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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 BDSM be unending for most. Such women are permitted into the station only if dressed as a slave should asian 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 amateur 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 are a number of different garments worn by private slaves. The most common is the Hardcore 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 japanese 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 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. She did Hardcore leave the cat japanese behind, though. “Fuck!” I groaned and sank down to my ground. "The only muscle I want..." He picked up Abigail and laid her on a large bear skin in front of the fireplace. After staring at them for several seconds he joined in her laughter thinking about how to get amateur revenge on her. As Nick was telling me what an excellent cocksucking whore asian I am, he pulled me off his member by my hair to ask me what I am. “Sorry,” one of the men said, “did you just say that this kid was having an orgasm? I was eager to welcome Tonya home from her date. She added hopefully. “Probably bad. I’m in a tight green dress with short sleeves and a short hem line. A moment later Jake burst into her room with the doctor, both wearing looks of concern. I don't want to think that I'll have to punish you when this is BDSM done."