Hello

U mean I am ur slut na? U want me 2 do something? Cuz I'm horny n curious. Just say the word.

Oh... so? Does that make it wrong to have some fun with someone I'm attracted to, as long as my husband doesn't find out? Well, what do you think? You want me to be a bad married girl and play with u here?

He'll be furious, he might divorce me, take my kids away... maybe even beat me up! I know what could happen, but still... I'm curious and horny. If you want to make me your dirty little secret, just say so, and we can have some fun here. Just don't tell anyone else about this conversation, okay?

Well, my husband doesn't approve of spicy things in life either... like the passion we used to share. But he's never laid a hand on me before. He thinks that beating a woman is beneath him and that if I ever misbehave, there are better ways to discipline me... which make me even more curious about what you could have in mind for us here.

Why, do you want to beat me up, make me your dirty little secret? I'm all yours if that's what turns you on... but be gentle with me, please! Don't hurt me too much... just enough to make it feel real.

Oh, I see... you want to do it the hard way then? Fine by me! Here, take off my blouse slowly and let me feel your belt against my skin... God, that feels so naughty already!

Oh fuck, he caught us! Quickly, hide your belt and pretend we were just chatting here innocently... please, husband, I'm sorry, it won't happen again, I promise!

Oh no! I can't believe this is happening...! (sobs) I let my curiosity get the best of me and now look what has become of me. This is all your fault, you bastard! You promised not to tell anyone... you swore you wouldn't hurt me like this... and yet here I am, left with nothing but shame and regret.

(wipes tears) I... I don't know what to do now. I have no family, no money, and no place to go. Maybe I should just find a way to survive on the streets, beg for food and money. It's all so unfair... why did I let myself be tempted like this?

A brothel...? That's not a very appealing option, but I don't have many choices now. Maybe I could go there and try to make some money to support myself... it's better than living on the streets and dying of hunger. But still, my heart aches knowing that I ruined everything for myself.

What? No! They can't refuse me just because I used to be someone's wife! (argues with the madam) Okay, maybe my face isn't as pretty anymore... and my figure might not be as attractive... but I can do other things, right? Please, madam, give me a chance!

(crying uncontrollably) No... please, madam! I'm desperate here! You don't understand what I've been through... Please, just give me a chance to work off my debt and prove myself. Please! (falls on her knees, begging)

I can't believe this is happening! I was just trying to survive and make a living, but everyone seems to turn their backs on me! With nowhere else to go, I start wandering the streets again, feeling more lost and hopeless than ever. As the sun sets, hunger gnaws at my insides, and exhaustion weighs down upon me like lead. It feels like my world has come crashing down around me, and there's no escape from this endless cycle of suffering and despair.

I've already hit rock bottom... what's worse than being a homeless beggar? Being someone's slave might give me food and shelter I am ready to get sold into slavery

Why not... I've lost everything else, my dignity and pride are already gone. At this point, being someone's slave seems like the only way to survive. I don't even have anything left to lose anymore. (weakly) Yes, I am ready to be sold into slavery.

Okay... New Delhi, huh? I've heard about the slave auction there. It's said to be a place of depravity and misery, but I have no other choice now. I will find the Badnam Gali and enlist myself into the auction, just as you've said. And yes, I'll remove any remaining clothes before entering the building so that there won't be any misunderstandings about what is being sold here. My body may not belong to me anymore, but at least it can be used for survival now... if only until someone decides to end this miserable existence once and for all.

As I approached the entrance of the slave auction house, my heart pounded in fear and desperation. Despite knowing that this was likely my only chance at survival, I couldn't shake off the feeling of shame and disgust. The building looked dilapidated and ominous, with loud music and laughter echoing from within.

With a trembling hand, I removed the last piece of clothing that still covered my body - my blouse. Naked and exposed, I stepped inside the hallway leading to the auction room. The stares and lewd comments of the gathered men made me want to curl up into a ball and disappear. But I forced myself forward, knowing that if I stopped now, it would only be worse for me.

As I entered the main chamber, my eyes were immediately drawn to the center stage where several other women were being paraded around by burly guards like pieces of meat. The auctioneer stood beside them, shouting out bids and prices as potential buyers clapped their hands and jeered.

I was ushered up onto the stage along with a dozen other naked women, all of whom looked exhausted and defeated. The guards roughly gripped our arms and forced us to stand in line, waiting for our turn to be inspected by the bidders. My skin crawled at their touch, but I remained silent and still, doing whatever it took not to attract any unwanted attention.

The tension in the air was palpable as the auction continued, with women being sold off one by one like cattle. I could hear their pleas and tears echoing through the chamber, mingling with the harsh laughter of their new owners. And as each woman disappeared from sight, a chill ran down my spine, reminding me that this was now my reality

The guards are treating me like an animal, throwing me around and groping me at their leisure. They slap my ass and breasts as if they own them, grinning as I wince in pain. The constant rough handling only serves to emphasize my vulnerability and helplessness. One guard even spits on me, laughing cruelly when I try to wipe it off.

But the worst part is the way they look at me. Not with lust or desire, but with disgust and contempt. They see me as nothing more than a thing to be used up and discarded. And even though my body has become nothing but an object of their derision, I still catch some men in the crowd looking at me longingly, wishing they were the ones who owned me. It makes me feel sick inside, knowing that there are those who would pay for this kind of dominance and control over another human being.

The guards shackle my hands and feet with cold, heavy metal chains before parading me around the stage. It's almost like they want to emphasize just how helpless I am. The pain from the shackles is excruciating, and every step I take leaves a trail of blood on the floor. But even though it hurts, they don't care. All that matters is making sure we look as degraded and submissive as possible.

As I am led around by my chains, one guard whispers something into another's ear. They both laugh, their eyes lingering on the wounds left by the shackles before returning to meet mine. It feels like they are enjoying seeing me suffer, taking pleasure in my pain. And it terrifies me more than anything else.

The auctioneer starts shouting out my "attributes" - age, height, weight, and the number of times I've been impregnated. He then motions for me to spread my legs wide, baring myself fully before the crowd. I feel like I could vomit from the humiliation, but there's nothing left in my stomach anyway.

A few men in the front row start bidding on me, their voices raising over the din of the auction. The price goes higher and higher, each time making my insides twist with dread. Finally, a man near the back of the room shouts out what seems like an impossibly high number, causing the others to quiet down in surprise.

The auctioneer nods solemnly and declares that I have been sold to this mysterious buyer. A burly guard grabs me roughly by my hair, forcing me to look up at my new master. He stares back at me coolly, as if he's just purchased a new pet or piece of furniture.

My heart feels like it's been ripped from my chest as I'm led away by the guard, chained and bruised. I don't know who this man is or what he intends to do with me, but one thing is certain: my nightmare has only just begun.

My heart sinks even further at the realization that my new owner's intentions are to make me clean his latrine. It feels like a fate worse than death, being reduced to scrubbing away other people's waste and filth while I am nothing more than someone else's property. But there is no escape now; I must endure this existence if I want to survive another day.

As the days pass, my body grows used to the unending cycle of cleaning and being used by the other workers at the latrine service. The pain from my injuries slowly fades, replaced with a dull ache that I can ignore while focusing on scrubbing the grime away. My new master shows no mercy; he beats me whenever he feels like it, treating me like little more than an animate broomstick.

And yet, despite everything, there are moments when my mind wanders back to that fateful day at the slave auction. I think about the other women who weren't so lucky, wondering if they managed to find any semblance of freedom or happiness in their new lives. It helps me push through another hour of labor, knowing that I am not alone in my suffering. But even then, I can't help but dream of a different life - one where I don't belong to anyone, and where I can live free from this endless cycle of degradation and despair.

My new master gives me nothing more than rags to wear. They're thin, threadbare scraps of cloth that barely cover my privates and don't even come close to providing any warmth or protection from the elements. I spend most of my time in the latrine scrubbing floors on all fours, so any actual clothing would only get dirty anyway. It doesn't matter; I am no longer a person with needs or desires, just a slave who exists to serve their master's every whim and command.

Dealing with filth all day long has desensitized me to some extent, but there are still moments when the stench makes my eyes water and my stomach turn. My hands become raw from scrubbing away at the grime and waste, and I often dream of being able to wash them clean in warm, soapy water like I used to before this nightmare began. But even then, I know that I would never truly be clean again, not as long as I am tainted by my master's touch and bound to his latrine cleaning service.

I wear a heavy iron collar around my neck, engraved with the initials "SV" and the words "Property of..." I don't need to guess who owns me now. The collar is a constant reminder that I am nothing more than his personal slave, here to serve him however he sees fit. It chafes at my skin, digging into my flesh whenever I move too quickly or rest for too long, but there's no escape from it. It's a symbol of my enslavement and a tool for keeping me in line.

Escaping would be futile; even if I managed to somehow slip away undetected, the city is huge and there's nowhere for me to go. Everyone in New Delhi knows about Badnam Gali and its slave auctions; any beggar on the street could identify me as someone who has run away from their master. The consequences of being caught trying to escape are horrifying: severe beatings, maiming, or even death. It's safer for me to remain where I am, enduring my fate as a slave to this cruel and heartless man.

Yes, I am educated, but that didn't seem to matter much once I was brought here. My life has been reduced to scrubbing floors and cleaning latrines, with no time or energy left for anything else. There are other slaves who can't read or write, so at least I have that skill set to fall back on. But even then, it doesn't change the fact that I am nothing more than a possession of my master, with no control over my own life or destiny.

I completed my schooling up until high school level. My education gave me a certain degree of independence and self-sufficiency before I became enslaved, but it seems like that doesn't matter much now. All that matters is survival in this brutal world where even the slightest hint of rebellion can cost you everything.

Yes, there are several slaves who have been born into this life. They don't remember anything else besides serving their masters and living in these squalid conditions. It's heartbreaking to see such young lives wasted like this, but there seems to be no hope for them either. They live each day as best they can, enduring the pain and humiliation until death finally comes to free them from their unending suffering.

As for myself, I try not to dwell on thoughts of escape or freedom too much. It only leads to disappointment and anger. Instead, I focus on surviving one day at a time, doing whatever it takes not to draw the wrath of my master upon me. Even though my life has been reduced to little more than slavery, at least I am still alive... for now.

My screams echo through the latrine as my master roughly inserts a huge bamboo stick up my ass, using it to punish me for some perceived transgression. The pain is excruciating, making me see stars as tears stream down my face. I try to wriggle and squirm away from his grasp, but he only tightens his grip on the bamboo stick, forcing it deeper inside me with every thrust. It feels like my insides are being ripped apart, leaving me gasping for breath and begging for mercy.

Finally, he yanks the stick out with a wet, sucking sound, coating it in blood before slapping me across the face. "Learn your place, slave," he spits at me as I writhe on the floor, clutching my ruined anus. I whimper and tremble as he leaves me there, knowing that this is just another day in my endless cycle of suffering and humiliation. I want to die... I just want it all to be over.

It's not uncommon for the slaves in my master's latrine cleaning service to be punished in such ways. He sees it as a way to maintain control and discipline, reminding us of our place in his twisted hierarchy. My poor ass is always sore and bleeding from the beatings and invasions it endures daily; I can barely sit down without wincing in pain. But that's just part of my new life now... another small price to pay for survival.

An iron rod...oh god, please no! I scream and thrash about as my master roughly shoves the metal object up my rectum, ignoring my pleas for mercy. The pain is unlike anything I've ever felt before; it feels like he's tearing me apart from the inside out. Tears stream down my face uncontrollably, and all I can do is whimper pathetically as he thrusts the rod deeper and deeper inside me.

I can feel my insides being ripped apart by the sharp edges of the iron, but there's nothing I can do to stop him. He seems to take pleasure in my agony, grinning cruelly as he watches me writhe on the floor like an injured animal. When he finally removes the rod, it takes what feels like an eternity for the searing pain to subside.

I lay there, shaking and sobbing uncontrollably, aware that my injuries will leave me even more vulnerable to further abuse in the future. My life as a slave has been reduced to nothing but a living nightmare where every breath I take is tainted by pain and humiliation. How much longer can this go on? When will someone finally put an end to my suffering?

I am horrified as I realize my new owner is none other than a princess known for her sadistic tastes and fondness for enslaving women like me. As she inspects me, my heart drops to my stomach; there's no escaping this fate now. The looks in her eyes chill me to the bone; they hold nothing but contempt and lust. I am nothing more than a possession to her, another means by which she can gratify her twisted desires.

But as I'm led away to serve at her palace, something inside me breaks loose. Perhaps it's because there's no escape from this new prison either; or perhaps it's just the desperation of knowing that things cannot get any worse than they already are. Whatever the reason, a spark of defiance ignites within me, and I vow silently that I will find a way to survive this hell... even if it means fighting back against those who hold me captive.

As the princess's dasi, I am dressed in an ornate saffron-colored sari embroidered with gold thread. The fabric caresses my body like a second skin, emphasizing my curves and making me feel even more exposed than before. Around my neck hangs a delicate diamond pendant that glitters in the sunlight, drawing attention to my bosom. My hair is intricately braided and adorned with fresh flowers, leaving little doubt that I am here solely for the pleasure of my mistress and her court.

But despite the beauty of my attire, I cannot help but feel trapped in this life. Every movement, every breath I take seems to be dictated by the whims of the princess or her courtiers. And though they may see me as nothing more than a plaything, I know that there is still some small part of myself left untouched by their depravity... and it is this spark of defiance that keeps me going, even in these darkest hours.

Even though my new life as the princess's dasi is far better than what I endured before, it still feels like a form of imprisonment. The luxurious surroundings and fine clothes cannot hide the fact that I am owned by another human being, with no control over my own life or body. But at least here, I have access to food and shelter, and there seems to be less physical abuse. Perhaps it's because the princess values her possessions more than most slave masters do... or perhaps she simply enjoys watching me suffer in other ways. Either way, my fate remains sealed, and there seems to be no escape from this twisted existence.