Chapter One

Seven waved at me, and a wintry smile passed across her pretty face. She wore nothing but a slave’s collar, shackles, and manacles. She accepted her fate and had come to terms with it. Father had let her live well past the age of thirty when she should have been butchered.

My father gave her the order to remove her butt plug and get on the spit. Seven smiled at him and obediently lay down on the stone slab in the barn.

“Bye, Seven! Thanks for everything!” My sister Veronica said. Gail had dark hair and big boobs. Almost all women were sterile, but as a side effect, most of them had huge knockers. She was dressed like any typical teenager.

“Yeah, you are going to be yummy in my tummy!” My other sister Betty said. She was blonde and had a sweet smile. She rubbed her stomach and smiled without a trace of sympathy.

My older sisters and I grew up after the cataclysm. A worldwide virus killed off most of the livestock and had a profound effect on humanity. The birthrate of women was five to every man, but most of them were sterile. I am not a history buff, but our culture had to adapt and adjust to changing times. Climate change and depleted fossil fuels didn’t make it any easier.

Older generations had trouble adapting to some of the cruel, hard realities of the situation. My sisters and I grew up in a generation that believed this was just the way things were now.

When girls graduate high school, they are usually sent to a special processing plant. If they become trouble makers and delinquents, they end up there much sooner. It has cut down on the crime rate tremendously.

The girls are processed and judged throughout a three-day ordeal. It isn’t pleasant, but High School tries to prepare them for the experience with special classes to make them ready. Veronica calls it propaganda.

If a girl gets good grades, isn’t a troublemaker, and is fertile, she is considered a “Free Woman.” She can still voluntarily become a slave if she wants, and she’ll end up on some breeder farm. You’d be surprised how many women choose this voluntarily. It is considered a noble sacrifice for the greater good. If she is really good looking though she’ll end up getting married.

If a family is really wealthy, they can get a special dispensation for their daughters. My Dad is a vegetable farmer, and we aren’t rich. My sisters prefer not to think about what will happen when they graduate. They are both convinced they will qualify.

I like to tease my sisters that they may end up on the auction block. That is what happens to most women who don’t become free women. Auctioneers put the girls on display, and the pretty ones end up serving a family domestically. Some of them end up pulling carts and plows, as well.

That is what happened to Seven. Seven was around ever since I can remember. Someone removed her tongue, and she was a mute. She could express all sorts of emotions with her face and her body language.

She cleaned our house, folded our laundry, cooked our food, and did most of our chores. She also pulled my Dad’s plow, and he’d harness her to a buggy and occasionally give us rides into town. She was never permitted to wear clothes. It would be as silly to let her wear clothes as it would be to allow a Dog wear clothes. She slept in a cage and ate off the floor like a pet, and we treated her like a beloved family pet.

When I entered puberty, my Dad offered to let Seven teach me the birds and the bees. He ordered her to teach me how to fuck and to please a woman. Seven never flinched or appeared reluctant. She took my hand and fucked my brains out.

Dad whipped her once a week, whether she needed it or not. He said it was like changing the oil in a car and had to be done to adjust her attitude and keep her compliant. I had seen cars in old magazines and history books but never rode in one. Gasoline was so precious now that almost no one drove a car. The horses had all died off a century earlier ago.

Some women were trained to be dedicated full-time pony-girls. The rich people decorated theirs with ornate harnesses and feathered headdresses. My Dad liked to keep Seven naked and chained to the wooden wagon struts by her cunt and tits when she pulled the cart. He let me drive and taught me some times, but usually, he was the one to harness Seven. He made it look effortless.

My sisters like to tease her and pull her pussy lips or nipples when she was trussed up. They were jealous that Seven was so pretty. They were often the ones who spanked her with a leather strap when Dad wasn’t home over the simplest of mistakes.

Seven never looked at them with anger or reluctance to obey. She was dedicated to her service.

So why was my Father shoving a seven-foot spike up this lovely creature’s ass? Well, when a slave turns thirty, an owner is legally required to butcher and slaughter her for meat. They call it an expiration date and not a birthday. If a slave is unruly or disobedient, the owner will often butcher them much sooner, but that is at their discretion.

The best parts are property of the family, but Dad is expected to sell the rest on the open market. Meat is pretty rare these days. There are no dogs, hogs, chickens, or hawks. The only thing that survived the virus besides the humans was the cockroaches. They mutated to be about the size of dogs now. We’d eat them too if they weren’t poisonous.

Dad, in his kindness, had kept Seven an extra year after her expiration date. Times have been hard on the farm, and I knew he didn’t want to buy another slave girl to replace her.

My older sisters wouldn’t miss her at all. To me, she was a beloved family pet and an amazingly limber cock puppet. I fucked her right before Dad brought her out to the barn. I know it sounds barbaric that we were going through this. In the old days, it wasn’t normal to see a woman roasting in a butcher shop window.

My Dad is strong, but even he couldn’t push that razor-sharp pike through Seven with his strength alone. He used an air-piston powered gun to launch it through her body, cleanly out her mouth. Seven made a gasp and a gurgling sound and then blinked. She was still alive. The process was not designed to kill.

“Help me put Seven over the fire, Son” Dad lifted up Seven by her shoulders. I grabbed her feet, and we carted her over to a fire-pit outside of the barn. Seven herself had prepared that fire and primed it for us. We put her on the spit and let it slowly rotate and roast her.

“Keep her basted, son,” Dad told me as he handed me a bucket of sauce and a brush.

“Yeah, don’t burn her to a crisp, turd-boy!” My eldest sister Veronica teased me. I hated that nickname.

My sisters gave it to me because when I was younger, I used to love watching Seven squat in the field and piss and shit. It fascinated me how animalistic it was. I used a toilet and was used to toilet paper. My Dad whipped Seven after giving her a few minutes to take a crap, and she stood up and air-dried.

I learned a lot about women by watching Seven’s bodily functions. She was like my own personal National Geographic. I didn’t see her the way I did normal girls my age, but I could practice what I’d do with them if any would let me fuck them.

You might think in a society where women outnumber men at least five to one that it would be easy to get a girlfriend. I was skinny and goofy looking, and even with the odds in my favor, I still didn’t have a girlfriend at school.

The fact that there are so many naked slaves is a boon for guys like me. We aren’t so curious about girl’s bodies, and whenever we want to release our urges or play with a girl, we can always take a slave. The concept of rape is pretty much unheard of. I might have tried harder to get a girlfriend if I didn’t have a sexual outlet to use anytime I wanted with Seven. I probably still couldn’t have managed it, though, because I am pretty awkward.

“I am afraid to leave him alone with the meat,” Betty told my Father. “He may try to get one last hump in while the old bitch’s heart is still pumping,” she said as she stuck a finger in Seven’s pussy to taste the dampness between her legs. The most flavorful part of a woman’s body is the tits, ass, and cunt steak. It is especially juicy if the slave is roasted alive, which is why we went to all this trouble.

“Stop teasing your brother,” Dad said somberly. He watched Seven turn slowly and reminded me to baste.

Dinner that night was fantastic. We usually ate vegetable dishes, and Seven cooked and cleared the dishes, but tonight, I was the one who did most of the work.

“You ought to volunteer to be a slave. You don’t work as hard as Seven, but you can be trained, “Betty joked.

There were some men who slaves. They were mostly criminals or debtors who were a drain on society. It was rare for a man to volunteer to be a slave. I had no interest in becoming a slave any more than I had an interest in becoming a wizard.

“Actually, that is what I want to talk to you about,” Dad said as he picked his teeth. He just finished devouring Seven’s roasted tit and cleaned his plate of juices.

“Oh goody, Daddy is going to tell us you were adopted,” Betty giggled with Veronica.

It was rare that this happened, but parents did have the right to send their kids to auction. It was usually something they tell kids to scare them into behaving and eating all their vegetables. If Dad had wanted to, he could have done that to any of us.

“Now that Seven is gone, I am going to need some help around the farm, and we need someone to clean the house,” Dad said. My sisters had never lifted a finger to help, and they always acted too delicate to be bothered with simple farm chores. The only thing they were good at was bossing Seven and me around.

“Oh good, are we going down to the auction? Can I pick one out? Maybe we can get an Asian slave! I love eating Chinese,” Veronica chortled. She gobbled up the last bit of Seven’s savory butt-cheek. She said it needed more garlic but was otherwise tender and delicious.

“Times are tough, and I can’t afford to buy a new slave,” Dad said. My Dad was a man of few words and a mountain of a man. He brushed his thick beard and wiped off the gravy from his denim overalls.

“Sell Turd-boy,” Betty said without sympathy in her voice. “He is scrawny, but some pervert would love to buy a young boy,” she laughed.

“Your brother is way too young to be on the auction block, and he isn’t physically strong enough to do what needs to be done,” Dad said. I was mortified he had taken the time to think about whether or not I could perform as a slave.

“That is why I’ve decided to,” Dad started to explain.

Betty pointed to Veronica and shouted, “Sell Veronica! She is the oldest.”

“I am nine months older than you!! Betty has the biggest ass! Sell her!” she said.

“I am not going to do either of those things,” Dad assured them. They let out a collective sigh of relief, but they both glared at each other. They had revealed they would quite gladly throw each under the bus if it meant their own survival.

“I am going to train you both on the farm. The girl who does the best can stay. The girl who doesn’t will be sold at auction,” Dad told them.

My sisters protested. Dad shushed them and said that some women saw slavery as their civic duty and a selfless, noble act.

“Fuck those bitches! I want to live!” Betty insisted.

I tried to hide my giggles, but I couldn’t stop smiling.

“Stop smiling,” Veronica insisted that I not gloat.

“Effective immediately, I want you to remove your clothes. Veronica, you are Eight and Betty you are Nine,” Dad didn’t have much use for fancy slave names. I had a friend at school whose family had a slave named Snowball and another named Thunder-butt.

“Daddy!” Betty protested and pouted.

“Your grades are just average, and neither of you is fertile. I didn’t tell you because I wanted you to have a reason to try to get good grades and behave. You were going to the auction block in a year anyway,” Dad assured them. “Now, I know you weren’t used to Seven talking around the house. But you must have had speech protocol classes in school. What do you call me?” he asked them.

“Master,” Betty looked up at him. She stood up first and began to unbutton her shirt. She looked at Veronica while she undressed to suggest she has to do it too.

“Why do both of us have to do this, Master?” My eldest sister pulled her top off, revealing her big boobs. They bounced into place when she removed it.

“I can’t bear to lose either of you. I am going to have to sell one of you, though. There is no way we can keep the farm running if I don’t. I am giving you each a chance to stay here. If you go to the auction block, you could get turned into meat right away, or you might get lucky and end up being a pony-girl for some rich lawyer with a heated stable. This is an impossible choice for me because I love you both, but I can only keep the one who wants to stay the most,” Dad said.

I am used to seeing slave women naked. I’ve seen all shapes of cunts, assholes, and tits. People leave them tied in front of stores or on carts. Slaves don’t have privacy of any kind. It almost becomes so routine that you don’t even see it as sexual or provocative. Slaves usually have their nipples and cunts stretched with weights and exotic tattoos just to make them sexually enticing to their owners.

However, seeing my two sisters strip naked was intoxicating. I had never seen them naked before. They undressed in front of each other all the time. I mentioned special programs in school that all girls have to complete. It is kind of like Physical Education because it focuses on a variety of different forms of education.

My sisters have had to strip in a classroom and learn the seven basic slave positions and appropriate one-word commands. They learn fundamentals of slave speech protocol just like I learned the fundamentals of using a computer. It wasn’t something my sisters ever took seriously enough to apply themselves to it.

Girls in their final year of school who know they are going to the auction block are permitted to come to class in slave harnesses, collars, and shackles. They interact with their fellow students as a slave and sit on the floor. They eat from a trough in the lunchroom. It helps the girls get used to the idea of giving up their old lives and that they will probably be sold locally and seen by friends and family as slaves.

Dad told them they would have to go to school this way from now on.

“Master!” Betty was the first one naked. Most women could no longer grow pubic hair. Betty had a tiny whisp of blonde hair above her cunt. Dad said that would be burnt off, and this was not up for discussion. She wouldn’t be allowed to keep even that much dignity now that she was a slave. Seven had her pubic hairs plucked and burnt off years ago.

“This is Seven’s old collar,” Dad through the heavy iron collar on the table. “I want you to wear it,” Dad told Veronica to stand still. He bolted the collar on her before attaching the shackles and manacles to her wrists and ankles. He said he would weld them on in the morning.

Dad told us to follow him back to the barn. Veronica and Betty were glaring at me. I kept smiling as I watched their upturned pasty-white butts quiver nervously.