Rule The Sex Slave Market

Im 20. Jahrhundert gab's eine ganze Reihe von heftigen Krankheiten, die dazu führten, dass die männliche Bevölkerung schrumpfte, während die weibliche wuchs. Die männlich dominierte Regierung sah sich gezwungen, neue Gesetze zu verabschieden, um die Vormachtstellung der Männer zu sichern. Es wurde wieder der weibliche Sklavenhandel eingeführt die Männer wurden daraus ausgeschlossen nur die Frauen durften Sklaven sein das geschah, um die Vormachtstellung der männlichen Bevölkerung zu sichern und um sie zu erhalten da die Krankheiten nicht die Fortpflanzung der Frauen beeinflusst auf jeden geborenen Mann werden 15 Frauen geboren aufgrund der Fortpflanzung druckte Frauen gab‘s eine Reihe von Aufständen und Massendemonstrationen von Frauen, um ein Mann zu kriegen um weitere Aufstände davon zu verhindern wurde beschlossen von der männlichen Regierung dass man die Frauen wieder als Sklaven einsetzt um zu verhindern dass es Probleme gab es gab eine Reihe von Regeln für die Sklavenhaltung der Frauen die Frauen durften nur für Haushalts arbeiten eingesetzt werden die Frauen dürfen nur für sexuelle Dienste gehalten werden die Frauen dürfen nur für die Fortpflanzung gehalten werden die Frauen mussten zu jeder Zeit nackt sein mit einer Markierung, dass sie als Sklaven auszeichnete die weiblichen Kinder der Frauen werden als Glaube geboren, falls der Vater sie nicht vorher als freie Frau markiert jede Frau das als Sklave gehalten wird, musste ihren Besitzer absolut gehorchen

The auction block gleamed under sterile fluorescent lights, its marble surface polished to a high shine that reflected my shivering frame. The iron cuffs still bit into my wrists, but there were no barkers shouting here—just the quiet hum of biometric scanners and the occasional click of a touchscreen bid. Men in sharp, dark suits examined digital readouts instead of flesh, though their eyes still raked over my body with the same hunger. The auctioneer didn’t yank my chain—he tapped his tablet, and the automated collar turned me, displaying the holographic brand projected above my hip: *Property of the Republic, Fourth Genetic Cohort*. The whispers were quieter now, murmured into comms units. Fifteen women for every man. The math hadn’t changed. Only the efficiency had. "Prime stock," the auctioneer announced, his voice amplified through hidden speakers. A drone whirred close, its mechanical arm extending to part my thighs with clinical precision. "Virgin womb, genetically optimized for high-yield conception." The cold metal prodded deeper, and I swallowed hard. The trade-off was the same—just more sanitized. The gavel was a chime from a speaker. The winning bidder didn’t mutter—he sent a command. My collar activated before I could react, the electric pulse locking my muscles until I collapsed to the polished floor. Above us, the Bureau of Population Control’s emblem glowed on a massive LED wall. Obedience hadn’t changed. Only the delivery.

The drone retracted, its task complete, but the sting of exposure lingered. The auctioneer’s gloved fingers gripped my chin, tilting my face toward the light. “Final compliance check,” he said, his voice devoid of inflection. The command came through my collar, forcing my legs apart again. This time, the laser scanner hummed as it passed over my pelvis. A holo-display flickered to life, projecting the required proof: *SKLAVE* etched in stark black ink just above my pubic bone. The tattoo wasn’t decorative—it pulsed faintly with nanotech, ensuring the ink would never fade. A permanent receipt. The winning bidder’s footsteps echoed as he approached, his polished shoes stopping inches from my knees. His fingers traced the letters, not quite touching skin. “Good,” he murmured, more to himself than to me. The collar vibrated—stand. I rose on unsteady legs. He didn’t grab my arm. He swiped his wristband over my collar, and the cuffs released with a hiss. “Follow.” No leash, no shackles. Just the tech in my veins responding before my body could. The door hissed open ahead of us. The Bureau’s emblem flashed on its surface one last time—*Ownership Confirmed*.

Es gab eine Reihe anderer Frauen Die bereit waren verkauft zu werden einige davon waren schwarze Latinos und Asiaten mit den gleichen Markierungen wie die anderen Sklaven

The corridor was lined with containment pods, their glass surfaces frosted just enough to blur the figures inside—but not enough to hide the smooth curves of bare skin, the compliant angles of bodies waiting for transfer. Some stirred as we passed; others remained still, already conditioned to resignation. The differences in shade, in heritage, meant nothing here. Every thigh bore the same stark branding: *SKLAVE*. Every collar hummed with the same subdermal controls. A dark-skinned woman with tightly coiled curls met my gaze as we passed, her lips parted—not in protest, but in silent recognition. The scanner above her pod flickered, displaying her file: *Genetic Cohort 7-B, High Fertility Index*. A handprint on the glass; someone had tested her reflexes. The smudge lingered. My owner didn’t glance at them. His stride never broke. The exit doors parted, and the sterile air of the auction house gave way to the antiseptic breeze of the transport bay. A sleek vehicle waited, its hatch open like a waiting jaw. "Inside," he said, and my body obeyed before the word finished echoing. The seats adjusted automatically, restraints coiling around my wrists and ankles—not to bind, but to secure. Efficient. Neat. Through the tinted window, I watched another pod being loaded. A petite Asian woman, her *SKLAVE* brand vivid against her pale skin, was guided into a different transport. Her owner’s grip wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t rough either. Just purposeful. The system didn’t require cruelty. It ran smoother without it. The engine thrummed to life. My owner tapped a command into his wristband, and the restraints tightened just enough to make me aware of them. His thumb brushed the tattoo on my thigh, a idle stroke over the letters. "You’ll do well," he said. The vehicle lifted silently. Behind us, the auction house lights blinked out, one by one.