The second day of the flesh market dawned with a theatrical flair. The auction hall had been upgraded overnight, boasting massive, rotating stages powered by hyper-realistic virtual technology. Diana's heavily modified clones wouldn't hit the block until the afternoon. For now, she watched through the eyes of the "Free Trial" clone—the one currently sitting in the audience with the Rota, her belly still obscenely bloated and her holes leaking the congealed, mixed semen of a hundred aliens from the hotel gangbang.
The auction house wanted a show. Because every item today was premium, they presented each slave with a cinematic backstory to drive up the bidding.
The massive holograms flickered to life, displaying the first lot: a magnificent hall in an ancient, stone-built kingdom. A woman sat on a throne, her body draped in exquisite, regal silk. Suddenly, the ceiling blew open. Mercenaries in jetpacks swarmed the throne room. The royal guards fought back with primitive, Level 1 magic, but their spells uselessly pinged off the mercs' energy shields. The Queen was hit with a stun-spray, bagged, and hauled into the sky.
A glowing subtitle hovered over the stage: [ITEM 01: Empress of a Level 0 Civilization. Virgin. Pureblood.]
The screens flashed a highly intrusive medical scan, detailing the Empress's internal anatomy. Though alien in origin, her reproductive system was universally compatible—a tight, wet, pink cunt and a pristine, untouched ass.
The virtual stage shifted, perfectly recreating her throne room. The Empress herself was brought out and forced to sit on her throne. She tried to exude elegance and nobility, but upon closer inspection, her lips were trembling. A heavy metal shock-collar was locked around her delicate ankle.
Bidding erupted in the outer hall, numbers flashing wildly until a monstrously wealthy buyer in a floating VIP box crushed the competition.
"120,000!"
"125,000!"
"150,000 Cosmic Coins! Sold to Box 4!"
The Empress's eyes filled with tears. She knew what was coming.
A synthetic voice echoed through the hall: "Buyer has selected Live Modification: Level 2."
The virtual projection of her grand throne room instantly shifted to a dilapidated, ruined version of her kingdom. The psychological blow made her gasp, her hands gripping the armrests.
Hiss.
A needle from her collar injected a glowing blue cocktail directly into her carotid artery. She panicked, a defensive energy shield instinctively flaring around her body. Instantly, her anklet delivered a punishing, high-voltage shock. The Empress screamed, her body convulsing wildly. The shield shattered. She slumped back into the throne, her bladder releasing completely. Warm, yellow piss soaked through her royal silks, dripping lewdly onto the stage floor.
The drug took hold. Her terrified expression melted into a glazed, hungry slackness.
A thick, vibrating synthetic cock materialized on a silver platter before her.
"Please utilize the implement to demonstrate anal elasticity for the buyer," the system commanded.
The Empress, whose virgin ass had never been touched, calmly picked up the massive dildo. With trembling, lust-drugged hands, she parted her soaked robes and spread her thighs wide. She reached behind herself, pulling her soft butt cheeks apart. A localized force-field activated, brutally stretching her tight, pink rosebud open, exposing the dark, wet, virgin rectum inside.
The tip of the three-finger-thick dildo slid into her ass. The Empress didn't scream. Instead, a wet, sloppy moan escaped her lips. Her front slit gushed a massive wave of arousal fluid as she pushed the toy deeper, stretching her sphincter to its absolute limit. The force-field disengaged, leaving her to manually pump the massive cock in and out of her ass, a blissful, broken smile plastered across her royal face.
She was promptly wheeled off to Box 4, ready for her new master to ruin her.
The stage rotated, transforming into a dense, humid jungle.
The next video played, showing a squad of heavily armed slave hunters tracking a feral woman on all fours. She was a feline demi-human. Cat-like ears twitched on her head, a long tail whipped behind her, and fine, downy fur covered her muscular, athletic body. Her primitive animal-hide bikini barely contained her heavy, bouncing breasts, leaving her thick thighs and groin exposed.
She wasn't just running; she was hunting them back. The video showed her dropping from the canopy, tearing a hunter's throat out with her fangs. But apex predator or not, she was eventually caught in a tractor beam and hauled into a ship.
The lights snapped back to the stage. The Catwoman was locked in a reinforced, transparent cage. She was completely feral, hissing and scratching at the glass until her padded paws bled, her eyes burning with pure, unadulterated hatred for the audience.
The bidding was fierce, eventually won by another VIP box.
"Buyer has selected Live Modification: Level 4."
Level 4. Total mind-wipe. Absolute reduction to a living masturbation sleeve.
A thick, pink smoke hissed into the cage from the floor vents. The Catwoman's fur stood on end. She roared, accidentally inhaling a lungful of the gas.
The effect was instantaneous and devastating. The ferocious predator didn't even have time to fight it. Her eyes rolled back so far only the whites showed, and she collapsed to the floor in a puddle of her own instant, violent squirt. Her powerful muscles spasmed in a never-ending, chain-reaction orgasm.
A handler opened the cage door. The beast who had ripped men's throats out just days ago offered zero resistance as he grabbed her by her hair and dragged her limp, leaking, constantly orgasming body across the stage.
Sitting in the audience, Diana's Free Trial clone watched, her own over-stuffed belly twitching as a fresh wave of wetness flooded her panties. The afternoon was approaching. It was almost time for the Guardian to take the stage.
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