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Perhaps anything is better than the horror waiting for us down on the surface. Slavery is everywhere, although not quite every woman at the trading station is destined for lifelong bondage. Some females come in as crew or passengers on ships, and depart on those same ships, only briefly tasting the abuse that will be unending for most. Such women are permitted into the station only if dressed as a slave should be, and they must remain in the company of a registered male owner at all times. A female would be insanely foolish to venture here on her own, for she would immediately be taken. These lucky visitors I see are still slaves, but slaves whose bondage is temporary. They will not have their faces marked, although if their registered owner does wish for a permanent memento, there are still places indian on the station where the masters can have their property implanted. Private slaves, i.e. those not owned by the planet, have to wear bracelets locked on a wrist, registered with their DNA and linking them to their owner. The information is filed with the Slaver authorities and bracelets are checked frequently. A woman cannot “fake” an owner. There are a number of different garments worn by private slaves. The most common is the wrap, like mine, but in navy-blue. It is greatly coveted by the many Slaver-owned girls, that blue wrap. Wearing blue means you’re not destined to go down to the planet. Wearing that means you’ll leave this hellhole. For a few females, coming here is even a strange form of tourism – women who crave to briefly experience a reality where they are nothing but owned objects of desire, and they venture here with trusted escorts, deliberately seeking time in the bracelet and the navy blue slave clothing. I can guess who these lucky ones are by their expressions, which are flushed with excitement and lack the dead-eyed manner of the others. When I look at those among my fellows who are true slaves, I wonder if I look as broken as they. Two drunks stagger past, singing, and almost knock us aside. The relaxed attitude of the men on the concourse differs dramatically from the women. Aghara-Penthay is a popular destination for male ship crews who flock here here to relax, get laid desi and enjoy the sight of so many scantily dressed females. Ja-alixxe and I pass a typical crew in dirty overalls, sitting drinking alcohol, and I am recognized for the first time. “Melena de Santo,” a mechanic covered in oil calls out to me jovially. “It’s really you. The news said they’d caught you, but I didn’t quite believe it.” He adds with gleeful unconcern, “Man, you’re in for a rough time.” His weedy looking colleague, a fellow perhaps still in his late teens, is groaning with longing as he blatantly looks me over and I feel shamefully aware of my body, of my femininity. Sarah said in a soft voice. Shocked as I was in the abrupt change in circumstances, it was about all I could manage to stay on my feet, mind empty of everything except the numbing certainty my mother would indian walk in and see me there, jeans at my shins, cock slick with her sister’s desire. If he did his job properly, he could coax a powerful orgasm from me without ever touching my cock. That alone would have been enough to put me over the edge but my face was rubbed and some wonderful lotion was spread all over it. Doc said Daddy there is a problem with a dozen girls on one bus, they are refusing to be scanned. His mouth engulfed my right nub. Clambering up in front of Magda she seized her by the hair and dragged her face towards her cunt. “Meine ungezogene Frau!” Soon, Claire's pussy started to naturally lubricate itself a little. After a while I knew she was cumming, I could see her legs shaking as she orgasmed. He pressed his lips to hers and forced his tongue past her teeth. Not having kids, we weren’t used to this kind of constant ruckus. "I give guys blow jobs, too." “God, can you imagine seeing something like that? Devil sat quietly reflecting upon the progress he had made with the girls (except for one) over the last three months, the skill of training sexual slaves had served him well over the years except for only a few captives. But Hannah wasn't like desi that. Am I… Cumming..?? Debra told Linda and Lisa that she’d had too much to drink to drive home safely, and she asked for a ride home. She giggled. I just kept pounding along and hoped that the girls would tire. She sat on my lap and wiggled her bottom. Fuck her brains out while you choke her." “I need you to use and abuse me.” She admitted. Everything faded—the audiences cheer, Adelia's moans as she fingered herself beside us, the watching crew—but my wife. Chunky women, but not unattractive. When she touched her swollen clitty she felt electricity go thru her thighs. "We're having a lot more fun with you before we're finished."