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Unarmed and outnumbered, even women who end up passing through here in larger groups have no chance of revolt or escape. The majority of fellow females that I see are naked save for chains which link them together in long lines of servitude. All the Slaver men are armed, most with the hateful goads and a few with blaster weapons which could do more serious harm. Some of the sisters in bondage who mill around us are new arrivals, some are leaving, and some seem to be in service here on the station. I don’t need any skill to tell the difference between trained women, returned back up here and on their way out to be sold, and new captures about to descend into a world of torture and humiliation on the planet’s surface. Processed women have their faces tattooed with the slave-mark – the sign of degradation that they will carry for life. Although I cannot see the implants buried in these women’s skulls – an even more terrible lifelong burden, I know each one of them carries one. For the mark of a true slave is applied only when the girl is implanted. The new arrivals slut like Ja-alixxe and myself are yet to be marked. These fresh captures usually look terrified and broken and are frequently crying. Processed women have more stoic expressions of acceptance, and some of them actually look eager to be sold. 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 Fucking 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 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 group 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 pornstars 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 Cock Sucking dramatically from the women. Aghara-Penthay is a popular destination for male ship crews who flock here here to relax, get laid 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. “Whoa, she’s even hotter in real life. I’m outraged he’s forcing us to pornstars do this, but oh my Gods it feels good. Inside this one were various wooden bondage equipment that we had asked for. You hel-help pleas-?” Sliding his hand down her thigh he pushed in one, then two, fingers. Emma sucked her clit and shoved three fingers into her soaked cunt, fucking her madly with fingers and tongue. I glanced at my discarded panties on the floor, soiled wet with dog cum and vaginal goo. She let them in. She moves her index finger, and the glass starts to spin. He had on a chunky Arran sweater and he had a large tumbler in his hands with about half-an-inch of what looked like Scotch in the bottom. It was already going way too far as it was, but she just needed another taste of him. She was shaved, and I could see everything. I looked in the mirror. He hand-picks his students. It was almost too much to bear. All done. I pulled my self free and Fucking told her to move back on the bed . “I told you I would teach you all the ways a girl can get sexual satisfaction, and I will.” I said “But I want some of my own first. She hugged his boyish face into her naked, full breasts, allowing their softness to smother his face. Thoughts in church Sunday morning were mixed Cock Sucking as she thought of her commitment to God and also of the pig cum packing her womb. I gasped as group he thrust a pair into my twat, stretching out my pregnant pussy. Make sure that that your daughter gets a good, long look at it, then take it slut in your mouth and begin sucking on it.” he commanded, and Miranda let out a sigh, knowing she had no choice but to obey. As she was straightening her skirt she heard a voice say. I didn't know anyone at all. So I'm sorry… for shutting you out these past two days."