As we (the slaves) were slowly pulled into the Barn, the cat calls immediately started. Our would-be buyers inspected their merchandise, lifting skirts, groping breasts, moving us this way and that.
Some of the slaves fought back, trying to lash out at the wealthy men. I cowered, cried, spouted the holy trinity in Spanish. (Later I decided to drop the language idea and just go with the wailing.)
When they inspected me, one person grabbed my arms, another pushed me, bending over at the waist, and someone lifted my skirt. Of course my friends went for my ass.
With the merchandise meeting and exceeding the buyers’ expectations, it was time for the biding to begin. Our slave master dragged the first girl up to the stage where the General (played by none other than ManKraken! himself) hosted the auction. Laughter soon began.
He riped open her shirt, exposing her chest, and stuck his fingers down her mouth, asking her, “Do you like to suck cock?” With his fingers still down her throat, she gurgled a yes, was purchased, and escorted off the stage.
As the selling continued, my friend and I decided to sit down on the ground while the rest of chattel remained standing. My friend was selling the European slave angle, spouting an Eastern block language I can’t recall.
As we cozied up together, trying to stay warm in the chill evening, we couldn’t help but laugh at the show. Another of the slaves, the one that was totally naked, was brought on stage and prized for her exceptional height.
One of the slaves, the one in the wedding dress, was said to have been nabbed on her way to the ceremony. She had been a virgin, until she got a little pirate in her (a reference to our slave wrangler).
The girl in front of me had set out from the beginning of our psycho drama to not be compliant. She tried to fight off the buyers inspecting her. She fought on her way up to the stage. And she fought as she was sold off.
About a slave or two before I was to go on stage, the child soldiers decided to harass myself and my friend. They poked us with their air soft rifles, mock kicked and hit us. I curled up into my friends arms, cradling my head in her lap, crying and shielding my face.
This was when I had a brilliant idea: I would make a scene, trying to hold onto my friend, trying not to be taken on stage when it was my turn. I whispered my intent to my friend, who it turned out had had the same idea. We snickered with glee just before it was time for my performance.
When the slave wrangler came for me, I tried to cling to my friend. She spouted some the Eastern block language while I tried to hold onto me. The Pirate pulled at me, but I refused to get up, sobbing and crying. He dragged me along the chain until I was clear. With another person or two, he lifted me. Someone stuck an air soft gun to my head. The Pirate then muscled me to the stage.
I mock sobbed as the General came up with my back story, saying I was obviously a college student pulled on my way to class, seeing as I was still wearing my glasses. They stood me up tall, yelled for me to be quiet, and pointed out my various features worth purchasing. I was then sold and escorted off the stage to sit with the other slaves.
My friend, the last one to be sold, was brought forth. The General then conspicuously encouraged the rival gang to arrive, seeing as this was the last slave to be sold.
The gang members busted into the Barn. All us slaves booked it out the side door and headed for the back of the Barn.
We huddled together, still cold and still chained at our wrists, though thankfully not chained to one another anymore.
We watched as the battle broke out. Apparently some of the buyers were given weapons as well and fought with the child soldiers against the gang members.
And then the fighting took a turn, migrating to where we, the slaves, were standing. I had already decided to try to make a run for it. The other girls screamed and got out of the way. I slipped on my safety glasses, the pair I’d hidden in my hoodie pocket at the start, and swung around to the opposite side of the Barn.
Through the windows I could hear the General narrating the fight.
I tried to find a spot in the darkness to hide, but none seemed adequate. I wanted to slip past the front, but people hovered by the entrance. I ended up entrenching myself by the back stairs, hoping no one would see me as they passed by.
Unfortunately, one person did.
The head of the rival gang came by, asking me if I had any ammo. I said I didn’t, again hoping he would just leave. Instead he asked me what I was doing. Hiding, I said simply.
And then it dawned on him: I was a slave.
He grabbed me by my hair, put his air soft rifle to my head, and used me as a human shield as he brought me to the rival gang’s barricade (they used one of the hanging massage tables from the outdoor truss set on its side on the ground). All the while he kept yelling, “I got one!”
On the way to the barricade, I saw the Doctor, who was for the purposes of the drama a Russian spy, splayed out on the ground, quite dapper and quite dead.
The General, after another few minutes of fighting, ordered everyone back inside. The drama had ended.
My fellow slaves were sad that I had not made it; my friend had pinned all her hope on my escape.
As a souvenir for the event, I kept my length of chain, my lock, and I was given the key by the organizer. I wore my chain around my neck for the rest of the evening.
My friends and their ideas, as twisted as they can be, are also so much fucking fun.
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