Mom goes to next town to get slave graded.

Sheree’s heart hammered as the van rumbled down the dusty back roads toward Thomasville. Her hands were cuffed behind her back, a thick leather collar buckled tight around her throat, and a heavy chain ran from the collar to the floor ring between her spread knees. She was completely naked except for the wide leather belt cinched around her waist and the bit gag that kept her mouth open and drooling. The second photo—the one of her smiling in red sunglasses—had been taken just a few hours earlier, before her clothes were stripped away and her “real” journey began.
The driver, a tall man in a black vest with the Thomasville Slave Market emblem on the shoulder, glanced at her in the rear-view mirror.
“First time being graded, girl?”
Sheree nodded, cheeks burning. She had fantasized about this for years. Now it was real.
Thomasville’s old brick auction house came into view, the faded sign reading “SLAVE MARKET – GRADING & AUCTION” in weathered gold letters. The parking lot was full of vans and trailers just like theirs. Several other naked women and a few men were already being led inside on leashes, their bodies oiled, inspected, and marked.
The driver parked, opened the rear doors, and clipped a short leash to Sheree’s collar. She crawled out on all fours, bare knees scraping the gravel, heavy breasts swaying beneath her. A small crowd of handlers and buyers watched with appraising eyes as she was marched toward the grading station.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of leather, sweat, and anticipation. Bright lights hung over a low wooden platform. A stern woman in a crisp white coat—clearly the head grader—motioned for Sheree to step up.
“Name?” the grader asked, clipboard ready.
“Sheree,” she mumbled around the bit.
“Full slave designation today is ‘Sheree-47’. Strip any remaining dignity, 47. Stand, legs apart, hands behind head.”
Sheree obeyed, rising on shaky legs. The grader circled her slowly, gloved hands probing without mercy. She cupped and lifted Sheree’s heavy breasts, pinching the nipples until they stood stiff and dark. Fingers slid between Sheree’s thighs, spreading her pussy lips wide for the small crowd to see. A low whistle came from one of the onlookers as the grader’s fingers dipped inside, testing wetness and tightness.
“Responsive cunt,” the grader noted aloud. “Grade A for arousal. Moderate bush—will recommend trimming or permanent removal depending on buyer preference.” She slapped Sheree’s ass hard enough to leave a red handprint. “Good tone, decent padding. Breeding hips. Turn.”
Sheree spun, presenting her ass. The grader spread her cheeks, examining her tight rear hole with clinical detachment.
“Anal experience?”
Sheree shook her head, humiliated.
“Virgin ass. That’ll bump the price for certain buyers. Mark it ‘trainable.’”
A thick black marker was used to write directly on Sheree’s skin: “47” on her left breast, “A-grade cunt” above her mound, and “Anal V” on her right ass cheek. The grader stepped back and snapped several photos, including close-ups of her dripping pussy and tear-streaked face.
“Current market value estimate: high four figures for private sale, possibly low five if she performs well in the auction ring. Any limits, 47?”
Sheree’s voice trembled. “N-no limits, Ma’am… I want to be sold.”
The grader smiled for the first time. “Good girl. Take her to holding pen B. The auction starts in forty minutes.”
Sheree was led away on her leash, marked, graded, and utterly exposed, her bare feet padding across the cold concrete as the reality of her new life in Thomasville truly began.

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