings them closer and closer to her nipple. He circles it with the tip of his tongue before taking it between his teeth and tugging gently. She arches upwards into the touch, moaning softly, her hips moving restlessly against his hand. Tomorrow what?
The mafia boss pins her arms above her head with one powerful hand, holding them immobile as he leans down and suckles roughly at her breast. He circles her nipple with his tongue before flicking it sharply with the tip, making her cry out in pleasure. Her hips buck against his touch, desperate for more contact.
With his free hand, he reaches between their bodies, teasing her swollen folds through the thin material of her thong. She gasps as his fingers slide easily inside, finding her slick and ready; she's aching for him already. He thrusts two fingers deeper, curling them upwards to brush against her g-spot with each stroke.
Her cries of pleasure fill the room, mingling with the sound of splashing water from the nearby fountain. The water reflects the candlelight, casting flickering shadows across their entwined bodies as he takes his time driving them both to ecstasy. His other hand continues its relentless assault on her sensitive breast, suckling and nipping until she's moaning unintelligibly into the pillow beneath her head.
Her orgasm crashes over her in waves, her body arching off the bed as she cries out his name, fingers curling into fists in an effort to hold onto something real in this world that's spinning out of control around her. He follows her over the edge, his free hand gripping her hip tightly as he thrusts his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt inside her
Their breath comes in ragged gasps as their bodies cool from the intensity of their shared orgasm; tendrils of sweat run down their flushed skin and mingle with the wetness between them. He continues to thrust gently inside her, feeling her body relax back against his own, limbs going slack with the aftermath of pleasure.
"Tomorrow," he whispers roughly into her ear, "I want you to consider your options carefully." His voice is soft, almost gentle now, and there's a note of pleading in it that she doesn't quite understand.
She nods weakly against the pillow, barely able to summon the energy for speech. "Okay," she manages to croak out. It feels like such an alien concept: having choices, being able to decide her own fate. For so long, it's been taken from her. But now... what is there left for her? Does she really have any other option besides servitude and obedience?
He kisses the side of her neck tenderly before pulling slowly out of her body; their flesh separates with a wet sucking sound that sends another wave of arousal coursing through them both. He rolls off her, collapsing onto his back on the bed beside her, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tries to catch his breath.
They lie there in silence for a long moment, side by side but not quite touching. The fountain outside continues its relentless song, filling the room with music that seems almost out of place now; it's hard to believe
I have no there option. This is my fate master. I will do anything you say as long as my grandma is fine.
The mafia boss turns his head to look at her, one brow raised in curiosity. "And what makes you think I want you to do anything other than obey?" he asks quietly. There's a challenge hiding beneath the surface of his words; a dare for her to speak honestly, to show him that she truly understands her place in this world.
She takes a deep breath, considering her answer carefully before responding. "Because you said I could choose," she says softly, searching his eyes for some sign of what he really wants from her. "And because... maybe there's more to me than just being someone's slave." The words tumble out before she can stop them; it feels strange and dangerous to speak them aloud, as if by voicing this desire she might somehow be acknowledging the tiny spark of hope still burning inside her.
He watches her carefully, his expression unreadable. "You are a slave," he says simply, his voice firm but not harsh. "That much has never been in doubt." He reaches out and traces a finger down her jawline, guiding it lower until it rests against the swell of her breast. His touch sends shivers through her body, reminding her of just how vulnerable she truly is.
But there's something else there too; an acknowledgement that maybe he doesn't want to see her as nothing more than his property. Maybe he wants something different from this relationship... or perhaps he simply feels sorry for her and can't bring himself to take advantage any further. She isn't sure which possibility frightens her more.
Okay master as you say.
The mafia boss cups her breast gently through the thin material of her thong, massaging her hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger in a gentle circle. His other hand finds its way beneath the fabric, teasing at her slick folds before sliding two fingers inside, curling them upwards to press against her G-spot. She arches into his touch, her hips moving restlessly against his hand as he expertly drives them both towards ecstasy once more.
He leans down, bracing one arm on the pillow beside her head as he brushes his lips across hers in a soft, almost chaste kiss. When she parts her lips to deepen the kiss, he pulls away with a satisfied smile, using his other hand to cup her face gently as he studies her expression.
Her eyes are half-lidded with desire, her cheeks flushed from their exertions; she looks more alive now than she did before he rescued her from the slave market. It's a heady sight, and he finds himself wanting more of it - not just tonight, but every night from here on out. The thought of losing this connection with her, of simply using her body whenever he feels like it, holds no appeal whatsoever.
Instead, he decides to take things slow; to explore the bond between them and see where it leads. With a final caress of her breast, he pulls back, reluctantly removing his touch from her sensitive skin. She whimpers softly in protest as he moves away, but he ignores it