I was ordered into Mistress Constance's office. She was in a foul mood; I could tell right away.
I was ushered in and made to stand directly in front of her. She gave me a dark look and my blood ran cold. I felt a surge of fear with that authoritarian gaze leveled at me. I was sure I had done something wrong, and just as sure I was going to be horribly punished for it.
"Sit down, Alex. I have some bad news," she said.
I didn't want to sit. I was handcuffed, my cuffs fastened to a chain locked around my waist and to another running back to front, wedged between my buttocks, separating my delicate pubic lips. Sitting down would force that chain where it lodged between my labia to dig in further and bite painfully into my tender flesh.
"I'd prefer to stand, Mistress, if I may," I said, timidly, gently nudging my pelvis in her general direction to hint at how uncomfortable sitting would be in my current condition.
"I don't care what you'd prefer," Mistress Constance snapped. "Sit."
I sat down and gasped as the chain dug deep into my poor, pink slit. The chain chafed and pinched painfully, and I gave Mistress Constance a pleading look, but she was unmoved by my plight.
"One of the VIPs made an offer to purchase you," Constance told me, her facial expression hard and serious. "I've always been opposed to selling our slaves, and the Deputy Director shares my opinion on this, but when the VIPs are influential enough, we don't always have a choice but to give them what they want."
"I've been sold?" I asked, my voice incredulous. I almost forgot about the sharp pain of the metal links cutting into my delicate pink flesh. "That can happen?"
Mistress Constance let out a deep sigh of frustration and replied, "It's rare, but yes, it can happen. Some of the VIPs have a great deal of money and influence and can manipulate the rules in such a way that I don't even recognize them anymore."
It turned out that I'd been purchased by Mistress Rose. She had become quite infatuated with me and at some point, she'd decided that she had to have me all for herself. The amount of money involved in purchasing a slave from the OPS was so prohibitive that most people never even considered buying one of us, but Mistress Rose had more money than I initially believed.
First, she had to pay huge legal fees just to get the application process started, then there was a background check to prove that she was suitable and responsible enough to own a slave, and then there was the actual purchase price of the slave, which I'm told was in the six figures.
On top of all that, an account had to be funded in escrow, from which I would be paid a six-figure bonus when my slave contract ended.
Most people couldn't afford all of this, but Mistress Rose was obscenely rich. And she wanted me. When people who are obscenely rich want something they usually get it.
"Her people will be coming to collect you in about an hour. I filed a formal objection against her offer to buy you, but my objection was overruled," Mistress Constance informed me as she brought our interchange to a close. "All that's left is your exit interview and a medical checkup to show that you're in good health before I release you to Rose's people."
The exit interview largely involved questions about my psychological state of mind after having been sexually objectified, raped and abused for several months. I suppose some slaves handle it poorly, and the OPS had a duty to discover which slaves had suffered psychological damage as a result of being spanked, whipped, sexually assaulted and such.
I'd handled it better than most, and even came away from the experience feeling a dark, delicious sense of excitement.
If I'd come away from the experience traumatized and somehow emotionally scarred, the federal government has programs in place to help slaves deal with their anxiety, neurosis or post-traumatic stress. Happily, I wouldn't need any such assistance.
I was taken to a medical exam room and Doctor Weaver examined me for signs of injury, infection or other medical maladies. She didn't find anything worth worrying about.
"You've got some whip marks, some obvious chafing from having a metal chain rubbing up against your labia, and your nipples are inflamed," Doctor Weaver said, after examining me. "You're also running a slight fever, but that's normal for someone who's in a state of intense sexual arousal."
All the slaves were kept in a chronic state of sexual arousal, and we were rarely allowed to have any sexual release. My nipples were so hard they ached, and my pussy throbbed wetly. I desperately wanted to rub my hard clit over and over until I came, but I knew better than to try anything like that. Slaves caught masturbating were always severely punished.
Doctor Weaver removed her latex gloves and pronounced me 'physically fit enough to be transferred from OPS custody, and into the custody of whoever it is that's purchasing you.'
She looked up from my medical chart, stared me right in the face, and said, "I'd wish you well, but I don't imagine your new owner will be any kinder than your handlers here have been."
One of the things that I'd learned as a slave is that the more attractive a slave, the more they got punished. Something about a firm, shapely butt makes masters and mistresses want to spank it, or redden it with a leather strap or a riding crop.
The more perfectly shaped your buttocks, the more likely your buttocks were to be whipped.
"She's probably used to the punishments and the sexual abuse by now," Doctor Weaver's nurse opined. "She's been here for months."
The expression on the nurse's face wasn't cruel or malicious. She was just stating the facts as she knew them. I had been there for months, and my months of slave training had conditioned me to accept corporal punishment and sexual abuse without being traumatized by them.
The Doctor nodded without comment, and she signed the form that declared me medically fit for transport and transfer to a new mistress.
"I'll come and check on you every three months," Doctor Weaver assured me. "Even though your new owner isn't an OPS employee, she's still required to follow OPS protocols when it comes to the handling of slaves. I'll make sure that she's not abusing you any worse than the federal regulations allow."
I knew all about OPS regulations. My new owner wouldn't be allowed to starve me. Slaves were supposed to be given an adequate amount of food and water every day to keep us healthy. We were also supposed to be allowed eight hours of sleep each night and we were to be exercised a certain number of hours each week, to keep us in shape. Slave owners weren't allowed to poison us or give us harmful drugs. It was also against the rules to break our bones, cut off any of our appendages or burn our flesh, that meant no branding.
