Sex Slaves

Sex slaves. Despite the name that sounded downright lewd to anyone who heard it, it was actually a pretty serious birthrate policy. Politicians who were truly committed to solving the problem focused heavily on controlling and regulating sexual desire. Precariously enough, adult videos, porn comics, and novels fell outside that scope. Even without extra regulations, South Korea had never fully legalized "obscene materials" in the first place. Cracking down further on the underground stuff would just backfire.

Instead, they went straight for the sex trade industry. Countless buyers and sellers got rounded up. Cops no longer turned a blind eye for a few bucks in bribes. The crackdown drove prostitution even deeper underground, exposing women to greater crimes and violence in the process—or so the critics said—but the government's resolve was ironclad. No mercy. Everyone involved was arrested without fail, and all those "sex trade reviews" floating around online vanished like snow in spring. Posts about "casual hookups" on SNS, degenerate massages, or overseas prostitution trips? Pretty ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠much all gone.

And then they slapped massive taxes on singletons. The amounts weren't trivial. Not just for average folks—the media and the rich howled too. It was an asset-based percentage tax. For someone without much money, it was like the cost of skipping a few chickens or a game console. But for the wealthy, it meant losing control over entire companies. Sure, no unmarried youngster was running a major firm, but even chaebol chairmen watched chunks of their pre-transferred grandkids' inheritance evaporate. Not a small ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠matter.

To soothe the backlash, they introduced the sex slave system. Free love, prostitution, or sugar relationships? Useless for birthrates, they figured. Sex with condoms, sex without accountability—no kids from that. Even if one popped up, without preparation, it was just an abortion. But sex slaves were different. Men dumped their seed into "their" women, and slaves had no right to abort on their own. There was plenty of controversy, but once the system took root, birthrates started climbing bit by bit.

Still, it wasn't my problem. Feeding, clothing, and maintaining one more person? I wouldn't blow my meager cash on singleton taxes just to avoid that easily. I wasn't alone. The poor married to plug the money drain. The rich bought risk-free, legal sex slaves, knocked them up, and satisfied their urges. No gossip, no asset splits, no legal messes, no inheritance claims from the kids later. The system worked like a charm.

"We'll keep this simple and quick, so please just focus for a bit!"

Men and women were jumbled together at ordinary desks. Most ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stared at the instructor with bored eyes. She pushed desperately through the curriculum.

"Once you buy a slave, you get pleasure and responsibility! Never forget that."

The PPT on the beam projector was blurry as hell—not great equipment.

"No returns or abandonment without special circumstances!"

I wasn't enjoying this either. Dull. Pointless.

"No returns if less than five years post-purchase! Got it?"

Watching her give it her all, though, made it awkward to doze off openly, no matter how sleepy I was.

"No returns for refusal to serve, disobedience, assault, or crimes unless it's major stuff. 'Doesn't vibe with me' doesn't cut it! Everyone understand?"

Half the room probably wasn't even listening, but she soldiered on.

"Beating slaves isn't encouraged, but it's allowed up to a point."

I kinda knew this, but hearing it from an official instructor? Unexpected.

"Slaves have their human rights suspended temporarily, so they can't sue their owners legally. And practically, no one's raiding homes to check for abuse."

A few more eyes perked up at "assault."

"But no murder! Keep that in mind!"

Listening to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her casually drop "murder's off-limits," it really hit me: I was in pre-purchase slave orientation.

"And for masters into 'belly punching' or 'ballbusting'—intentionally wrecking a sex slave's fertility means penalties!"

Obvious, really. From the state's view, this was all about making babies. They couldn't ban condoms or pills outright, but surgery or beatings to prevent pregnancy? Against the whole point.

"From purchase to retirement, you're obligated to support your sex slave. Don't forget."

"..."

Makes sense. Can't kill them legally, so "starve 'em instead?" Nah, weird workaround.

"If a kid's born, you support it too. Unlike the slave, the kid's a free citizen with rights! Watch for infant or child abuse!"

The bell rang. Class over.

Singleton taxes are killer, but this is the price to dodge 'em...

Thinking of the tax hit without buying made the time worthwhile.

Per day? Damn good pay...

I glanced around absently. Rich-looking folks, broke ones who could barely afford a slave. Men, women. Young hotties, old wrecks. They were eyeing me the same way.

A staffer met my eyes and flashed a bright smile, starting the tour.

"Sorry for the wait! Right this way!"

Tired. Wanted this over, homeward bound. Stayed up late gaming last night. That late-night chicken was too good—devoured it without restraint. Hit the sack stuffed, knew something was off. Forced a walk, played light games while fighting sleep. Even forgot today's slave-buying appointment.

"You look great. Young too. You can pick and choose at this level."

"Does it matter? Do I... get choices?"

Genuine question. I didn't over- or underrate my looks, but slaves picking based on my face? Wild.

"As you know, these folks aren't slaves yet."

"Right..."

"Just candidates. Still have rights... until you pick, deal's done, then boom—real slaves."

Place was clean. Cafe vibes. Modern era, even with sex slaves—no cages, rags, whips here.

"We let customers choose freely or take our recommendations."

"Huh."

"Yeah. Cafe here, hunting bar there, club down the hall."

"..."

"Want romance? Chat up a cutie nearby."

Quirky concept. Kinda cool.

"Prices on the necklaces—check 'em. They're not slaves yet, so no extreme harassment or violence."

"Other options?"

"Tell us your specs, we'll match women."

Just hearing this tired me more. Choices were a hassle. I'd agonize over chicken orders or PC parts forever. Money fixed that now, but emotions lingered. Base price: billions of won. Plus upkeep. Wouldn't see my slaves often, but no creeps or eyesores.

"Specs... like what?"

She grinned, handed a tablet. Endless scroll of questions.

"...Coffee while I do this?"

"Of course!"

Sighed deep, ordered a strong cafe mocha, drowned it in syrup. Gnawed the straw irritably, blasted through the survey, planned to grab anyone and game at home.

But the first question stopped me cold.