Two days after Melissa’s 18th birthday, the family drove into the city to the Slave Bureau to get her enslaved. It would have been the day after, but this year her birthday had happened to fall on a Saturday and the offices were all closed on Sunday. Thus, it was early on Monday morning all three of them, Dad, Mom and Melissa piled into the family car for the long trip into down.

It was a long and awkward ride for all three. Mom kept trying to reassure Melissa that things wouldn’t be so bad as a slave and they’d try and find a good owner for her, and didn’t she know the money this brought in would be of so much help for the family.

Dad tried to back her up on this point as well, but it didn’t help much, as Melissa had seen her dad drooling over advertisements for trucks and boats the last few weeks and she knew he’d been eyeing the new hot tub the neighbors had installed after they sold one of their daughters, all the while eyeing Melissa, waiting as she grew into a tall, beautiful girl, as her hips started to widen and her chest push out, counting down the months until she reached the age when she could be legally sold.

Melissa, for her part, was mostly silent, only speaking up when asked a direct question by either of her parents and limiting her responses to monosyllabic murmurs. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known this was coming, ever since she was a little girl. The slave laws had been in place for decades now. For women like Melissa’s grandmother, they might have been something new and terrible, but for Melissa and girls of her generation, they were just a fact of life. They all knew, once they turned 18 odds were good they’d end up sold off.

Despite that, though, the teen was still nervous. She wondered who would end up owning her. Her parents promised to find a good buyer for her, but she knew odds were, her father would make his decision based on whomever offered the best price for her, and it was his decision that mattered, in the end. Still, she hoped her future owner would be a nice one, or at the very least not too cruel…

All too soon, they were pulling into the parking lot of the Slave Bureau’s local office. Melissa peered through the windows as dad parked the car. It didn’t look like much, at least not compared to the dreary, dismal dungeon of despair she’d been imagining in her mind the whole way over here. But then again, this wasn’t where the slaves were sold, it was just where you went to get the paperwork in order before selling.

The office was doing a good bit of business that morning. Plenty of people who had to wait until after the weekend for it to open up again. Most of the people Melissa saw in line were girls like her, just come of age, trailing glumly after one or both parents. She looked around but fortunately didn’t see any of her friends from school with her in line. But there were a few older woman in line as well, who’d managed to avoid the collar for a few years but now had no choice, either to pay of a debt or punishment for something or a few, Melissa supposed it was possible, who wanted to give up their freedom and sell themselves to a master for one reason or another.

The woman ahead of them in line, Melissa’s mother got to chatting with her, had run a red light a few days ago and so, it was her third strike, had been sentenced to slavery. At least doing so like this, voluntarily, would give her some more options then if she’d gone through the jails.

Eventually, the family reached the front of the line and were ushered into one of the semi-private cubicles with a slaving agent. They settled into the chairs, Dad at the front one, across from the agent, Mom in the chair beside him, Melissa in the third chair, to one side and half a pace back from the other two. Though she was the principal focus of things here, it was quite apparent she would not be expected to take much of an active role in her enslavement.  

“So you’re selling your daughter...Melissa is it?” The agent asked her father as he started filling out the stack of paperwork.

“Yep. Just came of age.” He replied. Though he’d managed to avoid saying: “Time to cash in…” the sentiment was definitely there in his tone.

“Now, did you have a particular dealer in mind you’d like to sell her through?” The agent asked.

“We were going to sell her ourselves.” Dad replied. He was convinced he could find a buyer just as easily as any overblown salesman and he didn’t want to have to give the auction house its cut. Melissa didn’t mind that so much. She’d get to stay at home a few extra days or so, however long it took her father to find a buyer, instead of the dungeon at one of the big auction houses. She also wouldn’t have to go onto the auction block, standing naked in front of a crowd while they bid on her. She didn’t know if she could bear that humiliation.

After a few more questions and more than a few more pages of paperwork, it was almost done, save one last step. “Alright, last chance.” The agent said, holding up two pens. “Just need some signatures and it will be done. But I must remind you that once its signed there’s no going back. Young Melissa will lose all rights as a citizen and henceforth legally be a slave, at the moment owned by you two, her parents until sold.”

Melissa’s father took one pen, her mother the other. Though she was 18, Melissa’s signature, her consent, wasn’t needed for her parents to decide to sell her. If she’d managed to get emancipated before turning 18, her consent would have been needed, but in the years since the slave laws began it had become almost impossible for a girl to get free before she could be sold.

Before Melissa could even briefly entertain thoughts her dad might have a change of heart, he took the pen and scrawled his signature across the bottom. He handed it over to her mother who, less enthusiastically signed. That was all it took. At that moment, Melissa became a slave.

The three adults stood up, shaking hands as the paperwork was folded up and stuck in an envelope to be copied and registered with the slaving bureau, so her enslavement would be official. Melissa awkwardly stood as well. She didn’t feel like a slave, even though that’s what she was now, standing by her parents, still in her t-shirt and jeans and sneakers. But that would change very quickly, she realized.

“Now, let’s take this little slave here back, get her assessment done, photos, prints, the whole works.” The agent said, ushering the trio out of the cubicle and towards a door to the back. Melissa held her breath. A few weeks ago, as her birthday and subsequent enslavement began to loom over her, she’d done a bit of research, to try and find out what she had to look forward to. After the enslavement papers were signed, she had to be examined and certified healthy by a Slave Bureau inspector, before she could be sold. They would also assign a value to her, to serve as the starting point for her sale. Fingerprints and photographs would also be taken, they would be used to track her down, if she ever tried to run away from her future owner.

Through the door and down a long hallway lined with doors. Seemingly at random, the agent stopped them at door number 7 and ushered Melissa in, while her parents remained in the hallway. “Take off all your clothes and sit down. The Assessor will be by shortly.” The agent told her. He did not say please. You did not have to say please to a slave. He closed the door behind her. Though she didn’t know whether it locked or not, she felt trapped in the small, sterile room nonetheless.

Glumly, Melissa did as she was instructed, pulling her t-shirt up over her head, unhooking her bra, unzipping and pulling down her jeans and panties. Though, for the moment, she remained alone, her cheeks still flushed red as she found herself completely naked in a public office building.

Time passed, a few minutes turning into a quarter of an hour, then twenty minutes. Just shy of the half-hour mark, the door opened. Unconsciously, Melissa’s hands went up as an unassuming man in a grey suit stepped in, one arm across her chest, covering her breasts as best she could, the other hand spread across her crotch, to try and preserve whatever shreds of modesty she still had.

The man wasn’t surprised by Melissa’s reaction, merely stating: “Hands at your side, slave” in a tone that, though not rough told Melissa not obeying wasn’t an option. Cheeks burning, she slowly lowered her hands to her sides, as ordered. Over the next few minutes, she endured what had to be the most embarrassing few minutes of her life. Every part of her naked, 18-year old body was closely examined, accompanied by remarks like: “Good tits, add a bit to the value...rump’s a little plain...belly needs some tightening up.” He reached out with one hand, casually feeling her up, little caring how she cringed back at his touch except to order to her stand straight and not fidget.

Worst part was when she was ordered to spread her legs, so he could examine her slit. She was completely hairless between her legs, over her entire body below her head as a matter of fact. The day before, her dad had told her to go to the bathroom and shave everywhere.

After that she was fingerprinted, putting all her fingers and even her toes on the ink and onto the paper. She was photographed, looking numbly at the camera as its unyielding gaze captured every inch of her. Why the Bureau needed pictures taken of her breasts, her ass, her crotch, to identify her she couldn’t understand, but it was no longer her place to understand things.

“One last thing and you can get going…” The man told her, opening a cabinet. “Your slave tag.” Melissa flinched. She’d been dreading this. From her brief research online, she knew all slaves had to be tagged, the small metal chit had both a barcode and a microchip that connected her to her entry in the government slave database. In some places, the tag went through the ear, but in others…

“Spread your legs slave.” The assessor ordered, grabbing the tag and a piercing gun.

Thirty seconds later, Melissa was tagged. She sniffled back tears as the sharp pain receded. While she turned and began gathering up her clothes, the assessor opened the door, revealing the hallway and her parents standing by. “I’d leave the clothes off.” The man told her. “You’re going to have to get used to public nudity sooner or later…”

“He’s right, dear.” Her mom told her. Though dad usually let her wear clothes, today, in support of her daughter she’d elected to accompany her wearing only the silver engraved collar her master, Melissa’s dad, had given her on the twentieth anniversary of when he bought her. Her own tag was quite visible, hanging from a small ring piercing her sex.

Melissa hesitated, giving a whimper, but she bundled her clothes up into a ball, tucking it under one arm while she hurried out the door to rejoin her parents. Back out into the main area of the office. Melissa’s cheeks were crimson, the teen felt like every eye would be looking at her, walking, or more accurately, shuffling through the door, stark naked, slave tag so very visible hanging between her completely bare sex, fighting the urge to try and cover up. In actuality, though, few took any notice of her, save a couple of girls eyeing her nervously, seeing their own fate in just a few minutes.

Back out to the car. It felt so weird to be walking outdoors completely naked, the wind blowing across her bare skin. She had to remind herself that this was just something she’d have to get used to, though at that particular moment it didn’t seem all that likely. Getting into the car was odd, in another way. She simply climbed in the backseat and buckled in while her parents got in the front two, her dad starting the car. She was a slave now, she should have been locked in a cage in the back, shackled hand and foot, gagged or even hooded. Apart from the fact she was naked, her clothes now sitting in the empty seat beside it, it was like nothing had changed.

Legally though, everything had. Now, in the eyes of the law, she was no longer her parents daughter. She was their slave, an asset in their portfolio, property, soon to be sold. If she were to get out of the car, without their permission, to go anywhere without asking, she would be considered a runaway slave and could be punished. If they, or whoever ended up buying her from them wanted to, they could do almost anything they wanted with her. Killing her was still murder, excessive injury was still assault but past that almost anything went. She could be whipped, branded, be pierced or tattooed, permanently marked, at her master’s whim and she had no say in things, not now or ever again.

On the way home, the family stopped at a fast food restaurant for lunch. It was almost like any other family outing, except again Melissa was now completely naked. This time she did get some stares, from some teenage boys, which she tried to ignore as best she could. After all, there was no way they could afford to purchase her.

And then they were home again, only it wasn’t her home anymore, not really. Dad got the camera and took some more pictures of Melissa. With those, and the pictures and information from the Slave Bureau, he began putting together an online advertisement for her. He hit enter and she was now up for sale. Her cheeks flushed red at the thought that at that moment dozens, maybe hundreds or even thousands of men were looking at the pictures of her; naked and tagged, debating whether to buy her, to own her body.

Part of Melissa had thought that as soon as the ad was up, responses would come flooding in, eager buyers breaking down the front door, waving money at her father while they pawed at her naked body, now their body, to own and do with as they pleased. Her dad must have had the same thought. He sat at the computer for a couple hours, endlessly refreshing his email inbox, waiting for replies.

For the next couple of days, Melissa could only putter around the house, anxiously awaiting. Though it was a school week, she wouldn’t be attending classes anymore. She was a slave now, and didn’t have the right to attend public schools. By now her teachers would have already been notified, assuming the school simply hadn’t assumed that, as a moderately pretty female student she wouldn’t be attending classes after her eighteenth birthday anyway.

On the fourth day since her enslavement, Melissa’s dad got an email reply, from someone interested in buying her. They scheduled a day for him to come look at her. The day after that he got a couple more interested emails.

A few days later the first prospective buyer arrived. Melissa was in the living room, seated on a chair in the center. She’d stripped off her clothes and was sitting with her legs crossed, trying to look calm and at ease, even as her cheeks flushed red and butterflies flitted about in her stomach. She held her breath as the doorbell rang, her dad answered it, exchanged words with the other man, the conversation slowly moving from the front door towards the living room as they approached.

From her position, head bowed slightly, Melissa peered up. The first potential buyer was, just sort of average. Not the handsome, kind Master she’d hoped would rescue her, not the leering, lustful, creepy perv she’d feared would drag her off to his basement dungeon. Just a man, dark haired, dressed casually in a polo and khakis.

He was a bit older than her, true, but one had to be, to get established and make some money before they could think about buying a slave. The only way Melissa would end up with a Master closer to her age was if she was bought as some kids birthday present or maybe a college graduation present and she was sure she didn’t want that. Not that what she wanted mattered in the slightest, of course...

The man came in and stood in front of Melissa, studying her for a moment. He ordered her to stand, to turn, to spread her legs slightly… After asking her dad, though not her, if it would be all right, the man reached out with a hand to feel up the teen, cupping one of her breasts, tracing a finger along her thigh… She tried not to recoil back, not to cringe at his touch, though the bright red shade her face had become quite clearly told the man she was uncomfortable at being felt up like that.

He did ask her some questions, a few, as she’d feared about her love life, if she was a virgin, if she’d ever given oral sex before, but others were about her school studies, what chores she’d done around the house. He was interested in someone to keep his home tidy, to cook and clean, as well as warm his bed. He even asked a few questions about her hobbies and interests, which gave her some hope.

After his inspection, which took only a few minutes, he withdrew into another room with Melissa’s dad to haggle. Melissa and her mother went into another room, to wait for the news. When it came, the new was: “We’ll see.” Melissa’s dad had asked a high price, the other man had countered with a low bid, neither had budged much. Both would wait and see if anyone else came, if a better price was offered.

Over the next few days, more men came to view Melissa, two sometimes three a day. She endured the inspections again and again, each time growing a little more used to standing before the men unclothes, letting them reach out and feel her up. Some of the men were like the first, brusque, business-like, interested in what she could do for them as a slave, but not particularly cruel or lustful.

Others were more like what she’d feared, openly leering men who’d gone past feeling her up and straight into groping. One had to be ordered out of the house by her dad. He’d wanted ‘a sample” before he decided whether or not to buy. He was not a serious buyer, he’d said after shutting the door, just some creep trying to sneak a free sample wherever he could.  

Some of the men made offers for Melissa. From her father’s glum expression they were closer to what the first man had offered then what he’d hoped. He, reluctantly, began to admit that she’d have probably fetched a better price at one of the big auctions, even with the cut the professional dealers would have taken out of it. Secretly, Melissa hoped none of them would ever offer enough, that she would never be sold. A faint hope, she knew, but she couldn’t help but hope.

About two weeks after she’d gone on the market, the first man returned, examined Melissa again and made another offer. It was less then her dad had hoped for, but more then he’d offered previously, and the best price they’d gotten for her yet. The two men shook hands. Melissa had been sold.

Sold, but not yet delivered. Her new owner-to-be needed to get the funds together. Low priced she may have been, but a slave, especially a pretty teenage slave girl, was still a pricey thing indeed. He would come back in two days, with a check for her price and then he would take her home.

Melissa spent those days getting ready. She went, with her parents/owners permission, to visit some of her girlhood friends one last time. Those that hadn’t turned 18 ahead of her anyway. They said their goodbyes, many asking questions about what the enslavement process had been like for her, no doubt counting down the days and weeks until their own 18th birthdays.

She also packed up her things. Her future Master had said she could take a few things with her. Some keepsakes, some of her clothes, though she would only wear them with his permission. The rest her parents might keep, or donate or sell depending on the item in question. And all too soon, the moment she’d dreaded came, the day she would leave her home and start her new life as a slave.

A short while before the appointed time the family gathered downstairs, near the front door, waiting. Though she had her clothes in a small suitcase, Melissa was naked, as she didn’t yet have her new owner’s permission to put any of them on. She went ahead and said her goodbyes to her parents, then they waited. A few minutes crept by the hour. Melissa wondered if he’d changed his mind, if he wasn’t going to buy her after all, but no, ten minutes late he rang the bell, apologizing for his tardiness, traffic and all that.

Melissa’s dad had the contract drawn up, a standard, boilerplate form he’d downloaded off a website, spelling out the conditions of the payment and transferring Melissa’s ownership from her parents to her new owner: one Henry Knight, Master Knight she would be calling him from now on. The contract was signed, the check was passed over. At a nod from her dad, Melissa stepped forward and sank to her knees, bowing her head. “Master.” She said in a quiet voice.

“Slave,” he replied. “Raise your head up.” As she did, she saw what he had in his hand. It was a collar, a simple ring of soft, supple leather, with a buckle on one end. Hanging from the front was a metal ring and a couple of tags. One was a match for the slave tag she wore between her legs, he’d gotten the information from the bureau. The other hand his name engraved on it, marking the one wearing it, her, as his property. She held her breath as the collar went around her neck, was tightened, snug but not enough to choke her, and buckled in place. From a pocket, he produced a leash and clipped it to the front. Now, with the collar a constant reminder, Melissa really felt like a slave. She looked up at the man who now owner her, her master, and waited his next order.

“Come.” He said, tugging gently on the leash. She nodded, returning her gaze to its lowered position as she rose to her feet. She paused just long enough to grab the suitcase containing her only possessions now, or actually her Master’s possessions. As a slave she couldn’t own anything. Her master owned them, just as he owned her now. With a final glance back to her parents, she walked out the door to her owners car, ready to take her away to her new life...