NSFW Author

And so, I was now property, Chattel, a sex object.

I should have gotten used to it by now, but how can you ? You grow up raised to be independent, to build your own personality and then, suddenly, they teach you that you will be a slave for two years.

Like most kids, I first panicked but I quickly calmed down when I learned more about being a class D. Sure, it was horrible, but my parents confirmed I could keep my money and everyone had to go through it.

Every girl I know would survive those 2 years cleaning up or taking care of kids so I certainly wouldn’t have problems.

But then, my father got sick. Really sick. He was about to die if we didn’t pay for an expensive treatment we didn’t have money for. I was scared. Not only would I leave for 2 years, but when I would come back, my beloved father wouldn’t be there for me.

He was the best father of all. Most of my friends fathers grew distant when they went through puberty but mine stayed just as present in my life, fully accepting me for who I was and almost glad for who I was becoming.

But that closeness became tension when it was clear what I had to do to save my father. I needed to become a class S slave in order to provide him with the money he needed to survive. I needed to stop being his little girl in order for him to see his eventual grand-kids.

I needed to do the unnameable to just get him to live.

Either way, I was terrified. To help me prepare, I dated a few boys from school. Dated isn’t really the most appropriate word. Let’s say I fucked a few boys, including a boy and his girlfriend.

At first, I found having sex with her to be utterly disgusting, but after a few nights I was glad to get it done because I knew I would gain two well needed letters on my description: L for lesbian sex and T, for threesomes. I let one of the boys boss me around to add D, giving me the 5 letters needed to start at 100,000$.

On the road to the auction, I regretted not having experimented more, but I was told that the more letters you had, the higher the chances you would be bought by a pervert.

When I saw the program and that skank of Susanna, I instantly knew I would fail to save my father but it was already too late to turn back.

I would have to suffer through two years of sexual humiliation and still become an orphan. Fortunately, she turned out to have a big heart.

She even convinced some of the guys interested in her to instead bid on me. She even gave me tips on how to present myself during the auction.

In the end, she saved my father and even raised my price high enough to net me 40,000$ to pay for my college education once I would be done here.

As a result, I left with my new owner with my head up high, knowing that in two years, my life would be better than it is at the moment, if only because my father would hold me in his arms once again to thank me.

I even no longer minded walking completely naked within the auction complex. I was floating in my head, trying to ignore everything around me like the man who picked me up suggested.

My new owner, Patrick, was rather nice for an older man. He had me wear a property bracelet once I had my Prevar shot and let me follow him to his car without putting a leash or a collar around my neck like they did to Susanna.

I sat naked on the back of his car on a towel he placed to protect his seat. It’s there that he introduced himself and explained that he didn’t want a mindless slave. That I was a member of the family despite being a class S and that I would often be allowed to wear clothes during the day.

This relieved me a lot as I wasn’t really good in the master slave relationship. Unlike Susanna, I didn’t receive any special training and had been afraid it would get me severely punished.

Patrick lives in a three story house with his wife Emily. When I saw Emily look at me, I quickly realized that I wouldn’t be solely for Patrick’s usage. It was clear Emily would also be using my services. Good thing I got used to lesbian sex.

As soon as I arrived, Emilie invited us to come to the dining room where a pot roast was already on the table with three sittings prepared.

Patrick sat on the end of the table while Emilie and I sat on opposite sides, each next to the man of the house. Emilie asked me a little about me including why I choose to be a class S.

I hesitated between telling the truth and giving a cover story but Patrick insisted I tell the truth and both were very empathetic about the touching story of my father’s illness.

Emily jumped from the table to hung me while Patrick retrieved their wireless phone. After asking for my parent’s number, he dialed and asked to speak to my father.

After a little pause, he said : “Hello Mr Clark. I am Patrick Green, the person who purchased your daughter earlier today. I am calling to give you my phone number so that we can inform your daughter once you will have recovered from your operation to let her know you are safe. “. There was a pause and he added, “I am sorry, I can’t let you talk to her at this moment. I am rather a traditionalist and think that contact with the parents are detrimental to the learning experience of the slave, but I think an exception for your specific case it warranted. My cell phone is (94)382-555-213. Call me when you will be fully recovered. Thank you”.

It was rather cold, but it reassured me I would not be doing this in vain and showed me I had arrived in a good family.

I hope the rest of my two years will be as pleasant as they have been so far.