A ‘Routine’ Enslavement

by Falcon

This is a fantasy and any similarity of names or places to actual persons or places is purely coincidental.  This story features scenes of non consensual sex. Persons who do not wish to read such scenes are advised to stop now.  The author does not condone in real life the activities depicted in this fantasy.

Prologue

The year was 2136.  The United States would be unrecognizable to those who had lived there in the early twenty first century.  For one thing there had been a civil war over the issues of taxation, the voting franchise and slavery.  Ultimately the side that prevailed in the far greater number of states was the side that wanted a major reduction of taxes, a limitation of the voting franchise to tax paying citizens and the return of slavery. 

A new nation named Capitallia was formed consisting, at first, of 15 western states that declared their intention to secede from the U.S.  This led at first to armed conflict, but soon other states switched their allegiance until a total of 38 of the original 50 states comprised the new nation, named for capitalism, the social and economic system that the new nation meant to promote in every way possible. The capital of the new nation was New York City, while Washington D.C. remained the capital of what was left of the old United States.

In Capitallia, the voting privilege and citizenship status were limited to those who could demonstrate certain educational achievements and pay a uniform per capita tax.  Taxes had been vastly reduced by avoiding unnecessary wars and by largely eliminating the “social safety net”.  The society had also become quite class conscious.  There were sharp distinctions between those who were citizens and those who were not, with each class having distinctly different rights and privileges.

Because of this class consciousness, and the absence of a ‘safety net’, the criminal laws, as well as laws pertaining to contract and debt, had evolved in ways that earlier generations might have thought harsh. 

Radical change had been made inevitable by decades of rising crime rates, persistently high unemployment, sharply rising levels of credit default by unemployed debtors, and the resulting high prices caused by those debtor defaults. 

The public had grown weary of the high costs of building and running prisons, and of the high costs of coddling insolvent debtors.  When special interests pushed for a radical new solution, the public was ripe for it.  Slavery, of a particularly high tech nature, had been reintroduced.

                         ********************************************************

Bill Steelforth had arrived at his office early for a meeting with a key client.  Bill was a ‘slaver's agent’.   He represented a number of diverse clients, but most particularly the interests of an elite slave owning and trading firm known as Richmond SlendaBond.

Bill was in his mid forties and at the peak of his career.   Often he would visit a new city and scout out attractive young women there who might be insolvent.  When he found an interesting target he tried to interest one of his clients in acquiring her.  If he received a green light, he would then hire a local attorney, arrange for the client to buy up all her debts, and assemble all the required evidence the attorney would needed to take her down in court.

When such an enslavement had been successful, his client would employ only the most advanced methods for tracking and controlling the new slave.  Not only would he or she be ‘micro chipped’ but would also have a digital bio implant which allowed his or her owner to remotely monitor vital bodily functions, remotely administer punishment for disobedience or remotely administer sexual pleasure to reward highly skilled service. 

This morning, after the client meeting, he had discovered a pretty twenty something girl waiting for him in his outer office.  She was scantily clad, handcuffed and apparently in the custody of a uniformed guard.  The guard indicated that the girl’s sexual services were to be a gift to him for the day from one of his clients. 

He instructed the guard as to his desires.  The girl was to be stripped of all clothing except for her high heels and collar, then sent to his inner office leashed and with hands cuffed behind her back.  The guard was to bring in her clothing bundle also, then wait outside to collect her later.

First he would keep the girl standing at the side of his desk.  She was easy on his eyes, particularly as the high heeled shoes brought out the muscle tone of her slender legs, the handcuffs prevented any attempt at modesty and the steel collar around her pretty neck proclaimed her status as a sexual slave.  Her wiry black pubic hair had been trimmed in such a way as not to obscure her feminine parts.

He surveyed the spectacular New York City skyline from his 27th floor corner office.  While she stood there awaiting his pleasure he decided to make a few calls.  Then she found herself pulled her by her leash around to his side of the desk.  He commanded her to assume a kneeling position, facing him, under his desk.  He settled into a comfortable position in his executive chair and unzipped himself.  If the girl’s training had been complete, she would need no further instruction. 

He eyed the file on his desk.  This case was one in which his services had been retained for the acquisition of a particular person.  The case concerned a debtor designated for what could only be called a ‘routine’ enslavement.  She should have been just like a hundred other insolvent female debtors whose freedom he had taken in the interests of his clients.  He just wasn't sure she was the type of person his company ought to be acquiring.  He told himself that he wasn’t getting soft, just being careful.

As he contemplated his reservations about the case at hand, he was receiving much pleasure from the girl crouched between his legs.  She would have chosen to be almost anywhere else if the choice had been hers to make.  But his client had come to own her as a result of his own efforts a year earlier.  He experienced a thrill as he realized that her present sexual services were a kind of reward to him from the client for a job well done.

He had not felt compassion for her.  She had deliberately defrauded many businesses and her present sexual slavery was a punishment well deserved.  He felt that he could, therefore, enjoy guilt free the pleasures she was forced to provide.

While seated in his executive chair he had been able to look down upon her blonde head, her well tanned shoulders, and her tear stained face.  He enjoyed the pleasurable sensation of her warm wet tongue slowly caressing the sensitive

under side of his penis and glans.  This pleasure had alternated with the rapid and feather light butterfly movements of her tongue on his testicles.

She had aroused him from complete flaccidity to a partial erection very quickly, hoping to end her task in record time.  But he, wishing to prolong both his own pleasure and her humiliation, had made her desist whenever it seemed he might be approaching a point of no return.

Bill knew that such a profession as his, with its attendant pleasures, would not have been possible a century earlier.  But the straight-laced majority of citizens had become more tolerant of the desires of a minority to discreetly pursue such

vices as pornography, nudity, prostitution, drugs and gambling. This had helped set the stage for what was to come.

However, the main event that had ushered in the New Order, along with those changed attitudes, had been the creation of the new nation of Capitallia

Two months ago the assign gram his secretary had pulled up on the optiFiber machine indicated that his client, SlendaBond, wished to acquire ownership of one Stephanie Glenn, in satisfaction of her debts to that firm.  There was a megafile elinked with some photos of Stephanie and her vital statistics.  He had noticed that she was a looker! 

Her file detailed her professional accomplishments as an accountant, the papers she had written for professional societies and the community charitable activities she was involved with.  He had begun to question if this was the sort of young woman the firm ought to be enslaving.

He had called up the client to ask if the firm couldn't just let this particular quarry slip through the net.  The answer that he got was an emphatic no!   He was told that they, in turn, had a client who was prepared to pay the firm a pretty penny for the privilege of penetrating her as and when desired for the rest of her life. 

The client’s client would be willing to sign a twenty year lease to possess her body, following her slave training.  The company couldn’t afford to just forego such a deal!

As he had read further in her file he began to notice tell tale signs that someone might have run up bills in her name without her knowledge.  It wasn't his job to rectify such things, he told himself.  Those were the kind of things that her defense attorney should question.  Nevertheless something about this case had made him uncomfortable.

That was two months ago.  Since then the case had moved forward to the point that earlier this day he had been able to do a “Creditor’s Examination” on the finances and on the person of this Stephanie Glenn.  He had, of course, touched and intimately examined many women destined for slavery in the course of his career.  At first it had been exciting.  Then it got to be old.

But with the young woman today, some of the old excitement had returned.  He stood before her this morning, peering into her mouth to check her teeth with one hand, while cupping her vulva with the other hand.  As he did this he experienced her trembling and a sense of her intense vulnerability.  As a result he actually had some tender feeling for her!  He had locked eyes with her for one brief moment.  Then he

reproached himself for a moment of weakness and went back to the business of examining her much as he might inspect livestock.

His thoughts had moved forward in time to the girl under his desk still trying to bring him to climax.  His penis hardened as he thought about the delicious experience he had with Stephanie at her exam this morning.  This thought, together with the additional help of the young tongue beneath the desk licking his testicles, brought him to an explosive climax.  Spurt after spurt of his seed entered the mouth of the pretty twenty something, and he made sure some of the spurts decorated her face as well!

He insisted the girl continue to stimulate his completely flaccid penis with her lips and tongue for the better part of an additional half an hour.  He hoped to come a second time.  But as thoughts about the exam this morning began to focus more and more on the possible injustice of enslaving Stephanie, he realized his penis was down for the count.  He no longer had the desire for another orgasm at this time.

He pulled on the leash of the young woman beneath his desk, indicating that she was to rise from her lowly position.  He noted the ropes of his semen splattered all across her face and running out of the corner of her mouth.  She had not been able to tidy herself up since she was handcuffed. 

He took a tissue and cleaned her face himself, taking particular care to wipe away her tears and to wipe his semen from her eyelids.  Then he used his key to unlock her handcuffs and gave her permission to put her clothes on.  He led her on her leash to the guard waiting to collect her just outside his office.  He wished to be alone with his thoughts.

Chapter 1.   Stephanie’s Interview

I applied to Masterson Automotive for my first job in accounting.  I was 22 years old and it was the year 2134.  Six months earlier my classmates and I had received our diplomas.  The majority of my professional friends had received no job offer since graduation.

On the day of my appointment I chose to wear high-heeled shoes and a rather elegant blue dress that came down only to mid thigh.  I knew that my legs were one of my most attractive features and that showing them off might help my chances!  When I arrived on time for my appointment, I felt I really could not afford to blow this opportunity. 

I was excited but could also feel some tightness in my chest.  I found myself in a reception area.  I noted six other women about my age and two young men, all professionally dressed, and all with eclip boards busy data inputting what I assumed were job applications.  Apparently I had competition as the company had advertised only one opening. 

I had transmitted my completed forms via the opti some weeks earlier, along with a letter indicating that I had researched this firm and the reasons why I particularly wanted to work here.  I remembered that some of the questions on the forms had been quite personal, even intrusive, but I had answered them anyway.  After about fifteen minutes, a door opened and a man called out my name.

“Miss Stephanie Glenn? 

I looked up to see a tall middle-aged man looking in my direction.

“I am Jeffrey Duncan from Human Resources.  Please follow me.”

I smiled and stood to greet him.

He escorted me down a long corridor, plushy carpeted and with tasteful artwork, to what was apparently his own office.  There was a spectacular view of the New York City skyline.  He moved behind his elegant desk, with his back to me, and began speaking for a moment to someone on the phone.  I eyed the comfortable chairs in front of his desk but he had not invited me to sit down so I remained nervously standing.  After what seemed an eternity he finished his call.

“Miss Glenn, I do apologize for the interruption.  Won’t you have a seat please?  Could I have some coffee sent in for you?” 

I took my seat but shook my head regarding the coffee as I was too wired already.

“My colleagues and I have reviewed your resume and impressive cover letter, obtained your academic transcripts, and checked out your references.  Seldom have we had the pleasure of considering such a superbly qualified applicant”, he beamed! 

“Thank you sir!” 

“Your fine academic record was much enhanced by evidence of your social skills and by an obvious interest in physical pursuits.  We like to hire applicants who are both socially adept and physically fit.”

“I do try to constantly challenge myself to maintain my skills, sir!”  I said this with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.

I felt genuinely complimented.  I was pretty sure that the “physical” reference was to the fact that I had been captain of the college cheerleading squad, and also an avid tennis player. The “social” reference was doubtless to the fact I had been Pledge Mistress and later President of my sorority.

“If we make you an offer,” he continued, “you will find that your duties with us may include mingling with our clients at various social functions.  You would be comfortable with that wouldn’t you?”

“Yes sir, I have always liked to mingle at social and business functions.  Perhaps you could spell out just what my duties might be at these functions?”

I felt myself tensing up just a bit, wondering if I should be reading anything between the lines in the way he was phrasing this extra-curricular job requirement.

He leaned back in his chair and seemed to be considering his next words carefully.

“I won’t go into detail on your actual duties.”  He paused to see if I would object to this omission before continuing.

“I will say that some of these functions may be quite formal while others may consist of picnics, swimming pool outings and the like.  Nothing you can’t handle!”  There ensued a long pause in which he seemed to be studying my body language for any clue to how I might be taking all this news.

“Your apparent social skills and obvious physical attractiveness are important to us.  Clients respond favorably to such attributes.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted my physical attractiveness to be so much a factor in their hiring decision.  The implications of that were beginning to worry me.

“Thank you.”  I said somewhat more hesitantly than before.

“I need to inform you at this point, Miss Glenn, that we give three exams to each applicant who reaches this stage of our selection process.  One is psychological, one is medical, and the last we call a “physical aesthetics exam or P.A.E”.

I was no longer making eye contact with him and my muscles tensed. The tests he mentioned were beginning to sound quite intrusive and in spite of my somewhat desperate circumstances and need for this job, I was contemplating a refusal and an early termination of this interview.

“I sense your hesitation,” he offered.  “It is not uncommon for candidates to feel some apprehension about these tests.  But I can assure you, Miss Glenn, that you are very close to receiving an offer from us, and that these exams are little more than a formality which will soon be over and behind you as you begin what we all hope will be a brilliant career with us!”

Not without some trepidation I reluctantly nodded my assent.  He indicated that the Physical Aesthetics Exam would be scheduled first, and gave me the date and time for that appointment.

“After you pass your ‘physical’ exam, which I am sure you will, I will notify you of dates for the other two tests”.  With that he rose, shook my hand, and escorted me out.

                         ********************************************************

When I reported for the “physical” exam I went directly to Room B17 in the basement in accordance with instructions Mr. Duncan had given me.  There a male receptionist, who couldn’t have been more than 19 years old, greeted me.

“You must be Stephanie Glenn”, he stated.  “We have been expecting you!”

He escorted me down a long hallway deeper into the basement complex.  Finally we entered a private examination room.  He handed me a paper gown.

“I will need you to disrobe and put on this gown”, he said.

“Put your clothing and personal effects in one of the lockers on the wall over there”.

When he made no immediate move to leave, I wondered for a moment if he planned to stay and conduct my examination himself.

“The Examiner will be with you in just a few minutes”, he finally said, and left me to get undressed.

After getting naked I very carefully put on the flimsy paper gown, which was sleeveless and came only to mid thigh.  I had to wait quite a while and this gown was little protection against the chill of the air conditioning.

While waiting, I saw a “Physical Aesthetics Examiner” certificate on the wall for a Thomas Baxter, the man who was evidently going to “examine” me.  He had no medical training but instead had a Master’s degree in “The Aesthetics of the Human Body”.  I had not even known that such a degree program or professional certification existed.  But much had changed in Capitallia in the last ten years.

At long last, Mr. Baxter entered the room, introduced himself, made some small talk and proceeded to fill out a buff colored form.  He called out his observations as he checked the various boxes and made additional notes.

“I see that you are pretty, a redhead, fair skinned, freckled, have high cheekbones, brown eyes, and a slightly upturned nose”, he announced, checking off items on his form.

“I also see that you have the kind of thick lips most people would consider sensuous!” He announced this with some enthusiasm as he scribbled some note on the form.

“Thank you sir.”  I wasn’t sure I liked where this might be heading, but I certainly didn’t want to antagonize the man, who might very well hold my future in his hands.

“I will need to take one or two good photos of your face for our files.  Please step over here in front of this screen.“ 

I did so and waited patiently while he focused studio lights on my face and adjusted the background lights.  He took front and side shots and seemed satisfied.  With the photo taking done, he motioned me away from the photo taking area to an alcove with a paper covered leather table and softer lighting.

“I will need you to remove the gown at this time”, he stated matter-of-factly, “as these exams are always conducted with the subject naked.” 

I pondered the fact that Mr. Duncan in Human Resources had not told me about this aspect of the exam.  It was one thing to be nude for a medical exam, but doing it in that context felt very different.  I hesitated enough for him to notice my discomfort, but then reluctantly complied.  With me naked he began to call out his additional observations.

“I see that you are slender, even exquisitely so!” he observed, checking more boxes on the buff colored form. 

“You have well defined clavicles,” he continued, “breasts that are of modest size and firm, a flat and well toned stomach reflecting, no doubt, your cheerleading and tennis pursuits!”  he said, checking still more boxes on his form.

“And I can’t help but comment on your very long, slim, and beautifully muscled legs of the kind that our clients, seeing you at a beach party or swimming pool, would certainly find most attractive!  Are these the legs that won third place in the Boston Marathon?”

“Yes sir, they are.”  I didn’t like where this was going.

“I read about that on your resume.  That is why I decided to do your physical myself!  I wanted so much to see and touch those marathon winning legs!”

That last point Mr. Baxter found it necessary to verify by asking me to flex and tense my leg muscles several times while he fondled my thighs and calves.  He seemed to be particularly interested in my hamstring muscles, and how ‘defined’ the tendons under my flexed knees were. It had become way too personal, but I bit my tongue.

“I note that your nipples erect very nicely when stimulated!” 

While he played with them, I tried to do multiplication tables in my head to avoid becoming aroused.  He made another note on the form.  Then his interest shifted to my genitals

“I see that you are a natural redhead and that you have applied a lovely perfume to this area of your body!  You have trimmed your hair ‘down there’ just the way we like our female employees to do, so the vulva is adorned but never concealed.”

I jerked instinctively when I felt his right hand fondling my bare left buttock as he pulled me closer to him for a better view.  I thought it outrageous that he thought any of my private parts were the company’s business.  I saw him make more notes on the buff colored form.

“No doubt you are wondering why we care about such things?”  He looked at me quizzically.

“I don’t know if Jeff Duncan told you this or not, but there will likely be times when you will be socializing with clients at pool parties in the nude.  Clients like pubic hair but also like to see what you have down there!” 

I didn’t know which I felt more, the urge to slap his face or the urge to cry!  But I had come that far, so I might as well see it through.  I could decide later if I really wanted the job.

After I had settled down again he asked me to do jumping jacks on a trampoline to assess my physical fitness.  I saw a flash go off and surmised that my naked body had been photographed during this exercise.  He had not asked me if he might do this, and I was not at all happy about it!

He had me turn my back to him and proceeded to palpate my firm buttocks.  He then instructed me to bend way forward and touch my fingers to the floor.  He let out a whistle! 

“I must tell you, Miss Glenn, that because of the width of you hips and the fact that your thighs are so slender, there is quite a nice gap between your legs just below your crotch!”

“And your point is?”  I practically shouted at him in my irritation.

“At the nude pool parties, our clients really notice and appreciate women of your build, since, whenever you bend forward even a little, you provide them with a lovely rear view of your vulva!”  He made another notation on the form.

“There is something else Jeff probably didn’t tell you”.  He paused, a worried look on his face, as if considering whether he should go on. 

“Sometimes, when we are entertaining clients there will be ‘opportunities’ when you could help the company if you volunteered to have sex with one of them.  I can assure you these situations are always purely voluntary.“   He said this in such a casual, matter-of-fact way, that I thought he might be making small talk about the weather.

I was quite sure by this point that I would not likely accept any offer the company made.  Nevertheless it would boost my self-confidence to at least have an offer to reject after six months of fruitless job hunting.

“You will never be forced to have sex with anyone if you don’t want to!”  He proclaimed as though pointing out one of the great benefits of working at Masterson Automotive!

“But if you do have sex with one of our clients, then we want to be very sure the client is going to find you pleasing in every way.  That is why we must now proceed to a more intimate examination of your person.”

“But I am sure I would never volunteer to have sex with a client!”  I intend to keep my work life and my personal life entirely separate!”

“That is pretty much what every young woman tells me at the time of her exam.  But quite a few of them later change their mind.  That is why we have to be thorough now, just in case.”

“I need you to spread apart the lips of your vulva with your fingers.  I need to have a good look inside.“

I was seething inside but had not yet decided whether to let him know it yet.

“You are not a doctor sir!”  I said with more than a little concern.  “I see no reason why you need to look inside my vulva!”

I was shocked at the impertinence of this man and the company he represented.  I could feel my breathing speed up and the muscles of my upper back and neck tense.  My arms were trembling. 

“It is partly for hygiene and partly for aesthetics.  Now come along and get with the program!  I don’t have all day you know!”

He had answered me with an impatient tone and a look that seemed to say it was almost beneath his dignity to respond to my silly female objections.

“Did all your other female job applicants agree to this procedure?”

“Nearly all of them, yes.”

I was stalling for time to decide what to do.   I reminded myself that jobs in the accounting field were extremely difficult to find under the economic conditions of the time. Finally I nodded my head in reluctant acquiescence and held by labia open for his inspection.

The man took his time and seemed to be immensely enjoying his work, examining, but not touching, each little detail of my vulva while he hummed a tune and stopped a few times to make copious notes on the buff colored form.

“You have a very pleasant aroma ‘down there’ compared to most women I have examined!”  

He said this as though I ought to be everlastingly grateful for such a compliment.   I became aware of my own sexual scent and looked down, observing that my inner labia were becoming visibly engorged with blood.

Even though he had not actually touched me down there I was becoming aroused.  It was the humiliation of the whole situation that was making me hot, and not any feeling I had for him.

Before I knew what was happening I saw a flash and knew he had taken a second photo without my permission.   This time it was of my vulva in an aroused condition!

Without even stopping to think I shoved him away from his camera, grabbed the camera and jerked out the film cartridge, tearing the cartridge apart with my bare hands!  What I didn’t learn until much later was that the image had already been electronically stored and would be sent to Jeff Duncan and others for their perusal!

“All right bitch!  We have plenty of good job applicants here!  I don’t need to waste my time with girls like you who don’t appreciate the opportunity you are being given!” 

He stormed out of the room.  I got dressed.  Just then an attractive woman of middle age, a Mrs. Binson, came in to talk with me.

“Miss Glenn, I understand that you and my colleague, Mr. Baxter, did not get along”, she said with what appeared to be genuine concern.  “Sometimes he can be a bit rough in his manner with the applicants.  I will be happy to take over for Mr. Baxter if you would feel more comfortable with a female examiner?”

“Yes, perhaps that would be better.”   I breathed a sign of relief.

“There is one other requirement, Miss.”  She paused, momentarily.

“We will need you to sign this consent form, Stephanie.”  As she made this announcement she put a clipboard with a form in front of me.

“What is that for?” I asked.

“It is for the clitoral response test.  It is permission for me to touch your privates, Miss Glenn, for the purpose of arousing you and for testing your capacity for sexual response.”

This female examiner was clearly going to be no better than the male one!

“We need this signed to protect me personally, and the company”

“Protect you from what?”  I asked.

“Why in case an applicant should later decide to file a complaint alleging that she was sexually molested during the interview exam.   Believe me, it is no big deal.  All our applicants sign this.  It is just routine.”

I felt the bile rise in my throat and I found myself yelling at her.

“I hate to fucking spoil such a successful fucking run you and your colleague have been having, Mrs. Binson, but my answer is “no fucking way!  You can tell Jeff Duncan I said so, and if that disqualifies me, so be it!”   I was hoarse from shouting at her.

With that I put my clothes back on and stormed out of the lab and out of the building.  I really did not expect to hear further from the company after my angry outbursts.

Two days later, much to my surprise, I got a call from Jeff Duncan indicating that my objection to the clitoral test had been noted, but that I was still in the running for the job.

He scheduled me for the medical exam at a clinic where the company had a contract.  I got that out of the way the next day.  It was a routine sort of exam and certainly proved to be far less embarrassing than the P.A.E. had been.

Three days after that I got the call to come back the following day.  Upon arrival I was informed that Mr. Gregory, the company psychologist, would see me.  After a short wait a twenty something girl in a micro skirt took me from the reception area to his office. 

I wondered how they got their female employees to dress in such a lewd way. 

Before I had a chance to pursue that thought we were there and I was ushered into what seemed a much less elegant office than Mr. Duncan of Human Resources occupied.

“Hello, Miss Glenn, I am Paul Gregory, he said with a warm smile.  Have a seat.  Most employees call me ‘the company shrink’, but really I don’t bite.  This will be your last stage in the interview process.  Can I get you some coffee?”

“No, I just had some, thanks.”  I appreciated his courtesy but felt I could do a better job fielding his questions without the distraction of balancing a cup in my lap.

“Today we will see if we can learn what makes you tick, what your fears are, and what incentives would motivate you to your highest level of achievement here at Masterson Automotive.” 

He announced all the foregoing with an expansive gesture and a genial smile, but I did not feel cheerful.  I knew I needed to be on guard for a trap.  I felt the muscles in my upper back begin to tense up.  This sounded as though it might be as intrusive mentally as the other exam had been physically.

“First I am informed”, he paused for a pregnant moment,  “that you refused our clitoral response test.  Is that correct, and if so, why?”

“Sir, I just believe some things are too personal to share with a prospective employer!”  I responded, in my most mellifluous voice, with as much of a smile as I could muster.

“Quite right!  He said as he grinned from ear to ear and slapped his knee for emphasis.

“We were actually pleased” he said, “that you refused that test!  It showed us that you have some spirit and ability to be non compliant when the situation calls for that!  What surprised us, frankly, was that you hadn’t walked out when he asked you to hold your labia open for his vulva exam! 

He looked at me curiously, hoping for some reaction.  I was acutely embarrassed and at a loss for anything effective to say.  Then he continued.

“There was really no need for you to have submitted to that.  The fact that you did, however, shows us that you are pliable, at least to some degree.  We like women who are pliable, within reason.”

I was not comfortable with this conversation. 

“Mr. Gregory”, I said,  “that whole episode is something I would like to put behind me.  Could we please just move on to the rest of this interview?”

“Indeed!  I need to ask you if you have any ambitions to rise to a management level position with our firm

“Definitely yes!” I replied confidently.

I could see that he was very intently making eye contact with me and watching my body language for anything that might contradict my words.

“Would you consider yourself to be a ‘take charge’ kind of person? “

 

“I can only rely on my background to show you that I do have ‘take charge’ potential.  Would you like to hear of some of my accomplishments?”

“Most definitely!” he replied.

“In college I was Pledge Mistress of my sorority in my junior year and was elected President in my senior year!  In high school I was captain of our cheerleading team two years in a row!  I would think that illustrates that others respected me as a natural leader!”  I exclaimed as I smiled brightly.

“Then I must also ask you what kind of leader you were?”

“What do you mean sir?”  I asked, confused by his question.

“I mean were you the kind of leader who rose to the top by pushing anyone aside who got in your way?”  Were you ruthless?”

I got an uncomfortable feeling as I saw his eyes boring into me.  He wasn’t going to let me fluff this one off or change the subject.  Clearly he was going after something in particular!

“I don’t understand sir?  Why would you be asking me that?  I always tried to lead by setting a good example and by obtaining the consent and cooperation of all concerned.”

He leaned back in his chair with a resigned expression and avoided making eye contact with me.

“Are you telling me the whole truth, Stephanie?”  He asked as though suggesting that I was being deliberately evasive.

“I guess so.  At least I tried to.”

“Well, I do have some information about you, Miss Glenn, that I obtained by interviewing some of your old high school classmates.”  

He said this like a cat playing with a mouse.  He was again looking right at me.  I felt my spirits sag.  I knew that some of them had never liked me back in the day, and who knows what they might have said to him!

“What I learned was that when you were captain of the cheerleaders you organized your teammates and a select few other girls into an exclusive clique.  I was told that your clique was cruel to girls who were not members.”

After throwing this accusation my way he just let it hang in the air for several minutes.  He was watching my facial muscles and my body language intently.  He had not asked a direct question so I just tried to look calm and waited him out.  He continued.

“I was also told that behind your back half the girls in your high school referred to you as ‘the bitch’.  Is there any truth, Stephanie, in these statements?”

Now I had to respond, and I was at a loss!  I knew there was truth in what he had heard about me, but I struggled to find an artful response.  I needed an answer that wouldn’t kill my chances for this job.

“Perhaps some of it is true.”  I said.  “I really don’t know what to say.  That was quite a few years back and I was only 16 or 17 years old at the time.  Now, after finishing a four year college I believe I have matured.  I am not the same person I was then.”  

I could feel my brow was hot, my cheeks were flushed and I was starting to sweat.  Maybe the job was slipping away from me in spite of all I had endured so far.

“We hope so Miss Glenn.  We certainly hope so!”  He responded with a sigh and paused a long moment before continuing.

“We are certainly willing to allow for the possibility that you are not that same person after a college experience.”  He finished his thought in a more optimistic tone.

“Thank you sir!”  Maybe there was still hope, I thought.

“How would you say you have related to men in connection with dating, during your junior and senior years of college, and since then?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Miss Glenn, were your contacts with men in social or dating situations generally pleasant for both you and the men?  Or would you say these experiences were antagonistic?”

“I socialize easily and most of my friends call me an extrovert!”   As I said this I knew that it was glib, and not entirely responsive.

“That is not what I asked!”  He was nearly shouting at me now.  After a pause he continued in a calmer tone.

“I have also interviewed some of the men you have dated, and some men who wanted to date you and were rejected.  What I learned does cause me some concern.”

“What did they say sir?”

“They said you seemed to delight in putting men down, that you would only date guys who were extremely handsome and popular, and that you seemed to well …” he paused, “find, how shall we say, the ones that also had a hidden submissive side!”

I was stunned!  How could he possibly know these things about me?  Even my best friends did not know this about me!

“Also”, he continued, “it was said that you were vicious in the way you would humiliate men you did not want to date, and that men you did choose to date were usually treated badly when you tired of them!”

I thought fast.  How could I strike just the right tone and maybe make my vice seem like a virtue?

“I will not deny any of it sir.  I believe though, that some of my past behaviors could be viewed as signs of an aggressive character.  If I can smooth out some of the rough edges, such a character trait could actually help me in a future management role!”  I paused for effect and to observe his reaction.  He indicated with a wave of his hand that He liked what he was hearing and wanted me to continue.

“I think I can grow out of my past ‘bitchiness’, if you will, and put those aggressive traits to good purpose if I am given a chance here at Masterson Automotive.”

“You just said the magic words, Miss Glenn!  He beamed!

“I am impressed with your resourcefulness that you know how to sell a negative as a potential positive!”  This he uttered with an expansive sweep of his hand to show just how much effective my words had been.

He waited to be sure I would hang on every word.  I was excited to think I had possibly snatched victory from the jaws of defeat!   Maybe I was still in the running!  He continued.

“I am also impressed with your honesty” he continued “that you would so easily acknowledge the truth of what was said about you!  I will tell you that, if we were to make you an offer, you would be in a level 3 position and you would be reporting to Tom Jenkins, head of Accounts Receivable.”

After another twenty minutes of more routine questions, Mr. Gregory announced that the interview was concluded and that I would be contacted within a week or two with the company’s decision.

Chapter 2.   The Slaver As A Young Man

Earlier today my partner and I, together with staff, celebrated the twentieth anniversary of the founding of the William Steelforth Agency.  A second cause for festivities was that 2136 was promising to be a banner year for the firm.

Our celebration caused me to reflect on just who I, William Steelforth, had been as a young man, what my values had been then and since, how I developed an early interest in slavery, and why I eventually founded a firm to earn my living doing something I not only believe in, but also enjoy!

I was never an egalitarian, even in my high school days, since I always believed that people were essentially unequal in every sense.  The founders of the United States erred, in my judgment, in building a nation on the principles that all people should be equal before the law and equal in the voting booth.

But things were starting to change.

In 2089, three years before I was born, our nation, now called Capitallia, had been formed by 38 states seceding from the old United States.  All this had happened because of a civil war over the issues of taxation, the voting franchise and slavery.

The new nation had started by adopting a constitution very much like that of the U.S.  There were two very significant differences however. 

The first was encoded as the Servitude Article of the new nation, and provided that Congress might pass slavery laws or indentured servitude laws which would be constitutional, not only as a punishment for crime, as in the United States, but also as a means for the satisfaction of debt.  The article also provided that Congress might pass laws establishing voluntary servitude or slavery, i.e. a man or woman might sell himself or herself into bondage.

The second was encoded as the Citizenship Article.  Its effect was to deny universal suffrage in favor of a restrictive definition of citizenship:

Section 1.  Citizenship in Capitallia shall be a right that must be earned by demonstrating appropriate knowledge of basic principles of government, and by paying a citizenship tax that shall be apportioned equally among all citizens.  No person who has not attained the age of twenty-five years may become a citizen.

Section 2.  A person who is not a citizen shall not be entitled to vote, serve on a jury, own real estate, own a business, own or carry a firearm, or sue or be sued in the civil courts of the nation’s judiciary.

Section 3.  A person who is not a citizen may be required to carry or wear an identification device that shall provide for positive ID, remote

tracking, and public display of his or her status.  Such device must be presented to any officer of the law upon demand.   Such person shall have only such rights of personal, financial, or medical privacy as Congress shall see fit to provide by statute.

Section 4.  Administrative tribunals, with limited appeal rights, shall be established to resolve disputes by or against persons who are not citizens.

The Congress soon passed legislation to implement the Citizenship Article and within a few years after the founding of the new nation the number of citizens had been reduced to about half of the nation’s adult population.  This was to set the stage for still further developments that would make the nation even less egalitarian.

Congress was also under pressure from the very beginning of the new nation to pass legislation implementing the Servitude Article.  At first Congress passed laws that only allowed for ‘indentured servitude’ for a limited number of years.  Indentures whether voluntary or for debt, could be bought and sold, but it was said that the person could not be bought or sold. 

Only a few years after the Citizenship laws were passed Congress had enacted the “Community Labor and Debtor Restitution Act”.  I would have been only a few years old at the time this was passed. 

The purpose of this law was to provide some relief for creditors by indenturing the insolvent debtor for a term of up to eight years, or until he or she had worked off the debt, whichever came first.  The law also allowed a man or woman to indenture himself or herself voluntarily for up to eight years in exchange for some valuable consideration, such as payment of medical expenses of a loved one.

The debtor’s indenture belonged to his creditor in the first instance, and could be sold to others.  It was said that the indenture could be bought and sold, but not the person.  Nevertheless many young women and men wound up having their indentures sold to brothels.

My own first experience with prostitution happened the year I started high school.  Prostitution had been legal for some thirty years by then.

The laws, for some time, had permitted boys as young as 14 to enjoy the services of licensed houses of female prostitution if accompanied by their father or male guardian.  My first two visits were with my dad.  The minimum age for a girl wishing to enjoy a male prostitute was 16, and only if accompanied by her mother or a female guardian. 

On my first visit I was 14 and accompanied by my father.  This was some 11 years after the “Community Labor and Debtor Restitution Act” so that, while there may have been a few voluntary prostitutes, most of them, at that time, were serving the public on a strictly involuntary basis.   Many a young woman, indentured for debt, or convicted of some crime, ended up being forced to serve the public sexually, in either a public or private brothel. 

The supply of women available to brothel operators was plentiful and their cost was low, and accordingly the prices charged to the customers were quite reasonable compared to what prices had been for such services when all prostitution had been voluntary!  .  Perhaps best of all, or so I thought at the time, was the fact that these new involuntary prostitutes had no right of refusal.  They must serve all customers, and in whatever way the customer desired!

It seemed just to me that young people should work off their debts in this way if that is where they were most needed, and just also that the most productive members of society should be able to enjoy themselves by patronizing such establishments.

While kinky services were probably available even then, my father thought it best, for my first visit, to sign me up for a very conventional intercourse experience.  I never was informed, on that occasion, if the woman who serviced me was there on a voluntary or involuntary basis.  Perhaps my father did not want me to dwell on that aspect of prostitution at the tender age of 14. What really mattered to me then was that I was going to enjoy my first fuck!

A year later I talked my father into taking me again.  This time I was all keyed up on the idea of enjoying a woman on a non-consensual basis.  I asked my dad if special arrangements could be made.

I wanted to be certain I would have the opportunity to fuck, not just any woman, but one who was paying her debt to society for, say some white collar crime!  I wanted a chance to read her file first and learn something of her sexual history and what was the crime for which she had been sentenced.  That would make fucking her much more of a thrill!  It was!

I can remember a rather heated discussion I had, in my senior year of high school, about servitude ideas with Mr. Maxwell, my high school civics teacher.  My teacher had given a rather impassioned lecture about the evils of our law that legalized a limited form of slavery.  I went back to his classroom at the end of the school day.

“You wanted to see me about the homework, Bill?”  My teacher glanced up at me from his desk expectantly.

“No sir,” I replied. “I really wanted to talk to you about what you said in class today.” I hesitated.  “What I mean is, you said you had some serious objections to that law, you know, the one about indentured servitude.”

“Go ahead Bill.”  He shifted in his chair and looked more interested already.

“I just don’t get it!”  I blurted out.  “I thought it was a pretty neat law!  Our family gets its grass cut, its cars washed, and snow shoveled, all for next to nothing!  We even have a maid to keep the house tidy.  Dad says we couldn’t afford any of these things before the indenture laws!  And all my friends think it is a cool law too!”

“Don’t you ever think of the rights of the people who are indentured?”  My teacher responded, in his patient teacher voice.

“Well yeah, I guess I think of that sometimes.  But these people need to pay their debt to society, or to their creditors, so they really gave up their rights when they committed a crime, mismanaged their money or sold themselves to pay for medical care!!”

“Some of us would argue,” he pointed out in a calm even tone, “that there are certain rights no person can give up or have taken away!  Even if he or she is hopelessly in debt, or has committed a crime!”  The prime examples would be the right of a person to life, to liberty, and to the pursuit of happiness.”

“Sir,” I replied with excitement, seeing the possibility of a rhetorical victory, “would that mean that a man who is too poor to feed his family or pay for his family’s medical care, for example, should not be able to sell himself into slavery, in exchange for financial support for his family?”

“That had always been one of the core beliefs of our forefathers!   It is in the Declaration of Independence of the United States.  It was the law we all lived under until radical revolutionaries brought about the secession of our state and 37 others from the U.S. just a few years before you were born.  You realize not all of us agreed with the secession, but we lost out to the radicals.”

“But Mr. Maxwell, what if the man dearly loved his wife or his child and one of them needed an operation that cost well beyond the amount of money he could ever earn in wages as a free laborer?  Should he have to watch his loved one die because he cannot raise money by selling or indenturing himself?”

“Bill, listen to what I am saying!  The man should not be faced with such a choice in a civilized society.  Medical care is a basic right, and society should pay for this man’s loved one to have the operation if he cannot pay himself.”  My teacher was beginning to show signs of impatience with my argument.

“If medical care is a basic right,” I replied “doesn’t that mean that some of us must give up quite a bit of our ‘liberty’ and our ‘right to pursue our own happiness’ in order to pay for someone else’s medical care?  Isn’t that a form of slavery in itself?”  I felt I had him there.

“Sometimes we have to make sacrifices, Bill.  If a woman, for example, has to indenture herself just to live, or to pay for her child’s operation, she can hardly be equal to other citizens in any sense, can she?”   He seemed to feel he had me there.

“Why should we even care” I boldly questioned “if everyone is equal in political, social, or legal terms?” 

He looked shocked at my statement.

“Sir, you seem to be saying we should go back to the egalitarian ideas of the old United States.  Did that nation not, in effect, allow the slothful and the willfully uninformed to have a huge voice in determining who the national leaders would be and how the tax dollars would be spent? “   I was on a roll.  How could he possibly counter my argument?

“Bill, when you create a class of people who don’t have all the same rights as the rest of us, you create the conditions for that group of people to be terribly exploited for their labor and even for sex!  Surely you have heard about all the young women who are forced to serve the public sexually?”

“But why is any of that a problem sir?  Maybe certain people deserve to work long hours for low wages or even make themselves useful in sexual ways!  That may well be the best way, or the only way, that people with no special skills can earn their living or repay their debts!”  I certainly wasn’t going to share with my teacher the fact that I had enjoyed non-consensual sex services myself at the age of 14 and again at age 15!

“Bill, I have papers to grade.  Let us continue this discussion another time.”

He turned back to his work and when I left him I had the distinct impression that I had made the better argument.  I did not try again to pursue these ideas further with my civics teacher, but continued to think about them for the next few years. 

To be candid, my early interest in slavery was due to the very sexual possibilities it opened up!

During my high school years, I was pleased to see that laws were passed implementing Section 3 of the Citizenship Article, requiring all non-citizens to conspicuously wear electronic bracelets or necklaces.  It was fun to be able to see at a glance who was a Citizen and who was not. 

At that time I was not yet eligible for citizenship since I was only nineteen.  Congress, however, had excused all persons under the age of twenty-five who had no brushes with the law from wearing the degrading bracelets.

It soon developed that non-citizens had little privacy.  Any citizen who wished to do so could scan their electronic bracelet, learn that person’s identity, and even pull up quite a substantial file on that person.  Congress had not, however, chosen to declare the medical and financial records of such persons to be publicly available.

When I was about 19 I had my first opportunity to visit a house of prostitution as an adult and to really choose what I wanted from the full menu of services.   I found that one of the services available to me, as a paying customer, was that I might sexually dominate a young female prostitute during my time with her, if I wished.  I could even have a rape like experience if I so desired.  I did not choose to avail myself of this option. 

I did have advance information that a certain Suzanne Metzker, a girl I once knew in high school had been for a year or more indentured in this particular brothel. And that she had had many customers during that year.  I knew what shifts she worked and what fees her employer charged customers for her services. 

This girl, when she was in high school, had gone out on several dates with me.  I was just interested in her for sex.  I tried to get her to go down on me but she thought that was a filthy practice.  She was also pushing for a more serious relationship than I cared to have with her.  So she had broken off our budding relationship.  I had missed the sex for the rest of my senior year.  I thought it would be rather pleasant to hire her services now!  I knew that she had no legal right to refuse me now, but I would not force her.  I would have enough pleasure just seeing her suffer the loss of face in my knowing that she was now a public whore!  If she didn’t want to serve me now I would dismiss her and choose a different girl. 

It was likely, of course, that Suzanne could ill afford to reject me now.  She would need all the customers she could get to make satisfactory progress paying down her debt and thereby winning back her freedom.  Also the brothel had a policy that if a customer was not satisfied by one of their girls and had to choose another, the first girl would lose one half of her total credits for that week.  That made it very expensive indeed for a girl to send away a customer unsatisfied.  I felt quite sure that Suzanne Metzger would now, finally, be taking my penis in her lovely mouth.

I had to wait some time for my appointment with her as she was entertaining another customer when I arrived.  During this time I struck up a conversation with another customer, a young guy about my own age, in the waiting lounge. He introduced himself as Charles Witherspoon, and I responded, introducing myself simply as Bill.

“Are you waiting for a session, Mr. Witherspoon?”  I asked, just to make conversation.

“Not at all.  Call me Charlie please.  I just had an incredible session!  Right now I am just waiting for my traveling companion to finish his session so we can leave.”  He seemed to fairly glow with satisfaction and pride.

“What was so wonderful about your experience Charlie?”

“Her name was Vicki Rogers, a hot number.  To really explain, Bill, I need to go back a few years to when Vicki and I were both high school students.  Say, if you have some time to kill, they have an exquisite Merlot here!  Would you have a glass with me?  I’ll buy!”

That seemed like an attractive offer, so I accepted.  He signaled to a cute waitress who promptly came over and took our order.  I could not help but admire her tanned and toned legs in the very short micro skirt she was wearing.

“I had one date with her then,” Charlie continued.  “I never even got to first base.  Two days later, when I called for a second date, she acted like I was some kind of creep!  The next thing I knew Vicki was spreading lies about me, that I had exposed myself to her and tried to force myself on her after she said no!”  

“Did you ever find out why she did all this?”   I was genuinely curious now. 

“Maybe someone in her clique got to her and she felt she had to redeem herself in their eyes,” Charlie replied.  “Soon all the girls had heard her story and no one wanted to lose face with the other girls by dating a guy like that!  She totally humiliated me and trashed my reputation.”

“Was that the end of the story?”   Just then our leggy waitress brought our wine.  We each took a glass, then Charlie continued his story.

“It was the end of our high school encounter and any chance I had for a social life back then.  But just a few days ago, while surfing the net for prostitutes, I discovered her listing.  There was her name and photo, and the name of the high school we had both attended, so there could be no mistake that this was the same girl.  The notice said she had been indentured to this brothel only a week ago.”

“What was your reaction on learning this?”  I leaned forward eager for his response.

“I thought that there could not be anything more delightful than indentured servitude!  This fantastic new legal system was going to give me the opportunity to pay her back at last for the sexual injury she had caused me, and to pay her back in a sexual way!”

“Here, here!”  I said, then “To Servitude!” as we clinked glasses.

“This girl had not only rejected me in the ordinary sense, but had crushed me with her supercilious disdain, ruined my name with her libelous stories.  She had taken something precious from me.  Now I wanted so much to take something precious from her.  I wanted sexual justice!  Could there be any better way to obtain that justice than by raping her?”

I was seeing his point all right, even though I doubted I could follow through with a scheme like his even if I had been injured as much by a girl as he had been.

“Could there be any better justice than to mount her slender nakedness, not by her consent, and penetrate her most private parts!   I wanted the pleasure of violating her!”

“So what did you do?”  My curiosity was overcoming me.

“I called the brothel and learned that she had not had any customers as yet, and was still a virgin.  I hinted at the fact that I was eager to have a rape experience with this particular girl.”

I sat on the edge of my chair.  He had certainly got my attention with this tale.

“The brothel manager indicated that newly indentured girls are nearly always reluctant to begin their work as prostitutes.  He felt sure that this one, based on her known attitude and personality, would probably be completely unwilling to be fucked by her first customer!   I told him that I would pay triple if I could be that first customer, and if I could have her restrained in advance for my pleasure.  The manager agreed to my terms.”

I now saw that he probably had succeeded in carrying out his sexual vengeance here today.   Doubtless this was what had caused that glow of satisfaction I had noted in him at the beginning of our conversation.

“When I entered the session room, Bill, I found they had secured her in a spread eagle position on a leather padded bench known as a ‘fucking bench’.  Her legs were widely spread and secured to adjustable struts extending out to the sides.  There were electric motors that could extend or retract these struts.  There was a bolster to raise her pelvis and lock her hips from moving to either side.  Also there was a belt around her waist to insure she could not lift her pelvis up from the bolster.  Her arms were secured to the side of the table.  She was naked, except for panties, and also blindfolded.  All was exactly as I had requested of the manager.  I had requested that her panties be left on so that I might have the pleasure of removing them.”

I was intrigued at his scenario.  I even thought of doing something like that with my session and the girl I had known in high school.  I could, of course, if I chose to do so.  But I did not have that much anger in me.  I rejected his scenario for my own use even while generally approving of it for him.

“I had specified the blindfold because I wanted to heighten her anxiety by keeping her in ignorance, at first, of who the person was that would now be taking liberties with her body.  I resolved to say nothing at first so that she could not recognize me by my voice.  I proceeded to examine her in a leisurely manner.  Her body was toned and well defined from her years of gymnastics and dance training.  I let my fingers trail over all the different parts of her. 

I had the satisfaction of glancing at the graphical screen which was displaying results from her digital bio implant.  It showed me clearly that she was experiencing both fear and anger at her violation!  It showed me which parts of her brain were most active!  So I continued to toy with her to see if I couldn’t raise these readings still higher.  I experimented to see if I could shift the focus of her brain activity to different regions.  She first demanded I desist.  I did not.  Then she demanded to know who was doing this.  I said nothing.“

I realized that I could perhaps emulate this part of his scenario as a kinky way to begin my own session, even though I would give my girl a choice about the actual sex.

“After enjoying myself in this silent way for perhaps fifteen minutes, I spoke to her about how much pleasure I was having.  I asked her if she recognized me from my voice.  She could not, though she admitted the voice sounded very familiar.  I took her blindfold off and inquired if she now recognized me.  She was shocked and her previously demanding manner changed now to fear.  She knew she had wronged me and that I might now take my reprisal.  I began the delicious pleasure of unveiling her privates, lowering her panties an inch, then enjoying the view as her curly pubic hair became visible, then another inch, then more view to enjoy, and so on until I had them all the way down below her crotch.  Then, using my pocket knife, I cut them and removed them altogether.”

It occurred to me that I could do this gradual unveiling of Suzanne Metzger’s genitals in much the same way Charlie had with his girl.

“By now, Bill, I am hard with my excitement.  I tell her that her most private parts are about to be penetrated and enjoyed by a male she had wronged a few years back.  I mount her and ease my dick into her warm soft feminine parts that would deny me entrance if they could.  I feel the tightness of her vagina, the gentle pressure of her labia pressing against the sides of my penile shaft.”

I am getting hard myself just listening to him describe his sexual vengeance!

“I thought about touching the electro control that would bring her long firm slender muscular thighs together, so that I might also experience the tensing of those firm leg muscles against my own.  But then I thought it would be more of a thrill to make her do it herself through the control of her brain I could exercise through her bio implant!  I experienced the delicious pleasure of viewing and touching the long slender arms and delineated clavicles of this creature, as she bucks under me and tries so hard to dismount me from her privates.  I am also mindful of the pleasure of the coitus itself as I piston in and out of her unwilling feminine sheath.”

This account of a delicious and sensual rape is getting me so hot that precum has moistened my briefs!

“I enjoy the ultimate pleasure of watching her face turn red with shame and humiliation as she realizes that she is lubricating copiously and that her bucking is no longer to dislodge me but to experience for herself the pleasure of the fuck.  She is now giving me the gift of her own sexual response to being raped, a gift she would give anything to withhold from me, but cannot.  She sees on my face that I am fully conscious of her unwiling response and that I am enjoying that gift immensely.  This is the moment I reach my peak and shoot my seed into her womb.  At last I pull out with delicious sensations in my head and in my loins.  I had a rush of such a nature as I had never experienced before!”

I rose to my feet and high five’d him!  Damn, I liked this man’s style!  We exchanged business cards so that we might get together in the future and share experiences.

After some time I had to bid him adieu as I was informed that Suzanne Metzker was now ready to serve me.  The manager informed me she would be in room 106 waiting for me and handed me a pair of keys. 

“One is for the door to her room, sir.  The other is for her handcuffs and ankle restraints.  You see it is standard policy now, after the ‘Act’, that indentured prostitutes are restrained when they await their customers.  You are free, of course, to dispense with those restraints during your session with her if that is your pleasure.”

As I walked down the corridor to her room I began to speculate what Suzanne’s reaction would be on seeing the guy whose advances she had rejected in high school now appearing here as her customer and master.  The social inequality would be simply delicious.  That would be the best part of the whole brothel experience!  

I unlocked the door to her room and found her scantily clad and restrained hand and foot.  She recognized me at once.  I sensed some embarrassment in her having a fellow student from her high school see her under these circumstances.  Indeed the readout from her digital biometric implant confirmed that she was then experiencing acute embarrassment.

I made no move to free her from her restraints.  Instead I pulled up a chair so that I might converse with her for a while.  I asked her to tell me how life was in the brothel and how she was getting along there with the other prostitutes.

I made it clear to her that I would not force her.  And as I predicted, she was not too proud to service me.  She said she hoped I would let bygones be bygones and that she needed my business.  I explained to her exactly what sexual services I desired, and that I would require her to provide these services while remaining handcuffed.  She consented to this as well as the sex.

After I had enjoyed her sexually for about an hour, I was inclined to relax and socialize with her – further enjoying the social inequality of the situation.  I had a couple of beers sent in and we both sat down.  I had dressed by that time but she was still naked as I had not given her permission to put any clothes on.  She still had her hands cuffed in front but was still able to hold and drink her beer.  At my request, she began to tell me the story of her life after high school and how she came to be indentured for debt.  I was fascinated!  I began to suspect that she had, in fact, been wrongfully imbonded based on trumped up debts!  Indeed the graphic display of data coming from her biometric implant told me that she was telling me the truth!  At that point I felt justice required I restore her to some dignity, so I unlocked her handcuffs and bid her put her clothes on to continue the tale.

We talked for another half hour and then I took my leave of her and the brothel.

Despite my own rather pleasurable experiences with her, I was beginning to question the injustices that often seemed to take place.  She had clearly fallen, perhaps through no fault of her own, to a social class much lower than my own.

Chapter 3.   The Slaver’s Career

Here I will lay out how I, William Steelforth, progressed from the unqualified slavery enthusiast I was in high school to the qualified slavery advocate I had become as managing partner of the agency which bore my name.

After high school, the next opportunity to have an animated exchange about my ideas with a teacher came in a discussion with Professor Petersen, my philosophy teacher, in my sophomore year of college.  Unlike my high school civics teacher, he was actually a proponent of slavery.  But the kind of slavery I had heard him advocate in the classroom was rather harsh and indiscriminate.  I approached him one day in his office.

“You wanted to see me about something, Bill?”

“Yes sir.  I was glad to hear you speak favorably about our slavery laws, but I wondered if you had considered the injustices that are probably going on?”  I watched to see his reaction.  He seemed curious but cautious.

“Bill, there are always going to be some minor injustices with any new law.  The important thing is we are no longer coddling debtors and felons.  There is a fundamental kind of justice in punishing the felon by making him labor for others, instead of others (taxpayers) being made to labor to support him (in prison).  There is also a kind of rough justice in not letting the insolvent debtor off the hook through bankruptcy laws, but rather make her provide her labor or her sexual services to the public, if she has no other way to make her creditor whole.”

“But Professor, why could we not refine our new law to insure that every enslavement would be a just enslavement?”

“What is your definition of a just enslavement, Bill?”

“For a debt enslavement to be just,” I said, “there would have to be proven failure, fraud or wrongdoing, and not simply a run of bad luck that could happen to anyone.  The law should bear equally on all without regard to race, gender, religion, or national origin.  There would need to be careful fact checking by the Court so that no false claim against a debtor could succeed.  There would also have to be some limits on the nature of the enslavement imposed by the Court so as to provide proportionality between the fault of the debtor and the duration and intensity of the punishment to be imposed!“

“Bill, you are making a mistake in thinking that the primary purpose of debt enslavement is to punish.  To be sure the debtor will experience it as extremely punitive, but that is incidental.  The real purpose is to force the debtor to make the creditor whole even if extreme measures are needed to realize that goal.  Whether the debtor simply had a run of bad luck, or was guilty of some fault makes little or no difference.  Either way we want to make his or her creditor whole!”

“But sir,” I replied, “the ‘Community Labor and Debtor Restitution Act’ allows the creditor to take possession of the debtor’s person for the duration of the indenture and to direct him or her in such labors as he might see fit.  Few if any restrictions are placed on the nature of the labor that could be required under these indentures!”

“And your point is?”  he glared at me.

“What about forced prostitution?  Is that just?”  I had enjoyed that service myself on several occasions but was beginning to have some doubts about the ethics of it.

“Bill, in many cases that would be the only valuable service a young person with no special training or work experience could provide that would have any realistic possibility of discharging his or her debt.  Remember restitution is the goal, not punishment.  I don’t think most people would be particularly troubled if a young person were forced to pay off his or her debt by providing sexual services to the public.  Keep in mind that society today has developed pretty relaxed attitudes about sex and prostitution.  It doesn’t carry the stigma it once did.”

“I take your point Professor.  Perhaps we can continue another time.  I will be late to my next class if I don’t leave now.”  I took my leave.

I studied the various systems of slavery throughout history, particularly the Roman system and the system in the American south prior to our Civil War.  I much preferred the Roman system as it was not racially based, and any person, citizen or not, and regardless of race, sex, ethnicity, or national origin could be enslaved for just cause.  I had many discussions about all this with my college philosophy professor.  With his help I began to formulate my ideas for what would constitute a decent system:

Despite the fact that many debts were being paid off and the public was enjoying new sexual possibilities, there were business interests that were not satisfied with this system of limited indentures. 

One day my philosophy professor let met know about an upcoming symposium, called “Slavery for Today and Tomorrow”, to be held at the university with panel discussions in which both academic types and business leaders would hold forth on how our present system of indentured servitude might be improved.

On the day of the event I found myself in a gathering of people who were in a very good mood.  I ran into George, a friend I knew from biology class.  He explained to me why everyone was in such a good mood.  It seemed that the corporate sponsors of this gathering had wanted everyone to be happy and relaxed for the panel discussions.  So they had decided that each attendee should be provided with an attractive prostitute to see to his or her sexual needs during the conference.

On checking in each person was given a ticket for an assigned seat in each of the forums, a ‘privacy blanket’, and a lockable steel collar with a number on it matching the assigned seat number.   As the attractive young lady at the checkout counter handed George and I our blankets and collars she explained how the system worked.

“All you do, gentlemen, is wander the hallways here where you will see hundreds of indentured prostitutes on display, each one naked, handcuffed and attached by a chain to a wall stanchion.  When you find one you fancy, lock the collar around her neck, marking her as your ‘property’ for the duration of the symposium.  Then go to your first forum. 

“Within about ten minutes one of our guards will have found the neck locked girl with your seat number on her collar, and will bring her, still handcuffed to you.  How you choose to use her for your sexual pleasure will be entirely up to you.  Most of our past attendees have chosen to receive fellatio, with the girl kneeling under the privacy afforded by the blanket.  But if you wish to engage in sex more openly, that will be your choice.  Or, if you prefer, we do have private rooms available for nominal rent.  If you so request, the guard who brings your girl will give you a room key and charge your account.”

“But what if she won’t do what we ask, or even runs away?” George wanted to know.

“Don’t worry about that!  Each of these girls has had at least 6 months of rigorous obedience training!  And she knows only too well what the consequences would be should she displease one of our conference attendees!”  The checkout lady said this with a sly grin. 

As George and I walked through the corridors there were, as the lady had said, hundreds of indentured and chained prostitutes, both male and female.  At first we passed only males, and we noted some of the female conference attendees were looking them over rather closely.  One lady was weighing, in the palm of her hand, the scrotum and balls of a guy with a washboard stomach and very defined musculature.  A little further on we saw a long row of female prostitutes.

Just then I saw a chained and very slender body, but couldn’t quite see the face yet.  When the girl turned I recognized Julie, a girl who had been in my English Literature class last year.  She was drop dead good looking, but always had her nose in the air.  She seemed to think she was above everybody else.  I never dreamed I would ever see her naked.  Maybe I could have some fun with her now.

“Julie!  Do you remember me?  I was the guy from English Lit class last year you wouldn’t go out with.  Apparently your circumstances are quite different now!  I would like to hear how you wound up chained to this wall!”  She could not meet my gaze.

“I lost my job as a waitress toward the end of last year.  I missed some payments on my student loan.  When the bank found out I had no income they demanded payment in full of my entire loan.  I could not pay it, so they indentured me for 4 years for my debt!”

She was still looking down and not meeting my gaze.  I wanted to study her face.

“Look at me Julie!”  She finally met my gaze and, as she did so, I reached out with my right hand and cupped her vulva, all the while studying her face.  I saw a tear form and start to trickle down her face, even as my fingers were exploring her pubic hair.

“I think that now that you are indentured, you might serve me well as a cock sucker!”   As I said this I proceeded to lock my collar upon her neck.  Her face now turned red with humiliation.  My friend George was playing with the breasts of a girl a bit further on and soon had his collar locked on her neck.  We then proceeded to our first forum.

The first was a panel on the legal aspects of servitude, how to make indentures ‘appeal proof’ and how to make sure you have good title to a person whose indenture you buy at auction.  The leaders of this panel were a professor of commercial law and a couple of practicing attorneys.  We had not been listening to this panel for more than ten minutes when a guard brought our prostitutes to us.  We both draped blankets over our laps and bid the girls go down on their knees and fellate us.  It was most deliciously pleasant to have these sensations to enjoy even as we listened with interest to the panel.  We would make the girls slow down or stop whenever there was danger of a premature climax.  We wanted to make this pleasure last all day if possible!

Of course we took our girls and our blankets with us to the next panel discussion with the convenient leashes attached to their collars.  This panel was led by CEOs of pharmaceutical and plastics companies.  Their concern was how to protect proprietary processes, trade secrets and the investment they make when they put a new hire through an extensive technical training program.  They had always had the problem of losing the training investment whenever a new employee would quit after a short time.  Worse than that was the problem of that employee going to work for their competitor and taking with them their knowledge of trade secrets.  The new indenture system was giving them a fairly workable solution to the training investment problem.  But it was no answer to the trade secret problem.  I nearly shot my load into Julie’s mouth during this discussion, but managed to hold off.  Julie did get a few drops of my pre cum on her tongue.  George did have his climax.

Another panel was led by Certified Public Accountants.  They bemoaned the fact that young staff accountants frequently would come on board for a few years, acquire much confidential knowledge of the finances of the firm’s clients, then leave the firm, taking all that confidential information with them and peddling it to the client’s competitors.  Now Julie was very gently massaging my scrotum and testicles with the tip of her tongue.  It was delicious.

The most interesting panel of the day was about the growing prostitution industry, and was led by CEOs of firms in those enterprises.  Their complaint was that young prostitutes, after working there for a time, would be in a position to betray the business and its clients by selling to newspapers the names of the firm’s clients. 

Equally serious was the possibility that they might reveal details concerning the sexual peccadillos of a particular client, much to the latter’s embarrassment!  As I heard this I knew I wanted even more control over Julie.  I squeezed Julie’s nostrils closed with one hand while I forced my penis to the very back of her throat, triggering her gag reflex.  She soon found that she could only breathe when I retracted my penis slightly.  I found it very pleasant to control her breathing in this way!

What the businessmen in all three of the foregoing industries really wanted were employees they could train and keep as captive labor for the employee’s entire life!  They wanted ‘employees’ who would never be free to leave their employment!  They wanted to, in effect, ‘own’ their employees!  With these thoughts in my mind, I could hold back no longer.  I shot a plentiful load of semen into Julie’s mouth.  I forbid her to swallow it quickly, but insisted instead that she swirl it around her mouth and tongue and fully experience the taste. The speaker went on about the need to either replace or supplement the system of limited indentures with a system of full chattel slavery.  At the conclusion of the prostitution panel, the day’s formal activities were over and the same guard who had brought Julie earlier came to take her away.  He promised I could have her again the next day.

The second day of the symposium was devoted entirely to the question “How Do We Achieve Our Objectives?”

As I entered the auditorium a few minutes late, pulling Julie by her leash, and found my seat, a rather tall distinguished looking man was holding forth at the podium.  I later learned his name was Robert Dexter of Dexter Pharmaceuticals.

“I think we all know what kind of system would best address the concerns expressed in our panels yesterday.” Mr. Dexter fiddled with his notes. “But to achieve such a system we must have public support and getting that may depend on what name we give to our system.  I propose that we not call it ‘chattel slavery’, as some have suggested, as that sounds too harsh and conjures up images of the past where masters whipped slaves and broke up families by selling members one at a time.  Surely, gentlemen, we can achieve our goals without resorting to that sort of thing!

There was a loud round of applause and cries of ‘Here, here!’   I had Julie sitting on my lap this time, the better to explore her nakedness!  When things got quiet again, Mr. Dexter continued.

“We have had, for a year now, a committee working on this problem of how to sell our system.  What they have come up with is a concept called “Kinder and Gentler Slavery”.  We may even be able to sell this as less harsh than the present system of indentures, even while we are making the slavery permanent!  The trick would be to call attention to the human costs of family disruption under the present system, and the effects on a spouse and children when the primary breadwinner must serve for many years without pay! “   I began with Julie by gently caressing her long slender legs.

“We slave owners propose to contract with the public” Mr. Dexter continued “to provide humane conditions for our slaves, including a commitment not to whip or break up families, a commitment to provide good medical care for the slave and his immediate family, and a decent retirement for each slave.  You all received a leaflet outlining the key points of the new proposed system

There was an undercurrent of murmuring at this.  My fingers were now busy in Julie’s crotch, testing the resiliency of her pubic hairs, inserting my index finger in her vagina, while using my thumb to gently stimulate her clitoris.  I was beginning to get a sexual response from Julie, which she would very much like to have suppressed.  Finally a woman rose to her feet and asked for the floor.  I knew her as manager of a minor chain of bordellos.  The presiding officer gave her the floor.

“What I want to know is how are we in small business possibly going to be able to provide these idealistic benefits?’  She took her seat.

“Basically costs are covered by having your industry association offer group insurance.  It is all explained in the leaflet you all received as you came in.”

After some further discussion of the pros and cons, a resolution was passed giving the sense of the symposium in favor of the new proposal.  The second day was nearly over. and the guard came again to collect Julie.

I was so excited about this new system of slavery that we had all agreed to promote to the public that I just had to put my hard dick into something soft and feminine.  Julie was available and fortunately had nothing to say about it.  Her vagina was mine to enjoy if I wished to do so.  When the guard came to collect her I asked instead for a private room.  There I slipped my penis inside Julie and reveled in her subservience!

In the weeks that followed, the leaders of the pro slavery movement appeared on various TV interview shows to get the widest possible exposure of the new plan. 

At the end of the day, the public bought the new idea.

By the time I got out of college the Congress had passed the “Criminal Punishment and Debtor Satisfaction Act” bringing back the institution of chattel slavery and providing that a Court might enslave a person either as punishment for crime or in satisfaction of a debt owed to a plaintiff creditor.  Criminals, once enslaved, would become, in the first instance the property of the government, later to be sold at public auction to the highest bidder.  Debtors, once enslaved, would become, in the first instance, the property of the plaintiff creditor to use in any manner he might think appropriate, and ultimately could be sold at public auction should the creditor so choose.

Although Capitallia had legalized total slavery, the public seldom saw naked slaves being paraded through the streets, as was often the case in earlier slave owning societies.  This was because the new nation had carried forward most of the ideas regarding public nudity, exposure of children to nudity and ‘lewd public acts’ held by advanced societies for centuries.

Paradoxically, however, it was believed that forced nudity might be an effective form of shame punishment to inflict on slaves and criminals, provided that such displays took place in semi public settings where only adults who had chosen to view such spectacles need observe.

With all of these developments I could see the direction my career should take. There would be a need for bright and aggressive people to work as ‘slavers agents’.  After working a few years for another firm, I had the financial ability to start my own agency.

During these early years I became aware that it wasn’t just slavery that made people unequal in our society.  The delicious inequality that I so enjoyed was also a feature of the class system with its distinctions between citizens and non-citizens.

There was some upward and downward mobility between classes.  A person born as a non-citizen might, with considerable diligence, earn his or her way up to being a citizen.  Similarly, one born as a citizen might, with considerable neglect of responsibilities, fall to the status of non-citizen.

For all this mobility the class system nevertheless offered special privileges and pleasures to citizens.  For example, during the early years when I was establishing my agency I had to get to the office early one day for a meeting with a potential financial backer.

As usual I had taken the maglev train from my suburban home to the city, there to catch a personal transportation (PT) capsule to my office.  The train ride had been relaxing and had given me a chance to catch up on some reading. 

As I stepped off the maglev to the platform I looked to where the PT capsules queued.  There had been only one remaining.  I had rushed to it and noted that a rather attractive young woman was going to beat me.   It was plain that she was not even a citizen by the conspicuous non-Cit identification bracelet around her slender wrist.  No citizen would be required to wear such a bracelet. 

“Citizen’s privilege!” I shouted at her, but she did not yield to me as she was required to do by law.

Her failure to defer to me had caused my blood pressure to rise, the muscles of my neck to stand out and my shoulders to tense up.  It had been more than just irritating

since I believed such rudeness would cause me to be late to my meeting.  I pointed my cell phone at her bracelet just before she entered the capsule and touched the “Identify” icon on the screen.  Immediately I had her name, photo and federal ID number on my display.   I then touched the “Save” icon.  This sent her key access data to my personal computer at the office.  I could later use that data, at my leisure, to pull up any and all information about her that might be in publicly accessible government files.  This might help me decide whether or not to prefer charges.

I saw her speed away in my PT capsule and steeled myself for a wait of possibly up to fifteen minutes before more PT’s would be available.

In spite of reaching my office late, my meeting with the backer was successful.  After the meeting I decided to look up information about the non-cit who had taken ‘my’ PT this morning.  Failure of a non-cit to yield to a citizen was a misdemeanor punishable by up to 90 days in jail.  I was amazed at the wealth of publicly available information I could pull up about her with just that federal ID number.  Nothing as private as financial or medical records, of course, since she did have some privacy rights even as a non- citizen.  I could, however, learn her credit history, her criminal record (if any), her educational background and her current employment (if any).  And there were hundreds of photos of her taken by public surveillance cameras including photos of her in a bikini at the beach.

I decided that I would press charges, at least for now.  She would be entitled to an administrative hearing of course.  I would have to present some evidence to back up my complaint.  I thought the video clip I had captured on my cell phone camera would be sufficient to get her convicted.  But what I was really hoping for was that she would come to my office to contritely apologize and beg me to drop the charges.  Perhaps she could express her contrition in a sexual way. That would be sweet.

                         ********************************************************

Our agency has, since its inception, been in the business of scouting out persons who were insolvent and could therefore be enslaved and who also had some talent or youth or beauty to make it all worth the trouble.  Our service also has included hiring a local

attorney in the jurisdiction where such debtor lives, and working with that attorney to achieve a successful enslavement, then delivering the ‘merchandise’ to our client.  Our clients have tended to be predominantly nationwide or international corporations.  We have done some work for wealthy individuals as well.  For the last five years our largest single client has been a nationwide prostitution service.

Throughout the years I have always insisted we maintain the highest ethical standards. I believe I know right from wrong when it comes to who should be enslaved and who should not be.  My relationship with my clients has always allowed me to exercise discretion in such matters.

During the early years of my practice enslavements were generally straightforward and not too difficult to achieve.  All my team had to show was that the debtor owed over $10,000, was not able to pay it off within three years and that we were the sole creditor.  But gradually the courts expanded the rights of defendants in such proceedings.  It was held that a defendant might present a defense that he or she would be worth more to the creditor free than enslaved.  The plaintiff would then have to prove the contrary. 

Then the courts began to develop a doctrine that defendants had a right to play to the sympathies of jurors by presenting highly personal information about themselves.  They could, for example, discuss their fear of enslavement and their insecurities or anxieties in general in court as they wished. Finally there was a case where the male defendant asked the judge if he might present to the jury testimony of his masturbatory habits and his fear that, if enslaved, he might be denied masturbation.  The judge saw it otherwise, the jury enslaved the man, but the appellate court nullified his enslavement. 

In the case of Madison v. Bielman the appellate court held that defendant had been prevented from exercising all of his rights to a creative defense and denied the fullest possible opportunity to try to win the sympathies of jurors.  Double jeopardy attached, so there could not be a new trial and the man was set free.

Another aspect of the Bielman ruling also worked to the advantage of defendants who planned to present themselves naked at trial.  That was a requirement that prospective jurors who might object to hearing highly personal testimony from or about the defendant must be excused from serving.  The court held that no juror could be forced to hear about masturbatory practices if that went against the juror’s own beliefs.  Defense attorneys were only too happy to challenge such jurors for cause.  The end result was that the empanelled jury was likely to be far more sympathetic to the defendant than would otherwise have been the case.

These legal developments had made my job quite a bit more difficult.  We had to work harder, but we were still successful in enslaving most of the people we went after.

As my practice grew I saw the need to bring in a partner.   At first I took on a male partner.  My workload eased up considerably.  One day I was reviewing some of his cases and discovered that he had enslaved a young woman apparently for no other reason than his own desire to fuck her!  What was particularly disturbing was that he had apparently created fictitious debts for her in order to force her into insolvency.  Neither the court nor the defense counsel had caught this.  I could see that there was a woeful lack of procedural safeguards in this new debtor enslavement industry!  Of course I fired this partner.  I did not approve of his conduct on both practical and ethical grounds.

I found myself looking for another partner to replace the fired one.  Not being gay or bisexual, I did not enjoy the male enslavements as much as the female ones.  The thought naturally occurred to me that if I had a female partner she could handle the male enslavements and leave me free to spend all of my time on female enslavements and indentures.

I pursued my contacts within the industry and eventually came up with a promising candidate.  I called her in for an interview.

“Miss Johnson, perhaps we could begin by your telling me of how you became interested in slavery and why you chose this as your profession?”

“Well Bill, if I may call you Bill, I suppose I developed an interest as a little girl. The idea that some people would have the right to own and control other people always intrigued me!   It was only fitting, after all, that people of inferior ability, mentality or moral status should serve their betters!”  This would make for a just world, assuming, of course, that the right sort of people were enslaved and that the right sort of people became their masters!”

“Miss Johnson, I was hoping you would say just that.  It is very important to me also that only a certain sort of person be enslaved, and that all enslavements be legally just.”  I described to her the experience I had with the male partner and why I had to fire him.

“I understand Bill.  That is the way I feel also.”

“Part of my purpose in taking on a partner,” I said, “particularly a female partner, is to be relieved of the need to do male enslavements myself.  So I would want a heterosexual female as my partner.  The law allows us to do a “Creditor’s Examination” of any debtor once we have made a satisfactory prima facie case and the debtor has been bound over for trial.  This exam typically includes not only the debtor’s financial assets and liabilities, but also the debtor’s person.  Our clients nearly always want us to do this so that they have early information as to the debtor’s potential value on the auction block.  So we do a complete physical, including sexual response testing.” 

“If we give our client a completely favorable report on the debtor’s body,” I continued, “accompanied by photographs, and the debtor is reported to the client as responding well to sexual stimulation, then the client will typically give us carte blanche to pursue the case.  This allows us to hire private investigators if needed, or to hire jury consultants if indicated.  If the debtor’s body is not so desirable, or he or she has shown poor response to sexual stimulation, the client may give us a very limited budget.”

“Miss Johnson, if you come on board with us, I would want you to concentrate almost entirely on the male enslavements and the male Creditor’s Exams, and to enjoy doing so!  If I never have to look at a penis again or weigh a man’s balls in my hand, it will be too soon!  So I need some reassurance from you that you are heterosexual and that you will enjoy the work I have in mind for you.  That will allow me to concentrate on my first love, which is enslaving females who deserve this fate!”

“I am heterosexual Bill, and you will find me quite enthusiastic about my work!”  I am looking forward to those exams!”

And so the firm continued to grow and prosper up to the time of our celebration.

Chapter 4.   Stephanie’s New Job

Two weeks had passed since my interview.  I had just about given up hope of landing the job at Masterson Automotive when the phone rang and it was Jeff Duncan.  He offered me an entry level position in their accounts receivable department and named a starting salary that sounded good.  My department head would be Tom Jenkins, while my initial training supervisor would be a Miss Watson, assistant head of the department.  It was agreed that I would report for work the following Monday.

On Monday I went to my job dressed in attire more modest than what I had worn to the interview.  I wanted to play it safe.  I had noted during my interview visit that most of the female employees were wearing quite conservative attire.  I did not want to draw hostile glances on my first day.

I waited in the reception area with a sense of mounting anticipation.

“Hello, Stephanie Glenn I presume?  My name is Vicki Watson.  You will be working closely with me.  Tom is in meetings all day today so you probably won’t meet him until tomorrow.   I will take you to our department, but they are painting the hall we would normally use today, so we will need to take an alternate route, cutting through the observation mezzanine of the company’s gymnasium.”

We went up a flight of stairs and walked down a long corridor to where there was a set of double doors where she hesitated.

“If you aren’t entirely comfortable with male nudity you may want to avert your eyes for this next bit.  You see we are doing pre employment physicals for non-citizens in the gym today.  If you choose to look down over the railing you will see perhaps a hundred naked applicants of both sexes being examined, assembly line style.”

“But what about the indecent exposure law?  Doesn’t that apply here?”

“Not at all.  Since we are a private employer we can simply waive that on company premises.  We just have to take care that no children or non consenting adults see these naked applicants.”

I was amazed at this revelation.  I followed her through the double doors and tried my best not to look.  But I couldn’t help myself.  It wasn’t every day I got to see naked men!  Some of those guys were very well hung!  I felt sympathetic to the men and women I saw who were being stripped of all dignity as they were herded like cattle from one examining station to the next.

“Why aren’t they examined individually and privately, as I was?”

“Stephanie, you are a citizen, so we were obliged to respect your dignity.  These people are not citizens so we owe them no such consideration.  It is more efficient for the company to examine them in this manner, whatever the cost to their dignity!  We are doing them a big favor just to let them apply for jobs here!”  If we give them a job, however lowly the position, they can generally avoid being picked up for vagrancy and make enough progress paying down their debts so that some creditor doesn’t enslave them!

“That could really happen?”  I had heard of slavery, of course, but I thought it was only imposed as a punishment for crime.

“Yes indeed!  Creditors want, and are entitled to, satisfaction under our laws.  Many nonCits fall into slavery every month, while some of the more fortunate ones manage to earn enough money to qualify for citizenship.  There is both downward and upward mobility.  Being a non-cit is not a condition of birth but a status one falls into by not being or remaining productive enough to achieve or maintain citizenship.”

I had learned something new, that non-citizens could be enslaved for debt.  Fortunately citizens, myself included, did not have to worry about that!

Eventually we got through the gym, went down another hall to the area she indicated was our department.  She showed me the cubicle that would be mine, and introduced me to June and Lacy.   These two would be my colleagues in the department.

“I understand you have experience doing general ledger work through trial balance.  That being the case, you should have no difficulty doing the kind of reports we usually give to new accountants in this department.  To begin, you will be working with June in the preparation of a report on receivables for the division head.”

With that she left me with June to get started.  After several hours working on the project June suggested that I might join her and Lacy for lunch. 

“We are going to a café called the ‘Garden Club’ here in the building where some of the more broadminded employees have their lunch and enjoy a bit of entertainment at the same time.  So, if you don’t have any serious hang-ups about nudity, why don’t you come with us!  I think you will find it quite an experience!”

I agreed to try it and followed them to the center of the building where we entered a private courtyard with lush greenery and a fountain and quite a few tables set out where people were dining.  What immediately shocked me was that, standing next to many of the tables where patrons sat, there were waiters and waitresses that were, except for steel collars around their necks, completely naked! 

They all appeared to be physically fit.  They were obviously explaining menu choices and taking orders.  We proceeded to sit down at one of these tables and soon a male waiter approached.  He placed a bowl of fragrant soapy water on our table and some small cloth napkins.  I wondered what that was for and asked him.

“Since you are new here I will explain.  It is ‘hygiene water’ which we waitstaff place on each table in case a patron wishes to touch us.  Would each of you young ladies like to start with a glass of our best house wine?”

“I’m sorry, I stammered, could you please repeat the question?”  My two companions laughed out loud.  June was in stitches, her shoulders shaking, and her knees bouncing up and down with her belly laughter!  In truth I hadn’t even heard his question because I was totally preoccupied looking at his penis.  It was almost at my eye level and only a little more than a foot away from me!  It was of impressive size, though flaccid.  And it was circumcised.  The glans had a purplish hue.  Below it was a low hanging scrotum containing two very impressive balls!   I made a conscious effort to raise my glance to meet his glance.  Suddenly I became aware that my face was red as I realized he had noticed where my eyes had been.  We all agreed to his suggestion and he left us to get the wine.  Lacy opened her eyes wide as she looked at me, taking in my embarrassment, and then she tossed her hair with a quick flip of her head, as if to say ‘better get used to it, honey!’

As I looked around I noted that female waitresses were generally waiting on male patrons while males were waiting on females.  Some male patrons were intimately touching some of the waitresses.

“I know the company can waive the indecency laws on company property, but how do they even get guys and gals to do such humiliating jobs?”  I asked.

“Simple.  Notice the steel collars around all the young necks!  The young college kids you see here waiting tables have all been enslaved by a court, either as punishment for a crime or as restitution to a creditor for debt.  They work naked here because their owners have ordered them to do so!  It is intended to be a humiliating punishment for them as no free person would volunteer for such work!”

I was well aware of just how strong the taboo in our society was against a person appearing naked before members of the opposite sex.  So I had no doubt that the humiliation was very real indeed!  I had heard of sex slavery before, of course, but had never experienced it so up close and personal!

Just then our well hung waiter returned with our wine.  As he stood next to Lacy to present her a glass, I noticed that she had placed her hand on his muscular buttocks and was drawing him in closer.  Then, with her other hand she began playing with his genitals.  I was shocked to see this going on in a restaurant!  Presently he became partially erect and I noticed some pre cum forming on the tip of his penis! 

Lacy seemed satisfied that she had been able to procure such a reaction and proceeded to wash and dry her hands using the ‘hygiene water’ and small towels he had earlier provided.  I thought how humiliating it must be for him to actually invite such intimate touching by providing, in advance, the means for a customer who so indulges to clean herself!

“Why don’t you fondle him a bit Stephanie?”  Lacy stated as she finished drying herself.

“I would not feel comfortable doing that.  It is not that I am a prude, or that I wouldn’t enjoy it under other circumstances.  But the involuntary nature of his service would trouble my conscience if I were to indulge.  I don’t believe sexual slavery is right or decent!  I think we should not take advantage of another’s misfortune!”

“Well hello ‘Miss Holier Than Thou”!  Do you think you are better than June and I?

“Leave her alone Lacy.  She just sees things differently than we do.  Perhaps in time she will become comfortable with sexual slavery, as most people eventually do.  Then she will be able to indulge herself right along with us!”

After our lunch the three of us returned to our department, just in time for the weekly staff meeting called by the division chief.  The meeting took place in the Emerson Library.  I was introduced to all present.  After much routine business, the meeting adjourned.  Miss Watson came by to check on how I was settling in and whether I had any questions about the report June and I were collaborating on.   Soon it was time to go home for the day.

The next day Miss Watson introduced me to the head of our department, Tom Jenkins.  He was a portly and not very attractive man.  He kept me standing in front of his desk for some time while he fiddled with various documents.  He kept looking at me out of the corner of his eye. 

“You are to be complimented on your very professional mode of dress, Miss Glenn.  Some of our new female hires try to impress the male managers by wearing short skirts to work.  I see you have exercised better judgment than that.”  His eyes seemed to sweep up and down my figure.  I had the distinct feeling he was undressing me mentally.

“Thank you sir.  I am glad you like my outfit.”  In truth I wished he would move on to talk about things other than my physical appearance.  He was beginning to creep me out.

“I will be leaving for Europe tomorrow.  It will be a month long trip where I will combine business with pleasure.  I trust that you are getting along just fine with Miss Watson, who will be your interim supervisor.”  

It was a statement, not a question.  After a few more pleasantries he indicated that our meeting was over.  I was disappointed in his rather curt manner and wondered just what sort of boss he would prove to be.  Still I was getting on all right with the assistant department head, so perhaps things would work out anyway.

During the weeks that followed I made steady progress with my report and gradually gained more confidence as I learned my way around all the people with whom I needed to interact.  I did experience some discomfort on learning that Lacy was talking to many of my co-workers about the incident in the Garden Café.  She was convincing a lot of people that I was a prude because I would not touch the waiter’s genitals!  She and June were no longer inviting me to join them for lunch.  I wasn’t comfortable going back to that place where I had so embarrassed myself, so I started bringing a brown bag lunch.

Miss Watson eventually assigned me a project that June thought should have been given to her.  June then started putting it about that I must be sleeping with one of the male managers to get such a choice assignment!   The corporate atmosphere was becoming decidedly more hostile to me.

The month was soon up and Tom Jenkins returned from Europe.  If anything, he was more portly than before his trip.  I was really turned off by his appearance.  After a couple of days he called a staff meeting and announced that Miss Watson would be leaving us effective immediately.  Everyone would be reporting to him directly.  Also he announced that, largely on his recommendation, the company was starting a new tradition of casual Fridays.  All employees would be given extra time to make use of the company’s gym and swimming pool on Fridays to maintain physical fitness.  There would be poolside refreshments served every Friday at mid afternoon.  All employees would be expected to dress casually.  Jeans or even shorts would be acceptable dress.

The first casual Friday I chose some jeans that fit me loosely and a modest top.  Jenkins made some crack about my “excessive modesty” and suggested I needed to get more into the spirit of things.  He also asked me out for a date.  I declined politely, indicating that I was currently involved with someone else.  I hoped he would accept this.

Then he began to pick on my work on the slightest pretext.

When the following Friday rolled around I decided perhaps it would be harmless to humor him a bit so I wore short shorts and a sleeveless short halter top as many of the other women in the department were doing on Fridays.  He seemed very pleased.  He made no secret of the fact that he liked my body.  His hands began to wander where they shouldn’t go.  He touched my bare shoulder and traced my collarbone.  I pushed his hand away.  He again asked for a date.  I felt I needed to put him down firmly this time so as to discourage any more attempts.  I made it clear to him that there could be no physical relationship between us since I wasn’t attracted to him in that way.

Around mid morning he called me into his office for a private conference on my latest report.  He instructed his secretary that there were to be no interruptions, then closed the door.  He motioned for me to sit next to him on the sofa he kept in his office.  I was a bit uncomfortable with the intimacy of this considering how scantily I was clothed.  He groped one of my breasts.  I slapped his face. 

“Keep your hands off my body!”  I screamed at him.

“You better watch your attitude, Miss Glenn, if you want to keep your job!”  He said this with a growl.

Not daunted, he began to fondle my left leg.  That really was too much!   My legs weren't for the likes of him.  I felt way above him in the sexual pecking order of things.  I needed to defend my status by keeping those hands off my body.  I pushed his hand violently away from my left leg, then I slapped his face real hard, forehand and backhand.  His pride was clearly stinging as well as his face.

“That does it bitch!  Go pick up your final paycheck!   You don't have a job with this company or any other company if I can fix it! “

I go directly to Human Resources and file a sexual harassment claim. Jeff Duncan interviews me about my harassment claim.  Paul Gregory, the company shrink, also interviews me.  I find that I am still fired despite my claim of harassment.  Many weeks go by and it becomes clear the company will not investigate my claim.

Chapter 5.   Petition for Enslavement

Unemployment took its toll.  After approximately three months of not being able to make a mortgage payment or pay down any of my credit cards, unpleasant things began to happen.  First, the finance company came and repossessed my car.  I received notice from the bank that my home faced foreclosure if they did not receive at least two months payment by the end of the month.  Charges had begun to appear on my credit card statement for merchandise I had never purchased!

Since I was a little girl, my favourite way to fight depression was physical activity.   Cheerleading and tennis had done that for me in my high school and college days.  Since then I had continued to play tennis and as a result, had remained physically fit.  It didn’t hurt also that I had competed in the Boston Marathon again this year, winning second place this time!   My slender and toned body was one of the few things I could feel good about these days!

My ultimate nightmare began one day last June.  I had just finished a game with Becky, one of my regular partners.  My pulse rate was high.  It was a hot day and I was feeling tired, as I towelled off the excess perspiration. But I was also exhilarated.  I had won two sets out of three!  Just then I saw a man I had never seen before on the tennis courts.  He was a tall and very muscular fellow dressed in a business suit and holding a clipboard.  He walked directly toward me until he was only a few feet away.

"Are you Stephanie Glenn of 301 Rosewood Circle?"

"All day long," I responded, somewhat flippantly.

"I am officer Fred Jones, official process server for the District Court for the State of New York.  I am here to serve you with some legal papers, and I need a signature from you right here" he said as he thrust the clipboard at me.

"What if I don't want to sign this?"

"Lady, all your signature means is that you acknowledge receiving these papers from me.  We can do this the easy way or the hard way.  If you don't give us any trouble it may go smoother for you with the judge."

I made a conscious effort to breathe.  With my fingers starting to tremble, I signed where he indicated, he gave me my copies, and I saw him walk back to the parking lot and drive off. 

My eyes now began to focus on the document.  In bold type right across the top it said "PETITION FOR ENSLAVEMENT OF DEBTOR”.

Becky had walked up to stand next to me and also saw that heading.

"Why do they need your help with an enslavement proceeding, Steph? 

"Give me a minute Beck."  I had a dawning premonition about this.

"Is the debtor someone you know?"

My eyes had just landed on the block on the form where it identified the debtor whose freedom was now placed in jeopardy.  It showed my name and my address.  My voice was starting to choke up and my hands now shook uncontrollably.

"I am the debtor in question!"

"There must be some mistake!  They have you confused with someone else!" 

"There appears no mistake Becky.  They have my name and address on the form, my correct date of birth, my social security number, my most recent employment, and a list of debts that appear to be mine.  The plaintiff is some outfit called Richmond SlendaBond Ltd."

"Do you know this company Steph?  Did you ever do business with them or borrow money from them?"

"Not at all. Never heard of them before."

"How can they do this to someone of your class Steph?  I mean I have heard of bankrupt debtors being stripped of their freedom before, but normally it is only some guy or gal from the lower class.  They don't have all the same rights we do you know!  Surely you can fight this, can't you?"

"I hope so Beck.  I surely hope so.  I will try to find a lawyer first thing tomorrow."  I became conscious that tears were now streaming down my face.  I felt that I was slipping into a state of shock.

Of course, I had no money to pay a lawyer, but I applied at the Court Clerk's office and the Court assigned me a Michael Green.  I had my first meeting with him a week later:

"Miss Glenn, you have asked me if, in my professional opinion, the plaintiff, Richmond SlendaBond Ltd, could actually take away the freedom of someone of your educational attainments and social class.  While I cannot predict what the outcome of your particular case will be, I can tell you that there is a widespread misconception that it is only lower class debtors who can be forced into servitude.  This is actually not the case."

"So you are telling me that I actually can be enslaved?"  My heart was pounding.

"Indeed yes” the lawyer continued.  There are no distinctions of class in the law when it comes to servitude proceedings.  Anyone owing more than ten thousand dollars to a single creditor and unable to pay can be placed into bondage by the Court or a jury - male or female, young or old, prince or pauper."

"But you said Richmond SlendaBond Ltd was the plaintiff in this matter.  Why don't they just take my property?” I wailed.  “Why would they want to own me?"  He smiled at me, apparently amused by my naiveté.

"Your lovely body would seem the most obvious reason, my dear!  Those slender, well tanned, and lightly muscular legs of yours would give any man a desire to gain complete control of you!

I noticed where his eyes were focussed and I struggled with little success to pull my short skirt down.  I wanted to give him a piece of my mind for his impertinence, but realized I had few options but to try to get along with him.  I could afford no other attorney.

"Who is this Richmond SlendaBond?” I asked incredulously.  “I never borrowed money from them.  Why are they the ones coming after me?"

"They have bought up all your debt from your various creditors.  They are now your only creditor.  They are the parent company of Skelly Girl Enterprises, a prostitution service that is well known for catering to business and professional men. Does that answer your question?"   I nodded my head.  I again made a conscious effort to slow down my breathing as the implications of that sunk in.

"Can you defend me?” I pleaded.  “Do I have a chance against these people?"

"Yes I can defend you” he replied in such a tone that I could only wait for the other shoe to drop. 

“But I must inform you there is a high risk that we will not prevail.  Petitions of this type succeed more often than not, since the debtor defendant always has the burden to prove that she or he should not be enslaved. That requires proving that she or he would be more of a financial asset to the creditor as a free person than if forced into involuntary servitude!  In other words we would have to prove that the plaintiff is pursuing the case out of ignorance or for purely vindictive reasons.  In your case young lady, with no job and no immediate prospect of one, we probably can't meet our burden, considered purely as a matter of law.  But there is another way you might save yourself."

"Please sir, just tell me what else I need to do."

"We should ask for a jury trial.  There will be 12 jurors.  Since your freedom is at stake, they must vote unanimously, just as would be true for a criminal case."

"That sounds encouraging!"

"Yes, but you need to keep in mind that the burden of proof for the plaintiff is much less than in a criminal proceeding.  All he has to do is show that you owe him more than ten thousand dollars, that you have no reasonable prospect for paying off that debt in a timely manner, and that the only way that he can obtain satisfaction of this debt is by taking possession of you!”

"You probably will lose your freedom as well as any personal property you may have.  Better get your affairs in order now!”

"Surely there must be another way to beat this thing?"

"Yes but I hesitate to mention it because of the way you reacted when I stared at your legs a few moments ago."

"Whatever do you mean sir?"

"I mean that even if the plaintiff makes a perfectly adequate proof that he is entitled to take your person, you can still appeal to the sentiments of the jurors.  They have an absolute right, under the doctrine of jury nullification, to set you free, regardless of the law or the evidence against you."  It is simply a question of setting up a situation where they will want to give you your freedom."

"How do we do that?"

"By having you appear as sympathetic as possible to them.  By having them identify with your fears and care about what will happen to you.  We must make them want to free you!  But this may well entail giving up quite a bit of your psychological privacy!”  I wasn’t sure I liked where this was going.

“Your trial won't be coming up for another two months, but there is a more immediate matter that we will need to tackle.  A preliminary evidentiary hearing in your case is scheduled for next week.  The purpose of this hearing will be to determine if the court should bind you over for trial.  The plaintiff need only present plausible evidence that he is the sole creditor and that you owe him $10,000 or more.  We can try to get the case tossed at this hearing but it is likely the plaintiff will prevail.”

“What if I am ‘bound over’ for trial?  What does that mean?”

“First it means we will have to argue for you to remain free on bail until the trial.  Many young men and women facing the possibility of enslavement do have a tendency to flee the jurisdiction.”

“But I have no money for bail!”  By now tears were rolling down my face.

“I can try to get you freed on your own recognizance.  There is a good chance the judge will go along with that since you are a professional person of good character.  But then there is the matter of the “Creditor’s Examination”.

“What is that?”

“In the old days it meant that a debtor might be ordered by the court to submit all financial records to the creditor for his examination, and to give testimony under oath to the creditor concerning those finances.  Now it means all of that plus the fact that the debtor, in this type of proceeding, is also ordered to present himself or herself to the creditor for an intimate examination of his or her person!”

“Does that mean my b-body?”  I had a growing premonition of utter shame ahead.

“Yes!  You will probably find this examination most humiliating.  In addition the plaintiff will make you testify under oath as to any evidence you have that might rebut his evidence at trial.”

“But why does the law require this?” 

“Because the creditor is entitled to make some advance assessment of what his chances of prevailing at trial would be and what you would be worth to him should the enslavement be successful.  That could mean what price you might bring when exhibited naked on the auction block, for example!  This advance assessment is useful in determining whether he should proceed with the case and spare no expense, or should perhaps consider cutting his losses by offering you some sort of long term payment plan in lieu of enslavement.”

“And what about your fee?  How much and how can I possibly afford it?”  I practically croaked.

“You can easily afford my basic fee, and if there are extras we will work something out.”

With that we ended our first meeting. 

The following week we went before the judge.  My attorney had me sit next to him at counsel table.  I got my first look at the people who were trying to take away my freedom.  When the judge called the case and asked for identification of the parties, I learned that the plaintiff’s agent was a Bill Steelforth and that the man with him was the attorney for plaintiff.  My attorney advised me that Mr. Steelforth was the owner of the William Steelforth Agency, a reputable slaver’s agent.

My attorney was not able to get the case tossed at this preliminary, and I was bound over for trial on my own recognizance.  The plaintiff asked that I be remanded to custody pending trial, but the Court ordered, instead, that I might be free on my own recognizance but must have an electronic tether device attached to my left ankle.  This would make it easy for authorities to track me down should I attempt to flee the jurisdiction.  I had never before felt so unfree as when the bailiff placed that device on my ankle, cinched it tight and locked it beyond my power to dislodge it.  The judge had told me it was made of hardened steel so that it would be impossible to cut it off!

The hearing was adjourned.  As my lawyer and I walked down the courthouse steps, he indicated that he had something on his mind.

“Miss Glenn, have you decided yet whether you will take the witness stand in your own trial and let me ask you a whole series of embarrassing questions about your fears of enslavement?” 

He watched my face closely for my response.

“I think probably my answer is going to be no.  I just think it would be too humiliating!”

His face registered his disappointment.

“Then there is something I will need to show you that may bear on your decision.” 

He gestured for me to follow him.  After a walk of four blocks we came to a large outdoor arena enclosed by a wooden plank wall.  A very large sign on the wall said “New York City Municipal Slave Market”.   We could hear much raucous shouting, jeers, applause and laughter coming from inside the arena.   There was a smaller sign over the entrance we were approaching which I could just make out.  It said “Nudity Inside.  Only adults who will not be offended will be admitted here!”  There was someone at the door checking the Ids of younger people to see if they were 18 or older.

I did not feel too comfortable about entering a place such as this.  But my lawyer was very insistent.  As we entered the enclosure we saw that many people were crowding up to an elevated stage area.  My attorney kept pulling me forward until the two of us were close to that sawdust covered stage.  There were naked men and women on that stage wearing iron collars and with numbers written on their bare buttocks, and on their foreheads, apparently with a black grease pencil.  All of them had their hands cuffed behind their backs and were wearing leg irons. 

One in particular, a man, was standing on a raised block above stage level.  In spite of my horror at the overall scene, I could not help but notice that he was a gorgeous guy, perhaps 30 years or so in age.  He was slender of build, and very well muscled.  I noted his broad shoulders and well developed pectoral muscles and biceps.  My eyes travelled down to his groin.  He was circumcised.  I noted his very long and moderately thick penis, and his impressive low hanging testicles. 

“Do I hear twenty two thousand?” a man I took to be the auctioneer called out in a loud voice.

“Twenty two thousand, five hundred!”  A feminine voice in the crowd answered. 

“Do I hear twenty five thousand for this great specimen of masculinity?” The auctioneer cried.

“Let us see if his stuff works first!”  Someone in the first row cried.  Other people called out “hear, hear” to that.

The auctioneer signalled to his assistant, a young and attractive woman.  She came forward wearing black leather gloves and a tight fitting black leather outfit that left her arms, legs and midriff bare.  She was tanned, had a very flat abdomen and looked like she worked out regularly.  She used the tip of a riding crop to lift the slave’s penis and to flick it this way and that.  But it remained flaccid. The auctioneer gave a second signal to his assistant.  With that she went behind the slave and began to slice at his buttocks with her crop.  The crowd could see the man wince with each stroke.

“How cruel that is!”  I remarked to my attorney.

“Not as cruel as it looks.  They are administering a fairly mild form of discipline because he is being rebellious in not showing the crowd his erection.  He has committed the sin of pride.  That is not permitted to slaves.  She is not striking hard enough to cut him or leave welts.  She is striking him because he is a masochist and the gentle whip strokes will arouse him in time, however much he might prefer not to show the crowd his erection!”

I soon observed the truth of these remarks with my own eyes!  That penis was growing stiff and pointing straight out toward the crowd!  The crowd loudly cheered.  The auctioneer’s assistant then came around in front of him again and flicked that penis left and right using the tip of her crop.  This made it plain to the crowd how hard the slave had become.

“Let us see him climax!”  Someone in the third row shouted, and others shouted their agreement.

The auctioneer nodded to his assistant.  She took her gloves off and began to gently touch his genitals.  He looked mortified.  She cradled his ball sack with one hand, then put lubricant on her other hand and began to stroke his penis.  Soon she was rewarded with a few drops of precum, which only those in the front row could see.  After a few more minutes he began to shoot copious strings of semen that fell on the sawdust floor.  His face was red, and his humiliation was complete!  The crowd roared its approval!  The auctioneer’s assistant smiled, took a bow and retreated to the back of the stage!

I felt my nipples grow hard and my vulva grow moist!

“Do I hear thirty thousand?”  The auctioneer called out.

“Forty thousand!”   Shouted an attractive young woman in the third row.

“Forty two thousand!”  Shouted a matronly lady in the second row that I took to be about 45 years old.  The young woman in the third row looked crestfallen.  Clearly her limit had been reached.

“Going once!  Going twice!”  The auctioneer banged his gavel.  “Sold to the lady in the second row!”

Two guards stepped forward and marched the slave to a holding pen on one side of the stage where sold slaves were kept until their new owners could claims them.  The auctioneer then called for the next slave to be auctioned.  It was a very attractive young woman who was trembling with fear.  I did not want to stay and watch her humiliation.

My lawyer looked intently at me.  I was embarrassed.  I worried that he could see right through me.  I felt that he might perceive that I had been sexually aroused by what I had seen.

“Do you understand why I brought you to this place?”

“To teach me what slavery is?”  I said with some uncertainty.

“Quite right.  I hope that it has occurred to you that, if we lose your trial, it could well be you standing on that stage in a few more months!  It could be you who has to entertain

that crowd with your sexual responses to an auctioneer’s crop while men bid for the right to own your body!”

“Wh-What do you w-want from me?”  I stammered.

“I want you to agree to take the stand and let first me and then opposing counsel question you in detail about your most secret thoughts and feelings about enslavement!  My goal is for us not to lose that trial and expose you to the kind of humiliation you saw here today.  After all, what is a little mental privacy sacrificed in the defence of your freedom?” 

He looked me straight in the eyes.

“Let me think about it.  When do I have to decide?”

“You can make that decision at your trial.  I will ask you then and the judge will ask you.”

We parted and I did not hear further from him for some weeks.

Three weeks after that I received an “Order for Creditor’s Examination” signed by the judge, directing me to present myself on a date certain, together with any financial records, at the offices of the William Steelforth Agency.  The Order also stated “the female defendant is ordered, in preparation for this examination, to shave off excess pubic hair around her genitals in accordance with the enclosed diagram.”  Clearly the plaintiff had petitioned the court in such a way that I was not permitted to shave myself completely but must leave some pubic hair that would adorn but not conceal my sex.  I cried and cried at the implications of this.  My attorney agreed to accompany me for this exam.

On the appointed day, my lawyer and I went to the agency where Mr. Steelforth courteously escorted us into a large conference room and we were soon joined by plaintiff’s counsel and a court reporter.  I was required to take an oath to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth.  At first they asked to see my financial records and they asked me some questions about my finances.  They then asked what defenses I planned on making to their suit and to present any evidence that I had in support of such defenses.  It was all part of the “discovery process” as my lawyer explained.

Then the moment I was dreading arrived.  I was asked to undress completely and submit to a physical examination by Mr. Steelforth.  I did not want to undress for this man who was trying to take my freedom away.  I also felt embarrassed at the idea of my own lawyer seeing me naked.  And I had no doubt these men would see plenty because of my court ordered pubic haircut!   I began removing my clothes and folding each item neatly on the conference room table.  It seemed strange to be undressing in a conference room rather than in a doctor’s office.  And in front of a rather handsome businessman in a three piece suit.  The hardest part was when I had to push my panties down in front of this man, step out of them and place them on the pile with my other clothes.  

Mr. Steelforth then had me turn this way and that, and assume various attitudes and positions, so that he might assess my ‘auction appeal’.  I felt the palms of his hands and his fingertips touching various parts of my body.  I was about to object but my lawyer gave me a warning look.  Then he undid the clasp that was holding my hair in a ponytail and he ran his fingers through my hair, apparently enjoying its silkiness.  I was then asked to open my mouth wide while he shined a flashlight inside my mouth and tested the soundness of my teeth with his fingers.  At one point he used his fingers to lift my tongue so that he might see underneath it.  After a time he asked me to stand on a small pedestal with my legs well separated and he pulled up a stool and sat with his face directly in front of my crotch!  With his thumb and index finger he then began touching my labia and pulled them apart to see that which they normally concealed.  I knew that he could then see every detail of my vulva!  I felt my face and breasts flushing with my humiliation.  And whether I liked it or not my nipples had become quite erect from all this stimulation.

He then brought out a diagram of what he called “a generic vulva”.  He began comparing my vulva to the generic one and making notes on the differences and measuring the overall length of my slit and the length of my clitoral hood and recording these measurements!  I was fully displaying my most private female parts to this man, and to the others present in this room!   I could sense the eyes of each person in the room focused upon my crotch!  I started to cry!  Tears streamed down my face at the irretrievable loss of my genital modesty. They had all seen my most intimate and sexual parts displayed for their edification!

Of course he did not miss the opportunity to go behind me, order me to bend forward while he spread my buttocks apart, peered at my anus for awhile, no doubt also enjoying the rear view of my vulva.

Just when I thought things could not possibly be any more humiliating, I was told that I must masturbate for Mr. Steelforth’s further edification.  I shot an appealing glance at my lawyer, begging him with my eyes to object to this latest outrage.  His hard look told me I must go along with the program.  So masturbate I did!   I was required to do this on the conference room table where everyone could have a good view! 

I thought at first that I could get away with just going through the motions and fake my climax.  But Mr. Steelforth had been in the business of examining slaves and potential slaves for many years and he said he could always tell when a young woman was faking.   Finally I gave up all pretence and masturbated for real bringing myself to a real climax.  They all saw it and the aroma of my sexual secretions filled the room.  I wanted to sink through the floor!

Finally Mr. Steelforth gave me permission to put my panties back on.  It was only then I learned that he had videotaped my masturbatory performance for the edification of his ultimate client, a person or organization as yet unknown to me!

While I sat there bare breasted and with only panties on, he asked me a series of embarrassing questions about how often I masturbated, how old I was when first I masturbated, what sorts of things I thought about while masturbating, and on and on.  Because I had taken an oath at the beginning to tell the truth, my lawyer advised that I would have to answer each and every one of these questions.

Finally Mr. Steelforth seemed satisfied and gave me permission to put the rest of my clothes on.  The meeting was concluded.

Chapter 6.   The Trial

My attorney called me one day to advise that we would have no choice but to proceed to trial.  No out of court settlement was possible and the client had instructed the Steelforth Agency to proceed and to spare no expense to bring this matter to a “successful conclusion”!

I was informed that my jury trial would be entirely public.  Spectators would be permitted in the courtroom, and the trial might also be televised.  The news media had managed to get some pictures of me in my tennis whites - short shorts and a tube top with my midriff bare.  These photos were published along with notice of the proceeding against me.  Some of the news stories were indicating that the trial might prove quite humiliating for me.  As a result there were more potential spectators than the courtroom could accommodate.  The bailiff let them come in a first come first serve basis.  Then he informed those who had not gotten in that they might watch the trial on closed circuit TV in the lounge down the hall.

Most of the spectators were male, but there were also some women I had managed to antagonize from my former place of employment who seemed to take a particular delight in my present predicament.  I felt my chest tighten up when I noticed Mr. Steelforth, who had taken such liberties with my body during the “Creditor’s Examination, sitting at the plaintiff’s table along with the plaintiff’s counsel.

Then I saw something that chilled my blood.  Mr. Jenkins, my former employer, was right there in the third row!  His presence here today was particularly hard to take since he had been the one who had caused me to be in this position by sexually harassing me, firing me, and then blacklisting me so that I could find no other work.  Evidently he had come to gloat.  I felt that he and the others were ogling me.  My lawyer asked me if I had any impressions concerning the spectators.

"I think the women here mostly would like to see me taken down a peg or two, and the men mostly want to gawk at me and imagine what it would be like to get into my pants! "  My lawyer just laughed and indicated that was his impression also.

After the "All Rise" and the entry of the learned Judge Alfred P. Morelock, the trial was underway.  The judge proceeded with his ominous address.

"The Third District Court of the State of New York is now in session.  We are here today on the matter of an enslavement petition filed by the corporation known as Richmond SlendaBond Enterprises against an alleged debtor identified in the petition as Stephanie Glenn.   At this time counsel for the opposing parties will identify themselves for the record.”

“Roger Vandenberg for the plaintiff, your honor.”

“Michael Green for the defendant, your honor.”

“Before proceeding further I want to be sure that the defendant is present.  Please stand and identify yourself for the record."

I stood and gave my name and address.  As I did so I noticed one of the TV cameras turn toward me and then saw a close-up of me on the big screen.  A hushed murmur could be heard from the gallery.   I remained standing.

“You may sit down, Miss Glenn.  The Court will allow questioning and dismissal for cause of any juror who is morally opposed to our enslavement laws.”

The court proceeded to empanel a jury.  Far more women than men objected to the morality of enslavement.  In the end I found that my jury was to consist of nine men and three women.

"Counsel for plaintiff and defendant being present, the jury having been sworn in and all interested parties being present, let us proceed." 

Plaintiff’s counsel made his opening statement.

“We will show that this defendant is insolvent, that she owes the plaintiff more than ten thousand dollars and that plaintiff is now her sole creditor.   We will further show that she has stated, by affidavit, at the time of her Creditor’s Examination, that she is unemployed and has no immediate or foreseeable prospects for obtaining gainful employment.  We will also show that we have done a Family Impact Study, as required by law, to establish that she has neither a spouse, nor children, nor an aging parent whose welfare may depend on her remaining free.  Finally we will show that she has far more value to plaintiff as human property than she would ever be likely to have if she remained free.”

The plaintiff’s counsel now began to set forth his case in chief   First he called Morgan Richmond.

“Mr. Richmond, you are the President of Richmond SlendaBond Ltd.  Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Richmond, could you please tell the Court what is the nature of your company’s business?”

“When the indenture and enslavement laws were passed, I determined that it could be quite profitable to acquire insolvent debtors and market them to other interested parties.  I then started a firm to bring about the enslavement of certain debtors through legal process.   We accomplish that with the help of firms that do the scouting and legwork for us, such as the Steelforth Agency.  We first buy up all of the target’s debt, and when we are successful with our legal action, we actually take title to the human property, train that property to the appropriate level of slave skills and obedience, and then sell.  Of course, we try to buy low and sell high to make a profit.”

“Does your firm deal only in female slaves?”

“No indeed.  We are an equal opportunity enslaver.”

“Please tell us why you named the firm ‘Richmond SlendaBond’, if you would sir?”

“I chose that name because we decided to specialize in introducing only slender debtors to a life of bondage.  That was partly a matter of my own tastes and preferences, but also because I felt that was a market niche that could be quite profitable for us.”

“Thank you Mr. Richmond.  Your witness.”  My attorney stood to begin the cross-examination.

“Mr. Richmond, since you have stated you enslave only slender debtors, would it be correct to conclude that the uses to which your slaves are put are primarily sexual in nature?”

“That is correct.”

“Will you tell us then how you market the sexuality of your slaves?”

“We have a subsidiary enterprise called ‘Skelly Girls’.  It is a nationwide prostitution service catering to businessmen.  But not all our slaves are marketed in that fashion.  We also cater to the desires of wealthy individuals who wish to purchase a slave outright from us, or to lease one for a period of years, perhaps to serve as a domestic servant with sexual duties also included.”

“Would it be your intention Mr. Richmond, if you are successful in this proceeding, to use the defendant in your nationwide prostitution service?  Or lease her to a private client?”

“Objection, your Honor!  Mr. Richmond is under no obligation to state what his intentions are for Miss Glenn!”  The plaintiff’s attorney had risen to his feet.

“Objection sustained!”

“And what about yourself sir?  Do you personally make sexual use of your own slaves?  Would you personally rape Miss Glenn?”

“Objection, your honor!  Mr. Richmond’s personal sex life is not relevant to this proceeding!”

“Objection sustained!  Move on counsellor!”

“I have no more questions for this witness your honor”.  The witness stepped down.

Next there was a rather dry presentation of documents showing that I owed to the Plaintiff more than ten thousand dollars and other documents showing that my meagre assets were nowhere near sufficient to satisfy these debts.  Various witnesses were called from the accounting department of Richmond SlendaBond to authenticate each of these documents, and each, in turn, was entered into evidence against me.  My lawyer had tried, on cross examination, to trip up some of these witnesses and get some of the documents excluded, but was not successful in this.  He and I were both of the belief that some of the alleged debts had been fabricated.

Plaintiff’s counsel then called Mr. Steelforth to the witness box and he was duly sworn in prior to beginning his testimony.

“You are the managing partner of the William Steelforth Agency, is that correct?”

“I am.”

“Could you explain briefly what is the nature of your business sir?”

“Our role is to represent the interests of clients, such as Richmond SlendaBond, who wish to achieve satisfaction of debts owed them by debtors who are unable to pay in money.  We do this by enslaving the debtor, through lawful process, so that the creditor may sell him or her at auction, or make such other use of the slave as he may see fit.  This always involves researching the candidate to see if he or she is enslavable, then hiring legal counsel, and marshalling all the necessary documents and witnesses needed to secure a successful outcome.  We sometimes act as ‘talent scouts’, seeking out debtors in a given city who owe money to our clients.  On other occasions we are commissioned to bring about the enslavement of a particular person desired by our client.”

“Which was the case with this defendant, Mr. Steelforth?”

“We were specifically commissioned by a client desiring to own Miss Glenn.”

“Did you or your firm follow all the prescribed legal procedures to determine Miss Glenn’s assets, debts, present employment status, prospects for employment, and ability to enter into a payment plan that would discharge her debt in three years or less?”

“We did carry out a Creditor’s Examination to that end.  We determined that her assets were wholly insufficient, that we were the sole creditor having purchased all her other debts, that she is unemployed, and has no ability to enter into a legally sufficient payment plan.”

“For the record sir, and under oath, did your firm do the legally required Family Impact Study?”

“We did that as part of the Creditor’s Exam.  Miss Glenn advised us under oath that she is unmarried, has no children or any other person dependant on her personal care or financial support.”  Mr. Vandenberg seemed satisfied with this response and turned to the judge.

“At this time, your honor, we wish to introduce two affidavits signed by Miss Glenn on the above points and call her as a witness to authenticate them.”

“Defense will stipulate to admission of the affidavits.  No need to call her as a witness.”  Mr. Vandenburg then continued his examination of his own witness.

“Mr. Steelforth, do you believe Miss Glenn has far more value to your client as human property than she could ever have if allowed to remain free?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Can you support that belief with objective evidence?”

“During the Creditor’s Exam I did personally examine Miss Glenn’s naked person.  I found her to be incredibly attractive.  I also touched her intimately and found her to be highly responsive in a sexual way.  I know from years of experience in the industry that her beauty and her sexual sensitivity are qualities that would be much in demand by licensed prostitution services.  Male clients will pay very well to have sex with a woman like Miss Glenn.  She could earn a considerable amount of money for my client in a relatively short period of time.”

“But Mr. Steelforth, if all that you say is true, does it not also follow that she could earn that same considerable amount of money as an independent prostitute, while remaining free?”

“In my experience it does not work that way.  In the first place Miss Glenn has adamantly maintained that she would never willingly become a prostitute.  If she were enslaved, that choice would no longer be hers to make.  Also it is quite well known in the prostitution industry that male clients will pay much higher fees to have sex with an indentured or enslaved prostitute, as opposed to a free one.  Therefore her earning potential, and ability to repay her debt, could never be as high if she were allowed to remain free.”

“Thank you Mr. Steelforth.  I have no more questions for this witness.”

The judge then turned to my lawyer.

“Does defense counsel wish to cross examine this witness?”

“No, your Honor.  Not at this time.  But we would like to reserve the right to recall him later.”

“Your Honor, the plaintiff rests his case.” 

The judge declared the plaintiff had made a prima facie case that he should be allowed to take my person in satisfaction of a considerable debt.  Now it would be up to my own attorney to dispute the validity of some of the alleged debts, or to convince the jury that I would be worth more to the Plaintiff if left free than if enslaved. Failing that, to appeal to the jurors to ignore the law and set a beautiful woman free. To do that he would have to persuade the jurors to become very interested in knowing me, perhaps on a very intimate basis.

At that point the judge, noting the time, declared that the Court would be in recess until 2 pm.

********************

Promptly at 2 pm the judge banged the Court back into session.  The bailiffs had allowed even more spectators in so that it was standing room only.

“This Court is now back in session in the matter of Richmond Slendabond Enterprises v. Glenn. 

My lawyer rose to address the court.

“If it please the Court, defense will proceed at this time.”

“Proceed.”

“The defendant has agreed to present to the jury as much of her person as possible, that they may better judge her character and sympathize with her in her desire to maintain her freedom.  She will testify in her own defense and we will present much information relative to her psychological nature and concerning the reasons for her fear of enslavement.  We will call character witnesses as well.”

“We will show that Miss Glenn is not insolvent, and that some of her alleged debts have been fabricated in order to reach the statutory amount of ten thousand dollars.  We will show that, when the fabricated debts are eliminated that my client’s actual debts do not exceed seven thousand dollars.  While we admit that my client is presently unemployed, we will show that she is highly trained as an accountant and that she does have real prospects for employment in her field within the coming year.  Finally we will show that, in the event Miss Glenn does not secure professional employment within the coming year, she would be willing to accept employment in the adult entertainment industry, perhaps as a nude dancer at private parties, where she could earn more money and discharge her debt more quickly than if she were ‘human property’ as plaintiff desires.”

My lawyer then proceeded to introduce documents apparently showing that my debts were much less than had been claimed by the plaintiff.  He called some witnesses to authenticate these documents.

Then he called two witnesses that were in the head hunting business.  They both testified that a person of my education and skills should have no great difficulty finding employment in the accounting profession, once the current recession was over.

Next my attorney called me to testify.  I was sworn in and climbed up on the witness platform. 

I experienced acute embarrassment!  I saw that some of my colleagues, both male and female, from my old job at Masterson Automotive were here watching me in my shame.  I saw Tom Jenkins in the third row staring at my red face and gloating in my humiliation.  He, more than any one person, was responsible for me being in this predicament!  All because I had double slapped him for fondling my leg.  There was June who had once accused me of sleeping with Tom to get a choice assignment!  There was Lacy who had spread rumors all over the company that I was a prude because I felt it was morally wrong to touch the genitals of our indentured waiter!  There was Jeff Duncan from Human Resources!  All these people seemed to be immensely enjoying my humiliation!

I was sure my face was red as a beet!

My lawyer began my direct examination.

“Your legal name is Stephanie Glenn, is that correct?”

“That’s right.” I mumbled in a dying voice.

“You will need to speak up so all can hear you.  State your name loud and clear.”

“I am Stephanie Glenn”.  I said, forcing myself to get the words out.

“And do you live at 301 Rosewood Circle, in the town of New Rochelle, State of New York?"

“I do.”

“Miss Glenn, I need you to tell us all if you fear enslavement, and if so why.”

“Yes sir, I do.  I highly value my freedom and I think it would be terrifying to lose that.  I also have the fear that, as a slave, I would be forced to do things, sexual things, that would go against my principles.  I fear that I might experience so much unrelenting humiliation, on a day to day basis, that I might lose the will to live.”

“Miss Glenn, do you believe, if the jury lets you keep your freedom, that you could find a way to repay your debts?”

“I do.  I am quite marketable as an accountant once the present recession is over.”

“But what if that doesn’t happen?  Then what?”

“I am prepared to do what I must as a free Citizen, to repay my debts.  If it means I have to accept employment in the sex industry to do that, I will swallow my pride and do such work!”

“Give us some examples of what kinds of employment you might accept.”

“There are many private clubs where men go to watch naked women dance.  I would be willing to be such a dancer if I can find no other work.  There are also opportunities to work as a nude dancer at private parties.  If all else failed, I would even consider making soft porn films.”

“What about prostitution?”

“No!  I would not do that!   It is against everything I believe in.”

“But if these jurors decide you should be enslaved, you could be forced to prostitute yourself.  You could be forced to have sex with any man who could pay your fee.  Isn’t that so?”

“Yes, I am afraid so.  That is why I fear enslavement so much!”

“I have no more questions for this witness, your Honor.  Your witness.”  He said turning to plaintiff’s counsel.

“Miss Glenn, I have a question for you.  You have said that you would never prostitute yourself because it is against your principles.  Isn’t it also against your principles to default on your debts?”

“Yes sir that is true.”

“Yet you would not do everything possible to repay your debts if your other plans for earning money did not work out.  In other words you would rather violate the legitimate rights of your creditors to expect repayment of debt, before you would violate your own notions of propriety when it comes to having sex with strangers for money?”

“Yes sir that is true.”

“I have no more questions for this witness.”

The judge looked at me.

“You may step down from the witness platform, young lady. “

The lawyers for the two sides proceeded to make their closing summations.  Then the judge gave the jury instructions on the law as it applied to this case.

With that the trial was over.

.

 

Chapter 7.  These Legs Are Made For Running

My attorney and I were passing the time in the courthouse lounge.  I wanted a cup of coffee but I was too wired and nervous already!  It had been over two hours since the jury had retired to choose a foreman and begin deliberations.   I asked my lawyer what it would mean for my chances if the jury returned a quick verdict or took a much longer time.

He explained to me that if things dragged on too long, that meant the jury was probably deadlocked.  That, in turn, could lead to a compromise verdict where they would convict me of the lesser charge, so that I would be indentured for ten years to SlendaBond instead of becoming their outright slave for life.  He said my best chance for keeping my freedom intact would be if they returned a quick verdict.

When it was three hours, the judge called us all back in and announced that court would be in recess until tomorrow when jury deliberations would continue.

That night in my condo I was so scared I couldn’t sleep!  My heart was pounding!  My breathing was labored!  The muscles of my torso and shoulders were very tense.  What if they did enslave me?  If it was going to happen it would probably happen tomorrow.  It would be an unthinkable and intolerable calamity!  I simply could not stand being enslaved!  It would go against everything in my nature to be stripped of my freedom and dignity in that way! 

Worst of all would be the forced sex that would be sure to follow!  I simply could not stand that!  So many women were being forced into prostitution these days that prices paid by the johns were very low.  The very idea that I might be made into a public whore– that every Tom, Dick and Harry with $20.00 to spare on payday could stick his dick into me!  How could I live with that?  Or maybe I would be made into a private prostitute to service exclusively the needs of some rich bastard!  Some obese pot bellied son-of-a-bitch who could diddle my clitoris whenever or wherever he chose!  How could I live with that?

I was wearing short shorts.  I looked down at my legs.  They were beautiful legs!  Too pretty to be pawed by strange men I hated!  Swift legs!  Runner’s legs!  They had carried me to a second place finish in the Boston Marathon last year!  I thought of that old Nancy Sinatra hit  “These Boots Are Made for Walking”.  Well just maybe ‘These legs Are Made For Running’!  Maybe these legs could save my life – so to speak! 

What to do?  Was escape my best answer?  I knew this would be hard.  I was wearing an electronic ankle bracelet.  Escaping slaves were nearly always caught, and usually faced severe punishment and public humiliation for the attempt.

The ankle bracelet was made of hardened steel.  The judge had said it could not be cut off.  Yet the ankle bracelet’s lock could be picked open surely?  I just needed to find someone with the rights skills and tools.  Then what?  Where would I go?  How would I live?  If I made one mistake they would have me back in their clutches in no time.  For all these difficulties it seemed to me that a life on the run would be infinitely superior to being stripped of my freedom and dignity and becoming someone’s sex toy!

I would need identity documents under a fictitious name to survive.  Who could help with that?  I would have to concoct a fictitious resume to get hired somewhere.  No one would hire me if they knew I was a fugitive.

One step at a time!  There was Tom Murphy.  He was a locksmith and he and I had often played tennis.  Usually I beat him.  He had come on to me a couple of times and I had turned him down.  Clearly he had the hots for me!  Maybe I would have to sleep with Tom to make it worth his while to help me?  But what if Tom turned me in instead of helping me?  I would have to take that chance, but there was something I could do to improve the odds.  I got the small stun gun out of my night table drawer and slipped it in my purse. 

Then I called Tom.  I pleaded with him for his help.  I told him I was in a real jam, without saying that I intended to run from the court.  I did not want to say too much on the phone.  I hoped he hadn’t heard anything about my case and had no reason to suspect my true purpose.  I just told him I had a job of lock picking and asked if he could meet me at an address in lower Manhattan.  He said he would.

I scooped up what cash I had in the condo, some candy bars, a change of clothing and my prescription meds.   An hour later I was meeting him at the address I had given, one that I knew to be an abandoned building.  I had taken the subway there.

“Hi Tom!”

“What’s up Steph?   Why this meeting in the middle of the night at an abandoned building?”

“Tom, you must promise to keep my secret!  I am in trouble with the law.  I am probably going to be enslaved tomorrow unless I can skip town, but first I have to get this damned ankle bracelet off me so I can’t be traced!”

“Oh I don’t know Stephanie.  I could be in a world of trouble if you were caught and they found out I had helped you escape!”

“Do you know how much trouble I could be in without your help tomorrow?  I could well be human livestock, someone’s property!  Do you think I could ever stand that?”

“Knowing you, I doubt that you could!”

“Then help me PLEASE!  If I am caught I will never betray you.  I will never let them know you were the one who got the bracelet off me!  Besides I will make it worth your while!”

“How will you do that Steph?”

“What do you want Tom?  A blow job?”

“I would want more than that Steph!  I always wanted to get into your pants!  That is my price now!”

“OK, OK, already!  If that is what you want, that is what you shall have!  Now please help.   I don’t have a lot of time left before morning to make my getaway!”

“Put your foot up on that block.  I want to examine the bracelet”

I did so and he examined my bracelet ankle and leg for some time.  His hands began to play with my left calf and feel the muscle there and the under knee tendons.  He kissed my knee.  He caressed my left thigh.  I was hardly in a position to object to anything he wanted to do!

“Can’t you just pick the lock?”

“Opening the lock, or even attempting to open the lock, would immediately transmit a signal to police that the lock had been tampered with!  It would also report our exact location to police!”

“Is there no hope then?”

“The bracelet is hardened steel.  But I could cut it off with my diamond bit power drill.  That would not cause any alarm signal to go to police.”

“Fine.  Do it then.”

“Not until I have been paid, sexually speaking!”

I nodded my agreement and we found a way into the abandoned building.  Tom brought a blanket from his truck to lay down on the floor.  We fucked until Tom had climaxed.  Then he agreed to get on with the job.  He went to get tools from his truck.  Twenty minutes later he had cut clear through the bracelet in two places so that the two halves could be separated.

Tom saw a small stray dog nearby.  He got some meat out of the truck and used it to tempt the animal to within capture distance.  He wrapped a piece of cloth around the dog’s belly and used that, in turn, to attach the two halves of the bracelet.  He told me as long as the GPS sensors keep picking up a moving signal from the bracelet there would be no alarm to alert police that the bracelet was no longer on me.

“Steph, there is an organization here in New York City called the ‘Underground’.  They are some very courageous volunteers who take huge risks to help people escape slavery.  I know a guy who would know how to contact them.  They can help you.  Would you like me to call?”

“Sure Tom.  That might solve a lot of problems I thought I would have to solve all by myself!”

Tom left me for a few minutes and called his friend from the truck.  When he came back he said a representative of the ‘Underground’ would meet me in the heart of Greenwich Village in one half hour.  He named an intersection that was 10 blocks from our warehouse location.  He said I would have to walk there by myself.  Everything was on a ‘need to know’ basis with this group.  They wanted me at the meeting place, not Tom and me together.

“Steph, these clothes that you are wearing – were they purchased with a credit card?

“Very likely, Tom.  I don’t like to carry large amounts of cash when I shop, so I use the card.”

He went out to his truck and returned a few minutes later with an old shirt.

“You will need to take off all your clothes and put on this old shirt instead.  All clothing these days contains RFID threads that can be picked up by government or business scanners.  The thread scanners can identify precisely what the article of clothing is, who manufactured it, what retailer sold it on what date.  If you used a credit card to buy these articles then the scanner will also have your identity linked to each of these items of clothing!”

I did as he said.  I found the shirt a couple sizes too big for me, but at least it came down to mid thigh on me so it protected my modesty.  Tom and I parted and I began the walk of 10 blocks.  I was scared as some of the blocks I had to walk down were poorly lit and sometimes frequented by a rough element.  Also it was a bit windy and I had to struggle to keep Tom’s shirt from blowing up and revealing too much of me!

Soon I was in Greenwich Village standing on the corner where I was supposed to wait.  It seemed like an hour but was probably only ten minutes before a young man asked me for directions to the theatre district.  As he came closer he was soon whispering to me to just stay put for a couple minutes, then follow him down a subway entrance.  I did so and soon I was following him into a subway car.  We rode it for several stops, then he signaled me to exit the car with him.  When we reached the street there was a car waiting.  We got in and I was immediately blindfolded and the car drove around for a while.  Finally we got out and he guided me into the front entrance of a building.  Only then did the blindfold come off.  He rang a bell and drove off, leaving me to wait for someone to answer the bell.

I had no idea where we were, but I soon learned we were at the ‘safe house’ maintained by the ‘Underground’ in lower Manhattan.

A matronly woman in her forties opened the door and ushered me inside where I also met an athletic man about her age and a nerdy looking young man about my own age. 

“You may call me Jan, the older man John and this young man Jeff”, the woman said, “although these are obviously not our real names.  We will be the team that will help you alter your appearance, give you a paper and electronic identity, a past to go with that and equip you with necessary knowledge of computer security systems. Our team goal is not to have you live here but to prepare you for a new life a long distance from New York City.  We plan to put you on the 6 am mag-lev train out of Grand Central tomorrow morning, westbound for Chicago.  My own role is the appearance stuff.  We can’t have you looking like the “Wanted” poster the police will post in the next few days, now can we?”

“No, I guess not” I replied.  Inwardly I breathed a sigh of relief.  I felt these people knew the ropes and were going to solve a lot of problems for me that I thought I was going to have to work out alone.  They would help me avoid all the pitfalls that could cost me my freedom.

“Why don’t I do my magic first? “ she said as she led me to a different part of the house.

“Let us see what we can do with those eyes first”.  As Jan said this she reached for a pair of contact lenses and had me try them on. 

The contacts fitted perfectly and changed my eye color from brown to blue.  She added a false nose, did a makeup job, had me color my red hair blonde, and provided me with two sets of clothing.  She then took a typical head and shoulders photo of me suitable for a driver’s license photo.

The second member of my team, John, then worked with me first on choosing a name.  He showed me a short list of possibilities.

“I think I would like to be Rebecca Stevens”, I told him.

“We can arrange that”, he replied, “but it is also important that we create a past for you to go with that name.  You will need to be able to tell people where you grew up, how many brothers and sisters you had, what high school you attended, what jobs you have had, and so forth.”

“Couldn’t we just give me enough paperwork for me to flee to Canada or to one of the southern states that is still part of the old United States?  After all, they don’t have slavery there so I would be safe, right?”

“Not quite so fast young lady.  It is true they don’t have slavery there, but they do have extradition treaties with Capitallia.  If you were matched to Capitallia’s ‘Wanted Persons’ list, you would be sent back!  Since the precautions you would have to take to protect your new identity would be just as great in those countries, you might as well hide in your own country.”

“Ok, I get it!” I sighed, realizing the enormity of the task ahead of me.

Then he worked for many hours with me creating the details of my past.   He drilled me on these details until he was satisfied I knew them cold.  He proceeded to create the paper documents I would need including a driver’s license, a social security card, photos of my supposed family members, of a boyfriend I supposedly had back in my hometown and two alternative resumes.

.

The third member of my team, Jeff, then indicated I was to follow him into the computer lab in the basement of the house.

“Rebecca, and I may as well start calling you by your new name, my job is to tutor you in what you need to know about electronic identification of persons in our society.  You wouldn’t want to be picked up by police because you walked by the wrong scanner would you?”

“No way!”  I was beginning to feel like it was all going to be just too much knowledge for me to master.  I had never been a top student in high school math or science and had never taken a computer course.

“Good.  Then let us get started.  All clothing manufactured in the last 50 plus years in Capitallia contains special RFID tags or threads.  Other common objects people usually carry on their persons may also contain these tags.”

“What does RFID stand for?”  I asked.

“Radio Frequency Identification.”  Jeff continued, “When you pass by the right kind of scanner, radio frequency waves are sent out by the scanner which can read information from these threads.”

“That must be what Tom meant – why he made me put on his old shirt instead of the clothes I was wearing?”

“That’s right.  You were lucky to have a friend that knew about this stuff helping you before you came to us.”  I breathed a sign of relief hearing this.

“When clothing is manufactured a tag or thread is inserted somewhere in the fabric that uniquely identifies that particular article of clothing.  Something like a serial number.  Shows who the manufacturer was, date of manufacture, etc.  The identifier would not be the same for any two pieces of the same type of clothing even from the same manufacturer.”

“How does that identify a person?”

“When you or I walk into a retail store and buy an article of clothing with a credit card, or perhaps a whole shopping cart of articles on one purchase, the store’s computer creates an account for us with our name and address and other personal data pulled from the credit card account.  It then reads the RFID tag of each article we are buying as the cashier scans them for price and attaches those “serial numbers”, if you will, to our personal account in a process called “imprinting”.  The next time you or I visit that store, as we walk in the front door we pass by a scanner that reads the RFID tags of every article of clothing we are then wearing.  If it finds some articles that are already linked to our customer account, it uses that link to identify who we are.  Such identification may be used to target specific advertising messages to us that is likely to be of interest to us as individuals based on our previous buying patterns.”

“But what if we had originally bought all our clothing for cash?”

“Good point.  If everything was bought for cash and the clerk could not otherwise identify us at time of purchase, then there would be no account for the scanned RFID threads to be imprinted upon.”

“The new clothing we provided you had been purchased for cash and would therefore not have RFID threads coded to match any particular person.  That way if you passed any government scanner or retail store scanner, the computer lookup on your clothing would return ‘Name Unknown’.  That will be safe enough for now.”

Eventually they would get me some articles of clothing with RFID threads coded to my new identity, but that would take some time.  He explained that the “Underground” also had computer programmer operatives working in federal and state law enforcement.  These operatives would eventually fix the federal law enforcement database so that any biometric scan of my fingerprints or retinas would link to my new identity rather than my old identify. 

In the meanwhile he stressed that I must not carry anything at all that had been purchased with a credit card under my original name and address.  All kinds of objects, in addition to clothing, contained RFID threads.  Most important of all, he said, was that if a scanner ever picked up on my original identify because of one or two articles on my person that had been bought with a credit card, then the computer would register all the RFID threads in my clothing to that identity as well!  They would then no longer scan as “Name Unknown” but scan my original name and address!  This process was known as “Re-Imprinting” and would result in all my clothing becoming “hot”, as he put it!  He gave me precise instructions what I should do if that situation ever arose.

As he was explaining all this to me, I thought about the small stun gun I had earlier slipped into my purse.  I knew I had purchased this for cash so any RFID thread or chip it might contain could only scan as “Name Unknown” and not possibly be linked to me.  That should be ok and I didn’t have to tell them I was carrying it.

He told me of a place in the foothills of the Catskill mountain range.  It was on the mag-lev railroad to Albany about two hours north of New York City.  He spoke of a cabin used by hunters during deer hunting season that was walking distance from the town railroad stop.  He directed that I was to proceed to Grand Central Station, board a train for upstate New York, disembark at Saugerties and walk to the place.  He said I could lay low there for a couple of days while he made up my new ID documents.

There was one minor difficulty with this plan though.  The mag-levs all used biometric identification of passengers to thwart criminals and fugitives on the run from the law.  My biometrics would give me away at this point since they would not have time to fix that in the federal database for at least a week.  To get around this difficulty I would be escorted on the train handcuffed as a “prisoner” by two uniformed “policemen” who would flash badges at the train conductor.  These “policemen” would ride with me to my stop at Saugerties and get off the train with me there.  The conductor, seeing me handcuffed and in custody already, would not require a fingerprint scan!

Finally he gave me a capsule I was to carry in my mouth at all times.  In case of my arrest I was to bite down hard on the capsule.  No, it was not poison he hastened to explain.  Rather biting down would cause it to send a signal to the “Underground” that one of their safe house locations was about to be compromised so the place could be cleared out before police could arrive.

The last step was for me to don a blindfold and follow the woman who had first admitted me.  She put me in a car and drove me to Grand Central Station.  I was instructed not to remove the blindfold until several minutes after I would hear her drive off.  The two “policemen” then met me as I entered the station, placed me under “arrest”, bought tickets for the three of us and rode with me to Saugerties.  There we parted company and I walked to the cabin following the directions I had been given.

A day later there was a package at the Saugerties mag-lev station for me to pickup.  It contained the computer verifiable ID documents I would need and a prepaid debit card in my new name with $500 on it.   I boarded the train heading north again first to Albany, then west to Chicago.  The trip to Chicago on the mag-lev took 5 hours.

Once in Chicago, I realized I needed some necessaries.  I walked into a chain drug store and froze when I heard a synthesized electronic voice say “Welcome to our store, Stephanie Glenn!”   I thought “What the Fuck!  How did they know who I was!  Then I realized there must be something in my purse that their scanner was able to recognize.  I rummaged through my purse and found it.  It was a package of Tampax I had purchased in New York City from another drug store of this same chain!  It must have contained an RFID chip. 

I must get rid of it!  But would that be enough?  I remembered the explanation I had gotten from the Underground about Re-Imprinting.  What it meant was that the previously anonymous threads in the clothing I was wearing would now be linked to my true identity – at least in the drugstore’s computer system.  Their system would then check my identity against the government’s wanted persons register.  If their system found a match, they would be legally required to forward all data to the government’s computer system.  My clothing – all of it – was now “hot”!  I ran out of the store in a panic!

I knew that I must lose this clothing, all of which was now trackable.  I had to assume the drug store chain got a match for my identity with the national Persons Wanted List.  By now the threads in all my clothing would be cross-registered with all law enforcement agencies. Every time that I would board a bus or a subway or stand at a street corner waiting for a light to change my RFIDs could be picked up and transmitted to police.

I ran into a sporting goods store and bought in line speed skates for cash, then into a dark alley where I stripped off all of my clothing, even panties.  All that stuff was trackable.  I remembered the specific instructions I had been given by the safe house in New York for just such a situation as this.  I fashioned a sign with a piece of cardboard and some string which I hung about my neck proclaiming myself a slave who is being punished through forced nakedness while on an errand for her master.  I took out the handcuffs, black leather collar and coin purse the safe house had provided.  I fixed the handcuffs so it looked as though I were cuffed.   I put the black leather collar around my neck and fastened that in a way that it looked impossible to remove.  It had ‘D’ rings where a leash might be attached.  I hung the coin purse around my neck and put my cash, ID and credit card into that.  I chucked my purse and all my clothing in a dumpster in that alley.

Then I ran out into the street absolutely naked.  I was confidant police would not arrest me for indecent exposure because there is an exception for slaves who are being punished by public humiliation.  Also I believed police would have trouble catching me while I was moving so fast on those roller blades.  Interested male spectators would not have long to study my body as I whizzed by.  I ran as fast as my slender muscular legs and the skates could carry me toward a destination about 10 blocks north where I remembered there was a launder-mat.

During this run, with my heart pounding, I ran along one block where young women were being vended.  I saw twenty or more of them, each secured by her collar with a length of chain to a wall stanchion.  Each wore only a bikini top and a thong – the minimum needed to comply with public decency laws.  Above each one was a sign with her slave name, her price, and a paragraph describing who she had been when she was free.  This one had been a schoolteacher right here in Chicago, that one a secretary from Milwaukee, and so forth.  By now it was dusk.  Artificial lights illuminated these women and the signs over them.  Male passersby of various ages had stopped to examine these women with, apparently, a view to possible purchase.  I was appalled at what I saw – and it caused even more energy to flow into my legs that I might escape such a fate myself!

Up ahead I could see the street was blocked off to automobile traffic. Evidently there was some sort of street fair going on.  I kept going.  They had the street blocked off with a high wood plank fence that ran almost the whole width of the street.  There was an entrance archway straight ahead of me.  I noted a sign that said “Adults Only” over the entrance and someone there checking ages of young looking persons.  Evidently whatever was going on in this street fair was not for children.  As I entered the fair the lights were coming on in the various exhibit areas and booths to offset the gloom of the faltering daylight.

One brightly lit exhibit caught my eye.  It was a group of naked male slaves, each one slender and lightly muscled, tethered to a wall and handcuffed.  Evidently public nudity was perfectly legal in Chicago as long as it was in an area where children were not admitted.  That these men were slaves was evident, not only from the handcuffs, but from the iron collars about their necks, and the fact each had a brand on his inner thigh.  There was a booth nearby where tickets were being sold. 

As I passed by, a couple of women who had just stepped away from the ticket booth were approaching two of the naked males.  I noticed these two slaves had not an ounce of excess fat on their bodies, washboard abdominal muscles and were especially well hung.  Their penises, even in their present flaccid condition, looked to be 8 inches long.  Their testicles and scrotums were of impressive proportions and hung low.  The women approached the men and began to fondle them between their legs.  Under a different set of circumstances I would have liked to buy a ticket for myself and do the same!  I had come a long way since the time I refused to fondle the male waiter in the ‘Garden Café’!

A little further on I saw a truly shocking exhibit called “The Generator Station”.  Here were a dozen or more young women, all rather athletic looking, in a line on a raised platform.  All of these women were quite naked and ranged in age from early to late twenties.  Each was astride a kind of stationary bicycle, having no seat, with her neck in a yoke and arms restrained at her side. Each one had her legs vigorously pumping away at the pedals.  A sign overhead announced that these women were generating, with their young and well-muscled legs, and as part of a court ordered punishment, all the electricity consumed by the entire street fair!   Around the neck of each young female was a sign with her name, vocation and a brief description of the offense for which she had been indentured.

There had been much talk about finding alternative energy sources in the early twenty first century.  Apparently this problem had been solved with slave labor!  I shuddered, breathed more deeply and felt a new burst of adrenalin and oxygen energizing my own legs.  If these legs did not serve me well now to escape, then these legs might well end up as pistons for some businessman trying to save on his energy costs!

There were two male overseers walking up and down the line.  They carried no whips.  They carried instead remote controls that enabled them to somehow control the women in their labors.

Soon after I had exited the street fair and found myself back in normal traffic.  I found myself fast approaching a gang of college boys who were drunk and were pointing at me and making fun of me.  It was clear they meant to molest me as I approached them.  I ducked into an alley to avoid them.  Some of them were in hot pursuit but I was easily able to out run them with my roller blades.

After I got beyond the alley and round the next corner I was confronted with some of the other college boys who had taken an alternate route to corner me.  I am surrounded.  But I had had some martial arts training and defend myself well, and make a getaway on my inline skates.  Finally I reach the launder-mat, go in and steal some clothing that is about my size, run out with it, find another alley where I change into these clothes.

The underground railway people in New York had given me a contact person for their Chicago shelter.  I tried the phone number but no one answers.  I will have to wait until the contact returns home.

I needed a place to sleep just for that night.  I tried a motel but noticed they were photographing each person as they check in – even if they are paying cash.  No doubt this is in case things turn up missing from the room.  But I can’t be sure there isn’t a link to law enforcement and there will be an APB out about me by now.  I tried a couple of other places but they also were photographing.

Then I think about maybe pitching a tent in one of those tent parks.  It is summertime and the weather is not bad.  Probably they don’t photograph people who check into these places.   I bought a cheap throwaway wireless laptop and used it to locate one of those camping parks within 2 miles of a commuter train stop.  I found a twenty-four hour store that sold sporting goods, and bought, with cash, a cheap tent, a backpack, a sleeping bag, some cooking gear, and a few other camping necessities. 

I boarded the train with my tent and things in the backpack.  After a ride of 30 minutes, I got off at Pine Tree Road and walk the 2 miles to camp.  They check me in with no problem and no questions asked.  No identity check, no photographing.  I pitched my tent and settled in for the night.  In the morning I built a fire from wood logs and made myself some coffee and oatmeal.  I have paid for a week so I left the tent up.  I took the commuter train back into Chicago.

In Chicago I again tried phoning my contact for the Underground.  This time I was in luck.  I was given an address where I would be picked up for a blindfolded ride to the safe house.  When I arrived at the house I was given a bed in a dormitory and a chance to bathe and eat good food. 

By then it was early Sunday afternoon.  I knew that I would need a job.  The staff at the safe house got me settled into their dormitory and suggested I should apply for a telemarketing job, until I could find something better.  They aren’t too fussy about references for that kind of work.  I used my throwaway laptop to find job openings and phone numbers.

Early Monday morning I got busy applying.  I secured a job.  Everything was OK the first day.  The pay wasn’t great, but it was a job.  With that I was able to go out and rent a small apartment of one room and stock it with groceries.  I was on my way!

I went back on my throwaway laptop.  I checked for news stories about myself.  Sure enough they had sent police looking for me when I did not show up for court that next day.  The judge had declared the trial in recess until such time as I would be apprehended and could again be brought before the court.  He informed the jury that, in all probability, this would not take more than a week or two, given all the high tech tracking devices now deployed everywhere! 

The judge also announced that since I was now a fugitive from the law, that when I was caught, there would be some serious additional penalties!  The court would make an example of me with a special humiliating public punishment!   Well they didn’t have custody of me yet.  And with any luck they never would!  I had made a new life for myself!

I managed to line up a professional job interview.  I was to meet a Richard Smithson at a restaurant and bar called “The Ball and Chain”.  From the name I wondered if some of the employees were slaves.  When I arrive the hostess checked my name.

“Rebecca Stevens?”  I nodded.  “Mr. Smithson is expecting you. Right this way.”  She led me through the restaurant to his table.   I saw that there was a long stage down the center with nude pole dancers gyrating.

“Miss Stevens.  I hope you don’t mind the atmosphere here.  Having the meeting here seemed like a good idea, as I needed to know if you would be comfortable with nudity, prostitution and, of course, slavery?”

I could not believe he expected me to be ok with all this.

“You see my firm uses enslaved call girls and enslaved dancers to entertain clients.  I might need you to come to trade conventions with me and assist in making clients comfortable in the hospitality suites.  This could include ascertaining a client’s desires and preferences and choosing an appropriate slave girl to meet his needs.  You would be ok with that wouldn’t you?”

“Surely Mr. Smithson.  I have been called upon to arrange such things in my last job and I assure you it would be no problem!” 

I lied through my teeth.  My true feelings were exactly opposite on all these points but I knew what I had to say to get the job.  Soon a naked waitress came and took our orders.  I noted that there was an iron collar around her neck and a number tattooed on her left buttock.  He caressed her bare thigh.  She seemed not to notice.  We started with a fairly expensive wine and I actually found him to be a fairly good conversationalist.

“I see from your resume that your last job was in Accounts Receivable for Murphy Automotive in San Francisco.  Why did you leave that firm?”

“The firm went under sir.  Their market position eroded because of all the new competition in the Bay area.”  

I hoped this would discourage him from any attempt to check out my references at this phony job with a company that never existed.  Soon the main course arrived and we dug in.  We made mostly small talk.

As the evening wore on I thought that things were going well with this interview.   We were on the dessert course.  Just then two policemen approached our table accompanied by a woman who looked vaguely familiar. 

“That’s her!” the woman shouted pointing at me.  She had spoken loudly enough that all the other patrons in the restaurant turned to look in my direction.

“The reason we called you at home and asked you to accompany us here, Mrs. Reed, is that the restaurant does RFID scans on the clothing of all its patrons to identify regular or returning customers.  We had put the RFIDs of your reported missing clothing out on an alert since yesterday.  The scan of this young woman’s clothes that was made earlier this evening matched the alert so the restaurant’s computer automatically reported it to us” one of the officers said.

“I have the receipts to prove the clothes she is wearing are mine!  I want my clothing back right now!” the woman shrieked.  I had intended to mail the clothes back to her, but with everything that had been happening I had not managed to do that yet.

“Do you have some proof of who you are, Miss?” the first officer said.

I fumbled nervously to produce my new false identity papers, while breaking into a sweat.  My heart began to pound.

“Miss Rebecca Stevens, you are under arrest for the theft of this woman’s clothing from the launder-mat.  Stand over there please.   We will need you to remove the clothing belonging to Mrs. Reed at this time, so that we can return those items to the rightful owner!”

I could not believe it!  They expected me to strip right there in the restaurant!  In front of all the patrons!  I knew I had to do it or they would do it to me.  Mr. Smithson, who was on the verge of offering me the job, just looked on dumbfounded as more and more of my body came into his view.  When I was entirely naked they handcuffed me and escorted me out to the patrol car.  I draw quite a bit of interested gawking from restaurant patrons first and then from passersby on the street.

At the police station they photograph me and lock me up, still naked, in a holding cell overnight.  I later learn that a story has run on page 6 of the leading Chicago newspaper titled “Launder-Mat Clothing Thief” with a naked photo of me.  Of course they pixelled out my genitals to comply with the public decency laws.

In the morning I was still naked in the holding cell, when I was visited by two out of town skip tracers from New York.  It seems they had been able to track my movements to Chicago by means of that same damn Tampax pack.  My true identity had been linked to the RFID chip in the package when I bought the Tampax along with other items on my credit card in New York City.  Sensors in the mag-lev train I took from New York to Chicago had picked up the signal and found a match against my name on a federal wanted list.  This had alerted the New York skip trace agents to follow me to the state of Illinois.  When they arrived they saw the story in the Chicago paper about the naked clothing thief and compared the photo that accompanied that story with the photos they already had from the New York court.  They felt they had a match, and were able to positively confirm it when they visited me in the Chicago jail.  Since Illinois and New York had reciprocity with respect to extraditions, they had no trouble getting clearance to bring me back to New York City.

They transported me back to New York just as they found me, naked and handcuffed. 

I tried not to make eye contact with other train passengers who openly gawked at me.  About half way back I just started sobbing and sobbing.  My ingenuity and my runner’s legs had not been enough to save my precious freedom!

In New York I was placed in a holding cell to await what tomorrow would bring.

Chapter 8.   The Slaver Helps a Dancer

Immediately after the jury retired to deliberate Stephanie’s case, the SlendaBond attorney and I retired to the VIP club in the courthouse to await the verdict.  We discussed the fact that the longer the jury was out the better our chances of achieving at least a partial enslavement of Stephanie.  If the jurors were having trouble reaching a verdict they would probably settle on a compromise verdict where at least we would have Stephanie under an indenture for 5 or 10 years.  That might satisfy the client and give us something to celebrate!

I really wanted to win this victory over Stephanie.  Something in her nature and bearing challenged me to beat her.  At least the sexual part of my being wanted this victory even if the intellectual side had doubts about the justice of our case.  After three hours the judge called us back and adjourned proceedings for the day.  As it was a Friday, proceedings would resume Monday morning.

The next day, Saturday, I was a featured speaker at a symposium called The Kinder and Gentler Slavery of Today and Tomorrow.  I continued to be just as much interested in the theoretical and legal aspects of slavery as I had always been in the practical end of it.  This conference reminded me of that earlier gathering I had attended many years ago, with my friend George, when we were both college students.  That was the one where the very idea that slavery could be made “kinder and gentler” was first publicly proposed and became the basis for a concerted campaign to persuade the public.

The speaker before me had gone on at great length about all the legislation that had been passed to implement the concept.  Slave owners today had accepted that they were responsible for life long medical care for the slave and to provide for his or her retirement years.  Those owners who tried to duck such responsibilities were subject to criminal prosecution.  While the slave herself, of course, had no legal standing to bring a legal action to secure these benefits, there were slave advocacy organizations that investigated abuses and could bring a lawsuit on her behalf or alert public authorities to prosecute where appropriate.  As the public saw all of this being successfully implemented, opposition to slavery as such greatly declined.  This was, of course, the major purpose for the whole concept.

The title for my own talk was “Putting Equity into the Enslavement Process”.  I had been introduced to this group as one of the most successful slavers in the business, having enslaved, for debt, over 1000 men and women, over the last ten years, through the legal processes.  Therefore I had some credibility with this audience.  Most of those in attendance cared more about expanding the supply of slaves than they cared about justice or equity.  But they would listen to someone of my background.

I began by pointing out that we were losing some potential slaves because juries often were still sympathetic to those in the dock.  There was a public perception that quite a few people had been indentured or enslaved who did not deserve such a fate.  Many citizens of Capitallia seemed to feel that slavery for debt was a punishment and should only be imposed where there was some fault or wrongful conduct by the debtor.  Many felt that it was wrong to enslave someone simply because they had a run of bad luck and could not pay their debts.  As I said these things I remembered that I had felt and expressed much the same to Professor Petersen as a young college student.  I had always felt it morally, but knew I would have to sell it to this audience on some more ‘practical’ basis.

I then gave example after example of cases wherein I thought there had been some injustice.  I naturally changed the names and places.  I also gave examples where juries had refused to enslave even in cases where I thought we had a solid case and the debtor well deserved the punishment we were seeking.  It was the need for unanimous verdicts, and the feeling on the part of some of the citizenry that the system was not just that led to these defeats, I pointed out.  If we would introduce some reforms we might improve the reputation of the system with the citizenry to where we could be successful with 95% of all attempted enslavements, instead of succeeding with just 75% of them, which was about all we had been able to achieve up to this time.  That idea resonated with my audience.  There were shouts of “here, here!”

But there was another point I wished to make with this audience.  I had become aware of many cases where slaves who were highly skilled in a profession or in the arts were having such talents wasted.  Their owners could make quite a bit of money by just hiring them out as sex slaves and did not always see it in their interest to allow a slave to carry on with his or her profession.  Allowing a slave to pursue a career, I said, need not conflict with sexual usage of that slave, either by the owner or others.  Further I pointed out the potential added pleasure an owner might have in owning a slave who was highly accomplished as a result of many years of training and dedication to a skill or craft.  I heard some murmuring and nodding of heads in response.  The audience was clearly intrigued though their response was more muted than when I was talking about how to increase the numbers of enslavements!

As I was saying all this I happened to notice a slim and very attractive woman who looked vaguely familiar cleaning and shining the brass sculptures that decorated alcoves and niches in the hall in which we were meeting.  She was quite some distance from me but I could just see that she was apparently a slave as she was scantily clad and had an iron collar with rings about her neck.  She cast frequent glances at me as though hoping to make eye contact but not quite daring to do so.  I was puzzled if I knew this woman or not, but had to put her out of my mind for now.

I wrapped up my talk by proposing that we all go forth through our various professional societies and press for changes in the laws so that, in future, it would be necessary to prove debtor wrongdoing as well as a creditor’s need for restitution in order to support an enslavement proceeding, even at the stage of the preliminary hearing.  Cases in which there had been no wrong doing should not even reach a jury, except perhaps where the only remedy sought was a short indenture of two or three years to provide at least some restitution to the creditor.

After the symposium ended I headed back to my office.   I decided to check in with the two skip trace agents I had hired to keep an eye on Stephanie.  I almost always hired such agents when a case reached this stage.  After investing all this work I did not want to lose a potential slave who decided to make a run for it.  It would be very deflating to my ego and my penis if a girl I nearly had in my grasp were to slip my noose at the last minute!

The agents had bad news for me.  They had lost her.  They had been watching her home, but she had managed to get out unobserved.  One of them waited at her home all night to see if she would return.  She did not.  The other agent was able to link into the GPS signals emanating from her ankle bracelet.  He quickly went downtown and homed in on the moving signal.  He was dismayed to find the ankle bracelet attached to a dog and not to a girl!  Then the agents knew she had definitely flown the coop.  They began working their contacts in the law enforcement community to see if they could get some RFID tag information that would help them follow her to whatever place she had flown.

They told me they were sorry not to have better news, but that was where things stood.  They felt it was probably only a matter of time until they would get a break, but nobody could be sure when or if.  The elation that I had felt at the end of the trial the day before had pretty well faded on this news.

I had been working there for perhaps another half an hour after that disappointing conversation when I heard a very tentative soft knocking on my locked outer office door.  As my secretary had left for the day I went to unlock the door.  There I saw a vision that stiffened my penis!  A beautiful woman stood there, naked but for high heels, with the posture and bearing of a dancer.  She was the same woman I had seen at a distance polishing the brass earlier that afternoon in the lecture auditorium.  She still wore the iron collar, and also a coin purse and a note from her owner hanging about her neck.  She was slender as a reed and delicate in her upper body, yet the musculature of her hips and legs was well developed.  She had the typical physique of a ballerina.  Suddenly I knew who she was.  It all came back to me.  I had enslaved this woman some two years earlier!  She had been one of perhaps a thousand debtors I had taken down in court over the last ten years.  Sometimes it was hard to remember them all.

I remembered to breathe again.  I invited her to follow me to my inner office.  My curiosity was getting the better of me.  I sat down but did not immediately invite her to do so.  That might not be prudent until I learned the purpose of her visit.  Then too I was enjoying the view of her dancer’s body.  She had assumed the “slave display position”, standing erect, head held high and legs well separated with knees slightly flexed.  Her hair was a very dark rich brown and cascaded down almost to her waist.  Fortunately she had it tied back in a ponytail so that it did nothing to obscure her lovely breasts, the delicate tracery of her ribs or the flat muscular plane of her belly.  My eyes traveled down to the rich crown of dark brown curly pubic hair that adorned her vulva and all the sexual details of that vulva that I could clearly perceive because of her assumed position, because of how she was made and because of my vantage point.  Because her legs were slightly flexed I was able to enjoy too her well defined leg muscles and the tendons of those muscles at the crotch.  She was the very picture of feminine sexuality!

“Does your master always send you on errands naked?  I asked.

“No indeed sir.  I am as you see me because I wanted to show proper respect sir!  I thought it would be wrong to conceal my body when I am coming here to beg you for a favor!”

“Did your master send you to me, Vivienne?”

“No Mr. Steelforth, sir!   I beg you that whatever you may decide about granting or not granting me a favor, that you will not tell him that I came to you.  Please sir!  It would mean a whipping!”

“Well I can’t promise that just yet.  It may depend on the nature of your request.  And what is the favor that you seek from me?” I asked.  The growing awareness of the power I had over this lovely creature was beginning to cause an excited stirring in my genitals.

“You know, do you not, what my profession was before I became a slave?”  she whispered.

Indeed I did.  Vivienne had been a ballerina with the National Ballet of Capitallia.  In fact she was one of their principal dancers and had played the leading role in a performance of Giselle I had very much enjoyed only six months before I had enslaved her. Of course I was troubled by the idea of enslaving such a talent, but the client was insistent.  At the time I had hoped, perhaps unrealistically, that this client, once he owned her, would see that she had talent and find a way for her to continue to practice the career she obviously loved, even as he used her sexually for his own pleasure and the pleasure of his friends and business associates.

“Well sir, I recognized your voice while I was polishing the statues at the lecture hall this afternoon.  I heard you say to that audience that you believed that it would be consistent with the “kinder gentler slavery” to allow a slave to pursue an artistic or professional career!’

“Why yes I did say that, Vivienne.  I take it your owner has not allowed you to continue with your dance career?  How then do you maintain yourself in such superb physical condition?

“No, he has not permitted a ballet career, sir.  But he does insist on much daily exercise and a different kind of dance training now in his place of business.  That is how I keep my body fit.  I now work hard to keep up my skills and appearance as a pole dancer for the nudie bars!’

“What a comedown that must be after ballet!”  I said.  “And what about sex?  Does he use you that way too?”

“He has always used me for his own sexual pleasure and often hired me out to his friends and very important clients as a sex slave.  I was working the VIP lounge before the lecture.  Then the lounge cleared out when the lecture started so he found something else for me to do until the lecture would be over.  He later sent me on an errand to buy something from the drug store in the lobby of your building, sir.  I knew this was where you worked and took the liberty of coming up to see you sir.”

“And what is it exactly that you want from me?”  I said with mock harshness.  I could feel my scrotum tightening and drawing my testicles up closer to my pubis.

“I am just asking s-sir if you could t-talk to my owner and try to persuade him of your view that slaves should be allowed to p-pursue careers.  He might listen to a man of your stature in the industry!”

“I will do that Vivienne, and I may go one better.  If your owner agrees, I would be willing to talk also with the Artistic Director of your ballet company to see if he will take you back in the company as a slave dancer.  Would this be a shock to him?  Or have there been other enslaved dancers in his company to your knowledge?”

“No, it would not be a shock sir!  I know of three, one guy and two girls, that I danced with two years ago that are back with the dance company after their enslavements.  Their owners have them driven to and from rehearsals and there is always a guard backstage to ensure that they obey the Artistic Director.  Their owners don’t worry about any attempted escapes because of the bio-implants.  Apparently it is working out all right!”

“So you would like me to speak to him?  I think he will listen to me as I have contributed generously to his company over the years?”

“Yes, would you please sir?  Permission to break position to beg sir?”

“All right!” I said with a sweep of my hand.  Vivienne broke from her ‘slave display’ position, dropped to her knees, then prostrated herself, pressing her lips to my shoes and holding them there for a long moment.

“I will do what you have asked, Vivienne.  But I think you know how the slave system works.  If you want a favor you must be prepared to pay for it with your body, for that is the only currency you will ever have!”  My penis was hard as a rock now.

“That would be my pleasure, sir!”  Vivienne was looking up at me with the most wonderful mischievous smile.  I pulled open a desk drawer and took out a leash and a pair of police style handcuffs.  I fastened the leash to the collar around her neck, pulled her to her feet and cuffed her hands behind her back.  I loved to fuck a handcuffed woman!  I led her into the bedroom adjoining my office and laid her out on the bed.  I proceeded to mount her and introduce my penis to her tunnel of love.  I plunged in and out of her many times then just stayed inside her for a long, long time, losing none of my hardness.  She was young enough to be my daughter.  She was a hard body dancer and I a businessman!  All I could think of was that I was inside a woman who would probably never have given me the time of day if she were free.  But that made it all the more exciting!

After a time I dismissed Vivienne.  And my thoughts turned back to the case of Stephanie Glenn.  Although I had managed to enjoy certain intimate liberties with her at the Creditor’s Exam, I had not, as yet, had an opportunity to fuck her.  There was a very good possibility her owner would allow me that pleasure if only my agents could find her and bring her forcibly back to face her jury next week.  Vivienne had been a pleasant interlude to take my mind off the trial for a while.  But now I turned out the lights of my office and walked to the elevator hoping that tomorrow would bring exciting news.

Chapter 9.   The Verdict

I had spent the night naked in jail after my ill-fated escape attempt.  By morning I was shivering with cold as I wrapped myself in the one blanket I had been allowed.  The cellblock, which had been dark, suddenly was full of light and sounds as guards came through banging their batons on the bars to wake up all the prisoners.  Soon a male guard unlocked my cell and jerked me to my feet, handing me at the same time some jail-issue clothes.

“Prisoner 4306!  Use the toilet if you need to.  Then put on these clothes and comb your hair.  You are coming with me.  Now make it quick!   I haven’t got all day!”  He kept idly banging his baton on the bars of my cell door.

I badly needed to urinate but had never done such a thing in front of a man before.  Still it was clear that right now would be my only chance, maybe for hours.  So I sat on the stainless steel toilet bowl that had no seat and let go with a loud tinkling sound while he watched.  There was no toilet paper so I splashed water from the sink on my vulva and dried myself with a corner of the blanket.  He looked bored, probably had seen hundreds of women relieve themselves in much the same way.  I picked up the clothes he had brought.  They were standard summer jail issue – orange short shorts, a sleeveless white tee shirt, bulky white socks and sneakers.  The tee shirt was emblazoned with the words “Manhattan City Jail” in bright orange letters.  A bra was provided and a very used threadbare pair of panties.  I pulled everything on as quickly as I could.

“We have no time to waste.  I’m to present you in court in twenty minutes for your trial.” 

He first cuffed my hands behind my back, then led me down the jail cell corridor and into a waiting van that took me to the courthouse.  I was soon seated at counsel table with my defense attorney, but still cuffed.  I looked around and saw that Mr. Jenkins, my nemesis and former employer, was in attendance, as well as others I had known who had probably come to gloat at my misfortune.  The courtroom was only about three quarters full, though the back row, reserved for non-citizens, was entirely full.  My attorney told me quite a few non-citizens had been turned away after the back row filled.

“All Rise!”  Judge Morelock entered the courtroom and took his seat at the bench and began his usual opening remarks.

"The Third District Court of the State of New York is now in session.  We are here today on the matter of an enslavement petition filed by the corporation known as Richmond SlendaBond against an alleged debtor identified in the petition as Stephanie Glenn.  Trial having been completed and all parties being present, we will proceed.”

“Miss Glenn, your foolish attempt to flee the jurisdiction of this Court will not go unpunished, regardless of the outcome of this trial.  It will be necessary to make a public example of you to discourage other defendants from trying the same tactic.  I will more fully address this matter at a later time.“

“For the record, the jurors have not been told of the attempted escape, but only that the case had to be adjourned because of ‘schedule conflicts’.  If there are no motions at this time, I will call the jury back in and give them an opportunity to ask any questions they may have, before releasing them back to continue their deliberations.”

The jurors all filed solemnly back into the juror’s box and were seated.

“Have you chosen a foreperson?” the judge asked. 

“If it please the Court, my name is Robert Rickson and I have been chosen”, a tall distinguished looking man had risen to address the judge.

“Have any questions for the Court come up in your deliberations so far?”

“Yes, your Honor.  We wanted you to go over the instructions again as to how we are to formulate our verdict.”

“Very well”, the judge said, “You are to decide the following questions:

1. Has it been proven that the defendant, Stephanie Glenn, does indeed owe the creditor, Richmond SlendaBond, the sum of at least ten thousand dollars, and is unable to pay the same?”
2. If the debt is actually owed, was the defendant in any way at fault for contracting this debt or for her inability to pay it?
3. If the debt is owed, has defendant shown a willingness to do everything possible to discharge it while retaining her freedom?
4. Would enslaving this debtor likely result in extreme psychological duress or trauma to her?
5. State the disposition of this case - whether the debtor should be freed, indentured for a limited number of years to the creditor, or enslaved for life to the creditor?”

“Your verdict must be unanimous on all five questions or I will send you back for further deliberations until you are unanimous or until I deem there is a hopeless impasse.  You may prescribe any disposition of the case, including complete freedom for the debtor, regardless of your findings on the first four questions.  You may also make any additional recommendations to this Court concerning sentencing.”

“Thank you, your Honor.  That clears up our questions”, the foreman said and took his seat.

“You may return to your deliberations at this time, and Court is now in recess until further notice.”  The judge banged his gavel and left the courtroom.

My lawyer and I then retired to the lounge to await developments.  A guard accompanied us to keep an eye on me and my handcuffs were not released this time.  I wanted a cup of coffee so my lawyer had to make it for me and present it to my lips.  I did not have the use of my hands.  Time passed slowly, but after about two hours we were summoned back to the courtroom.

At 11:30 am the judge banged the Court back into session. 

“This Court is now in session in the matter of Richmond SlendaBond v. Glenn.  The jury has sent me a message they wish to report a verdict at this time.  Bailiff, show them in please.”

Jurors filed in solemnly as before.  I noticed several of them were looking directly at me.  My lawyer whispered to me that that was usually a good sign.

“Will the jury foreman stand.  Has the jury reached a verdict in this matter?”

“Yes we have, your Honor” Mr. Rickson stated.

“Bailiff, will you collect the verdict form from the foreman at this time.”  There was a hush in the courtroom as we all forgot to breathe while this took place, and the judge studied the form for a minute.  His expression gave nothing away.

“Mr. Foreman, I will read the questions one by one and ask you to answer as to the jury’s verdict. “ the judge intoned.

“On the first question:  Do you find that this defendant owes the creditor at least ten thousand dollars and is unable to pay?”

“We so find, your Honor.”

“On the second question: Do you find that this defendant is in any way at fault for contracting this debt or for her inability to pay it?”

“We find this defendant to be without fault, your Honor.”  I breathed a sigh of relief at this, and heard my lawyer do likewise.  I also thought I heard some expression of disappointment from the gallery.  The judge banged his gavel for order.

“On the third question: Do you find that this defendant has shown a willingness to do everything possible to discharge this debt while retaining her freedom?”

“No we do not, your Honor!”  My heart was in my throat at this announcement.

“On the fourth question:  Would enslaving this defendant likely result in extreme psychological duress or trauma?”

“Yes, we believe it would, your Honor.”

“On the fifth question:  What shall be the disposition?  Shall the defendant be freed, indentured for a limited time, or enslaved for life?”

“This defendant shall be indentured to this creditor for a term of ten years, your Honor.”

At this, there were murmurs of glee from some spectators in the gallery.  One whistled.  Others were openly weeping for me.  The judge banged his gavel for order.

“So say you all?  If any juror does not support this verdict, let him speak now.”  Silence.

“Does the jury have any special recommendations, before I pass sentence?”

“We have two, your Honor.  First, we believe that since Miss Glenn is a professional person and is not at fault in this matter, that she should be permitted, while under the complete control of her creditor, to pursue her profession with all earnings from professional or other work to be the property of creditor.  Second, we believe that due to Miss Glenn’s delicate nature, there is risk of trauma, and that creditor should be required to provide psychological counseling for her so that she can survive this indenture with her mental health intact.”

“My thanks to the jury”, the judge said.  “There is one final duty for the jury, and that is to be present for the reading of the sentence and bear witness to the actual reduction to indentured slavery of the defendant.   As jurors you will be asked to sign as witnesses that this has been done in your presence.  Prior to sentencing, however, I am required by Public Law 96-012 to order that baseline physical and mental tests be performed upon the defendant for use in monitoring her subsequent well being under the indenture.  Accordingly Court will be in recess until 9am tomorrow morning so that this can be accomplished.   I will confer with counsel now in my chambers and consider the sentence to be imposed.  When we reconvene at 9am we will have sentencing and the ‘Ceremony of Indenture’ that is open to the public and will complete this proceeding.”   With that, he banged the gavel and people started to file out of the room.

***************************************************************************************

My attorney whispered to me that we were wanted in judge’s chambers along with Mr. Steelforth and the StendaBond attorney.  So I followed him to chambers, still handcuffed, and the guard followed me.  I was conscious of my scanty attire as the building was highly air conditioned and I could feel a cool draft on my bare legs and arms.  As we entered chambers I noticed that Mr. Steelforth hung back for a while to make a phone call.  He rejoined us just as the judge came in.  I quickly dropped to my knees before the judge’s desk at a signal from my attorney.  I was no longer a free person and no longer entitled to be treated as such.

“The reason I wanted to see you all in my chambers is to discuss this surprise recommendation of the jury that Miss Glenn be allowed to practice her profession while under indenture.  This is rather unusual since it is normally thought that the characteristic unquestioning obedience required of a person under indenture is not compatible with the kind of discretion normally needed by a professional person to carry out professional responsibilities.”

“Your Honor, we object to this …” the SlendaBond attorney started to say, but got cut off by Mr. Steelforth.

“I have just spoken with our client, your Honor, and he is quite amenable to working out something consistent with the jury’s recommendation.  He is prepared to allow Miss Glenn to work in her field as an accountant, to exercise professional discretion and work under minimal supervision in her professional work, while yet being under slave discipline and the need for instant and unquestioning obedience in her, er …other duties!”

“You mean her sexual duties, counselor?” the judge asked.

“Yes, your Honor.  I did not want to state it so baldly, but yes.”

I sat and listened to all this from my lowly position on the floor.  All these men were discussing me as though I were not even in the room.

“You have been quite an advocate for allowing slaves to continue their professional careers, have you not Bill?” the judge asked.

“Yes, your Honor, I gave a talk on that very idea just last Saturday at the symposium.”

“I heard something about that.  I take it defense counsel has no objection to this rather unusual arrangement?”

“No, indeed, your Honor.  It sounds as though she will have a much less degrading experience during the ten years of her indenture if this can be worked out!”

“And the counseling?”

“My client is willing to provide for that also”, Mr. Steelforth agreed.

“Then we are all in agreement”, the judge summarized.  Meeting adjourned.”

For lunch my guard handcuffed me in front, so that I could have limited use of my hands for eating and drinking.  In the restaurant I was shivering with cold in my jail short shorts and sleeveless tee shirt so I asked the waitress if she could provide me a tablecloth to drape over my legs.  She obliged. 

“Can’t we appeal?”  I said in a pleading tone to my attorney.

“Stephanie, I need to explain something to you.  Appellate courts only will hear arguments alleging that the trial judge made an error in applying the law.  They will not second guess juries on questions of fact.  In your case the judge has done everything by the book, so I don’t see any error of law.”

“But couldn’t we at least try?  What could it hurt to try?”  I wailed.

“It could hurt a great deal Stephanie.  Appellate courts don’t like their time wasted with frivolous arguments.  On cases like yours, if they felt we had no real argument of law, they would very likely increase your sentence, perhaps by as much as two or three years.”

“Then is there no hope at all?”  I said in a very subdued voice, tears running down my face.

“Trust that I will be following your case as further developments unfold, and if I see facts developing that would warrant it, I can call for an evidentiary hearing on those facts.”

My attorney went on to explain to me that this “professional slavery” as he called it, might well be saving me from spending the next ten years as a public prostitute.  He quickly added that there might still be sexual services demanded of me by the owner of my indenture, in addition to professional services.  But these services would likely be only for the entertainment of my owner and perhaps a few of his friends, rather than the general public.  I would not be turning tricks for money.

After lunch my attorney and the guard escorted me to Examination Services on the sixth floor of the courthouse.  There I received a standard medical examination and was interviewed by a psychologist and took a standard IQ test and a standard test of general knowledge.  Then it was back to the jail for the night.

Promptly at 9 am the next morning the judge banged the Court back into session.  My guard brought me to court in the same jail shorts and tee shirt I had worn the day before and had again cuffed my hands behind me.  The bailiffs had allowed even more spectators in so that it was standing room only.  Word about the “Ceremony of Indenture” had evidently gotten around, and many had come to witness my humiliation.  The jurors had all filed back into the jury box.

“This Court is now again in session in the matter of Richmond Slendabond v. Glenn.  The jury having rendered its verdict, we are here now for sentencing and for the ‘Ceremony of Indenture’.”

"IT IS THE ORDER OF THIS COURT THAT THE ALTERNATIVE PETITION BY THE PLAINTIFF, RICHMOND SLENDABOND, TO INDENTURE THE DEFENDANT, STEPHANIE GLENN, BE AND HEREBY IS GRANTED FOR A TERM OF TEN YEARS, AND THAT OWNERSHIP OF HER INDENTURE AND PHYSICAL CUSTODY OF HER PERSON BE CONVEYED BY THIS COURT TO SAID PLAINTIFF, ALONG WITH A DOCUMENT OF TITLE TO ANY AND ALL PERSONAL PROPERTY OR REAL ESTATE THAT SHE MAY POSSESS, AT THE CONCLUSION OF THIS PROCEEDING."

“IT IS FURTHER ORDERED THAT PLAINTIFF SHALL ALLOW THE INDENTUREE OPPORTUNITY TO PRACTICE HER PROFESSION UNDER HIS GENERAL SUPERVISION AND CONTROL, IN ADDITION TO ANY NON PROFESSIONAL

DUTIES HE MAY PRESCRIBE, AND SHALL ALSO PROVIDE FOR HER MEDICAL DENTAL AND PSYCHOLOGICAL CARE DURING THE TERM OF HER INDENTURE.”

“IT IS FURTHER ORDERED THAT THIS ENSLAVEMENT SHALL BE NON-PUNITIVE IN CHARACTER PURSUANT TO PUBLIC LAW 96-012, AND THAT PLAINTIFF, OR SUBSEQUENT PARTY HOLDING INDENTURE SHALL MAINTAIN RECORDS SUBJECT TO AUDIT BY ANY CERTIFIED SLAVE ADVOCACY ORGANIZATION.”

"At this point there is a ceremony”, the judge continued, prescribed by law for judicial indentures which requires that certain things be done in open court and that it is the final duty of the jury to witness that these things have been done and to affix their signatures as witnesses to the ceremony’”.

“The law also prescribes, that a person about to lose his or her freedom to indenture for a term of years, shall present himself or herself humbly to the jury.   It is a sign of servility that the one about to be indentured must show to the Court, to his or her jurors and to his or her betters in the courtroom.”

I was then made to face my jurors, kneel to them and thank them for indenturing me!  While in this position a machine was wheeled up behind me.  I stole a quick glance and saw what appeared to be a giant hypodermic needle and means for strapping a person’s head into a harness.  The judge sharply ordered me to only look forward toward the jury and to make eye contact with jurors.  I felt hands strapping my neck to the machine and clamping my head in place so that I could not move.  Then a bailiff was swabbing my neck with some cool liquid that smelled like alcohol.  I felt a sharp sting in my neck, searing heat and a loud report like a gunshot echoing in the courtroom.  The room swirled around me for a moment as some of the jurors looked on sympathetically and many in the gallery smirked.  I felt a bandage being applied to the back of my neck. 

I knew that my neck had been penetrated by something!  Then my head cleared in time to hear the judge saying something to the jurors to the effect that "if she ever tries to run now we will have no difficulty tracking her!"  I later learned that they had injected a bio-implant in my head that would transmit a unique serial number to satellites for the term of my indenture that would make me always identifiable and locatable by police agencies all over the world!  This bio-implant would also monitor my vital functions and radio transmit that information as well, and was capable of receiving a coded transmission initiated by my owner that would do various things to my body!

If the judge had meant to break my spirit right here in front of jurors and spectators he had done so.  Every shred of dignity had been taken from me in this proceeding!  Soon all my bonds were released and I was spun around to face my jury in a standing position that they might enjoy the sight of me broken, my body wracked with sobs, and tears streaming down my face!  I could not face the jury.  I just could not!  I hung my head and closed my eyes!   One of the bailiffs dried my tears.  Then the judge ordered me to stand erect, hold my head high, open my eyes and make eye contact with each and every juror!  When I was slow to comply I felt a paddle slam into my buttocks!  I straightened up and opened my eyes.  I did not want to be hit again!  I saw smirks in the eyes of some spectators who, I suspected had much enjoyed my humiliation a moment before and further enjoyed seeing me slammed upright just now!

"Young lady,” the judge intoned, “this is as good a time as any for you to begin learning that instant obedience is required of you in your new life as an indentured slave."  

There were titters of amusement everywhere and I saw more smirks and knowing smiles!  God!  Did no one care about my dignity as a human being who had just been stripped of her freedom?  Even my own lawyer seemed amused.

“THE FINAL PART OF MY ORDER TODAY CONCERNS THE MATTER OF YOUR WILFUL ATTEMPT TO FLEE THE JURISDICTION OF THIS COURT.  IT IS THE LAW THAT ALL SUCH ATTEMPTS MUST BE PUBLICLY PUNISHED TO SET AN EXAMPLE TO OTHERS WHO MIGHT BE TEMPTED TO FLEE.  THE COURT ORDERS THAT YOU BE TAKEN TO THE NEAREST PUBLIC SLAVE AUCTION PLATFORM AND WHILE AT THAT PLACE HAVE YOUR SLAVE NUMBER BURNED INTO YOUR NAKED BUTTOCKS.   THIS IS NOT ONLY TO PUNISH YOU FOR FLEEING, BUT ALSO TO IMPRESS UPON YOUR MIND THAT YOU ARE NO LONGER A FREE PERSON, BUT THAT YOU ARE, FOR THE NEXT TEN YEARS UNDER THE ABSOLUTE CONTROL OF ANOTHER.”

The judge ordered me to thank the jury again for indenturing me.  This time I was to prostrate myself on the ground before the jury, holding my forehead in contact with the floor until given permission to rise.  While I remained in this position he had the bailiff pass the witness form to the jurors for their signatures, certifying that they had personally witnessed my fall from freedom. 

“At this time I thank the members of the jury for their service.  The jury is discharged.  Go home!”

The jurors filed out one by one, casting glances at the former free girl who now lay enslaved, and prostrate on the floor. 

“Court is now adjourned."

****************************************************************************************************

The judge had not said I could rise from the floor.  But Mr. Steelforth came to get me and bade me rise.  He put a steel collar around my neck and attached a leash. 

“You belong to us now, Miss Glenn!  Regrettably you have a date with the branding iron now that must be gotten out of the way before we can begin introducing you to your new life.” 

He led me, still handcuffed and in my jail shorts, out to the public corridor and down the elevator to the courthouse garage, where a van was waiting to take me to my rendezvous on the public slave platform.  I soon found myself on that same sawdust covered stage in front of a crowd where my lawyer had taken me before trial to show me what slavery meant. 

Mr. Steelforth presented me to the master of ceremonies along with a copy of the judge’s order for my branding.   While the M.C. read the order I looked out upon the crowd.  To my horror there was my nemesis again, Mr. Jenkins, and several of the same coworkers from that company who had watched my trial.  Here they were to gloat again.  The Master of Ceremonies then announced to the crowd that there was to be a bit of extra entertainment that afternoon.  I saw and heard smirks and guffaws from the mostly male crowd.  Then the M.C. noted that the order called for me to be branded naked abd signaled to a guard to strip me.

“Guard, since she is handcuffed already, you will need to assist her in meeting this requirement.” 

The guard stooped down in front of me as I remained seated and removed my shoes and socks.  Then he made me stand, removed my jewelry and used a pair of scissors to cut off first my tee shirt and bra, then my jail short shorts and panties.  There was laughter, some jeering and more guffaws and wolf whistles from the crowd.   I was glad that I at least could keep my legs together.  I knew they could see very little of my vulva with all that pubic hair down there and thighs close together.  

The guard bent me over a bench atop the stage, with my buttocks toward the crowd, my back horizontal at approximately eye level for the crowd, and my feet well apart.  I was secured in this obscene posture by various devices.  Looking over my shoulder I could make out the faces of the first couple of rows of spectators. Several of the men were smirking at my predicament.  I was quite certain those in the first two or three rows could see not only my bare ass but also my labia, clitoral hood and pubic hair between my legs.  It seemed particularly degrading to be forced to put on such a display while restrained in such a demeaning posture.  A fat woman in this posture would show little or none of her sexual anatomy because her fat thighs and fat ass cheeks would mercifully conceal those parts.  But I, with my so slender thighs and so compact ass ovals, knew that I would be showing everything!

I could sense every one’s eyes focused on my crotch!   I started to cry!  Tears streamed down my face at the irretrievable loss of my modesty.  They had all SEEN my most intimate and sexual parts displayed for their amusement.  They could all choose to keep that vision among their best memories for life and experience the pleasure (at my expense) forever.  I could not take any of that vision of me back from them.

Just before I felt the searing pain they told me that it would be my slave number that would be burned into my flesh marking me as what I now was.  I began to cry uncontrollably as soon as i knew what they were about to do to me.  It was so degrading and so final and so humiliating that these things were done to me in the presence of my enemies.   An instant later humiliation was the least of my problems.   I thought pain was a stubbed toe.  This pain was so intense and I screamed so loud I felt sure that I had shattered some of the beer glasses in the crowd.  Then I was sobbing uncontrollably not just tears but my whole body wracked with convulsions.

Mr. Steelforth then stepped up to collect me, re-attached his leash and placed a cape around my shoulders as he led me away to my new life.

Chapter 10.   The Cylinder Room

Stephanie proved remarkably easy to control.  I felt no need to have guards come along when I took her for her branding and later when I took her to the slave training facility.  Partly this was because she was handcuffed, but probably the most important reason was because her defense attorney had given her the standard briefing about how the ‘bio-implant’ in her neck made successful escape impossible, made non compliance pointless and also provided her masters, including myself, with the ability to render her instantly unconscious should she be in any way rebellious.  It wasn’t lost on her that I had, on my left wrist, a remote control to her implant.  She was a proud young woman and obviously had come to the conclusion that reluctant obedience was much preferable to being rendered unconscious. 

In one sense the first step in conditioning Stephanie to her new life had been the branding of the slave number upon her naked buttocks in front of the crowd.  But in another sense it began two days later when a local property auction firm hired by my client picked up Stephanie from the jail where she had been recuperating from her branding.  They took her to her own home where their appraisal team proceeded to inventory all her belongings in her presence.  I knew this was going to happen but did not hear the details of it until I talked to Stephanie later.

The following day I decided to personally deliver her to the Richmond SlendaBond Slave Training facility.  I knew that this was a place where slaves were broken and, as it turned out I learned very much about how this would be done to Stephanie.  My new partner, Virginia Johnson, came along for this visit.  We made the long trip with Stephanie beside me on the front passenger seat and Virginia in the rear.  My partner knew why I would find this seating arrangement agreeable and gave me a conspiratorial wink.  The truth was I felt like taking certain liberties with Stephanie during the ride.  Her hands were cuffed behind her and the only clothing she wore was the short cape I had given her at the courthouse.  When she was standing it came down only to mid thigh.  When I helped her into the passenger seat the hem of the cape rode up even higher. and I made sure the hemline rode up almost to her crotch when I placed her in the seat.  She could not, of course, adjust the hemline for greater modesty as her hands were cuffed behind her. 

Her tanned legs fascinated me.  I longed to caress her left thigh and enjoy the feel of those long sleek muscles.  I longed to raise the hem of the skirt up to her waist that I might enjoy the sight of her curly red pubic hair and her womanhood.  My conscience stopped me from doing either of those things.  I believed the girl had been through quite enough stress already.  Also I believed these actions could be better tolerated by her once she was broken to her slavery.

When we first got into the car she kept glancing nervously at the control device that I wore on my left wrist, which controlled her bio-implant.  I think she feared that at any moment I was going to use it to render her unconscious or to manipulate her body in some other way.

About an hour into the trip she had relaxed considerably.  Probably she decided I would not use the controller to harm her.  I noticed her quietly sobbing.

“Is there something distressing you Stephanie, apart from our destination today?”  I asked.

“Yes sir, Mr. Steele.   Yesterday some men picked me up at the jail and took me to my own home to appraise my belongings for possible auction.”

“I imagine they were there to appraise your furniture.” I said.

“Well they did that all right.  But they also went through my diary and all my personal papers, photographs, videos, scrapbooks, correspondence and all the little things that tell the story of a person’s life.  I felt like they just wanted to invade my privacy and cause me embarrassment.   They kept speculating aloud to their fellow workers how much the diary might bring at auction, how much the correspondence, etc.”

She began crying again and I noted that she was red faced with embarrassment even recalling this incident.  I also saw the tension in the muscles of her neck, shoulders and back.

“Stephanie, your furniture and your car will be auctioned.  But I may be able to help you with the personal items.  I can’t promise anything yet, but I will try to get possession of those items from the auctioneers and store them for you so that you may get them back after you have served your ten year indenture.”

“Thank you sir!”  After that she drifted off to sleep.

After about two hours we were well into a rural area and saw the long stone walls of a country estate.  We drove up to the gatehouse where a guard checked our slaver credentials before waving us through into the enclosed grounds.  As we drove up the long driveway to the main building we saw numerous scantily clad young people engaged in all sorts of grounds maintenance tasks.  It was surprising to see such a display of bare arms, bare midriffs and bare legs on this crisp fall day.  I supposed that if these tanned and fit employees all kept working at a brisk pace they would not get chilled.  I saw the telling non-citizen identification bracelets on the wrists of these workers.  Purely out of idle curiosity, I pointed my cell phone at one pretty young female worker who was trimming the bushes and downloaded her ID information so that I might retrieve her personal history files later.

We drove the car around to the rear and pulled into the loading dock.  We noticed 3 mini-vans parked nearby. These bore the name of a widely respected non-profit slave advocacy organization.  I led Stephanie on her leash from the car to the rear entrance of the building.  Once inside we stepped up to a long counter and were soon acknowledged by a rather pretty female security officer.  Her badge and a stun gun at her belt proclaimed her no nonsense attitude.  She stepped briskly up to the counter.

“Name!”, she said.

“Bill Steelforth and my partner Virginia Johnson” I replied.

“Name of the slave please!”

“Stephanie Glenn” I responded, beginning to feel a bit cowed by this officious young woman.

“We were expecting you a half an hour ago Mr. Steelforth!“  We waited while the young security officer typed our names into a computer terminal.

“We have her file here.  It seems her enslavement order from the court is already on file.  I will just need you to sign our standard transfer form,” she said while shoving a long form with lots of legalese at me. 

I quickly glanced it over and signed where she indicated.  After completing the check in and obtaining a receipt for Stephanie, my partner and I proceeded to the central elevator bank.  Soon we found ourselves on the fourth floor where we walked down a richly carpeted and softly lit corridor hung with expensive looking paintings.  We had an appointment with the owner of this international firm, Morgan Richmond.  We did not have long to wait before his secretary announced us to him through the intercom.

“Bill Steelforth and a Ms. Virginia Johnson to see you Mr. Richmond.”  Soon we were being escorted into his inner sanctum. 

“What brings the two of you to our neck of the woods, Bill?”  the old man asked, genially. 

“Virginia and I have long been curious as to how you so effectively break new recruits to a life of slavery and obedience” I replied.  “For my own part, I am particularly interested in how you will do it in the case of Miss Glenn.   She has got under my skin and I would really enjoy seeing what will happen to her!”

“Not so fast.  First I must object to your terminology.  We don’t ‘break’ slaves here, Bill.  To break someone implies damage that cannot be undone.  Everything we do here is designed to enhance our client’s experience of absolute control of the slave, yet everything we do must be completely reversible in nature.  When a slave’s term of indenture is completed or when the court orders a slave freed, we have to be able to restore that slave to the point that he or she can return to the life they had before enslavement.  The freed slave must be able to function independently just as before, and have all intellectual and physical abilities intact.”

“Secondly we don’t just grind out one uniform product here.  We fine tune our methods to produce the particular type of slave our clients most wish to have under their control.” 

“Fascinating!” I said. “Will I be able to see these methods used on Stephanie?”

“We may be able to show you the first stage today, Bill” Morgan replied.  But to see the later stages of her subjugation you will need to visit us again in about 30 days.”

“Why don’t I have our Training Director, Charlie Witherspoon, join us?”

I could hardly believe my ears.  Could it be?  Could this be the same Charles Witherspoon I had shared a drink with in a brothel in my youth?  The one who told me so excitedly about how he had raped an old high school classmate who had maliciously ruined his social life?  I saw the old man push an intercom button on his desk.

“Margaret, would you see if Charlie is available and send him in to join us?”

In a few minutes, when Charlie walked in, I stood and high fived him just like we had done at that brothel so many years before.

“I gather you two know each other!”  Morgan said.  Charlie quickly filled the old man in on the circumstances of our meeting at the brothel so many years earlier.  He seemed delighted to hear about our risqué experience of two decades earlier.  Even Virginia was amused.

“As we were driving up to the main building”, Morgan, “Virginia and I saw a lot of young people with non-citizen wrist bands toiling away on the grounds.  I was curious about that.”

“Non citizens are much cheaper than slaves, Bill.  They will work for low wages and we are not required by any law to provide them with health or retirement benefits, as we would be if they were slaves.  Most of them we hire by the day only, and these hires require no periodic examinations or record keeping or auditing by any outside organization.”

“In the main hallway of the building, Morgan, we passed a classroom full of slaves taking some sort of written test.  What is that all about?”

“We are required, under the “Kinder and Gentler Slavery” law, to administer tests once/month to all our slaves.  These test the slaves mental and emotional state as well as include physical and medical exams where we inspect for and document any bruises, cuts or injuries as well as any evidence of malnutrition. Any decline in a slave’s weight or mental, emotional or physical condition must be documented in our files.”

“What is the point of all that?”  I asked.

“As you know Bill, a slave has no standing to complain to any court or administrative body concerning his or her treatment while a slave.  But any certified slave advocacy organization can come in at any time and conduct an audit of these records that we are required to maintain.  There is an audit team in the building right now.”

“Yes, we were wondering about that”, Virginia interjected.  “We saw their vans out by the loading dock.”

“They have to be cross-licensed by the State of New York and by the Federal Government of Capitallia.  Besides auditing records,” Morgan continued, “they can also demand to do their own unannounced examination of any random sample of our slaves.  If they find we have abused a slave they can petition the court for us to forfeit possession of that slave.  We have always had good reports, but some of our competitors have gotten heavily penalized for not adhering to the standards of humane slave care specified in the statutes.”

“I am reassured to hear of all this, gentlemen!”  Virginia nodded her head in agreement.

“But that is the whole point”, Charlie replied.  “We want the public to be reassured so that there will be ever greater popular support for maintaining and even extending the slave system.”

“These two have been expressing interest in our training methods, Charlie.  Perhaps, if you are free just now, you could take them on a tour.”

“I have an hour or so.  Have they both signed the confidentiality agreement?”

“I was just getting to that.” Morgan said.  “I am sure you realize that much of what we do to the slaves in this facility is proprietary in nature.  We are not required to document or disclose our training methods under any law.  I must, therefore, insist that you both sign our standard “Confidentiality Agreement” before we can take you on a tour or discuss our methods with you.”  Morgan was handing us both clipboards with an agreement and a pen.

“Of course, Morgan.  No problem.”  I quickly put my signature where Morgan had indicated and handed it back to him, as did my partner.

“You might say our basic mission at Richmond SlendaBond”, Morgan continued, “is to take human beings who are already enslaved in a purely legal sense and turn them into human beings that are enslaved in every sense.  That is what we mean when we speak of ‘slave transformation’.  This is what will happen to your Stephanie.   When they come to us, fresh from a court judgment, they are usually angry, resentful, sullen, or outright rebellious.  They would sooner say ‘Fuck You! ‘ than they would obey an order we give them.  To be enslaved in the fullest sense means losing the ability or the will to resist servitude, losing the ability to say no to anyone in authority.”

 

“The reason our clients want to control human beings this completely could be a sexual one, or it could have to do with the need to protect business trade secrets or the need to protect a large investment in the training of specialized workers.” 

“Since many of them come to us under five, ten or twenty year indentures we have to be careful that what we do to them can be undone when it is time to return them to their lives as free men and women.  We are not permitted to injure their bodies or to inflict physical pain and we have to make sure that what we do to their minds is reversible.  Finally we must have the ability, before we can set them free, to erase from their minds specific knowledge of certain things they may have known or experienced during their slavery.”

“Can you tell us what kind of things would you erase from their minds?”  Virginia asked.

“Certainly”, Morgan continued.  “Knowledge of business trade secrets or proprietary knowledge of industrial processes.”

“Are there other things you would erase from their minds before setting them free?”  I asked.

“Things like the identity of particular people they were forced to serve sexually or the nature of the sexual services they were forced to provide to those people.  We couldn’t very well have a slave freed, at the end of an indenture, going out and writing a book and naming names!   If we are to have a robust market for slaves we must protect the privacy of those who use the slaves at all costs!”

“I see what you mean Morgan” I responded.  “Earlier you had mentioned that you don’t just ‘grind out one type of product’ as you put it.  Could you expand on that?”

“We turn out a variety of slave types here”, Bill, “to meet the desires of our clients.  One thing all our products have in common is that they all obey instantly and without question all orders they are given.  But the nature of that obedience can vary considerably”

“How so?”  Virginia asked.

“Since I knew you were coming, I arranged to have some of our products on display for your perusal.  Why don’t we all adjourn to the sales room now?   I think a little demonstration would be worth 1000 words.” 

Virginia and I followed Morgan and Charlie down the hall to a sales exhibition room.  It was a beautiful room with a high ceiling, rich carpeting and dramatic use of lighting and burgundy velour draperies.  What immediately drew my eye was a row of short pedestals on each of which stood a scantily clad slave.  There was one male slave wearing only a pair of short shorts, and four female slaves each wearing a brief sleeveless midriff baring top and a pair of short shorts.  Each slave was brilliantly lit by multiple spotlights somewhere up in the ceiling.  All were slender and physically fit, and all appeared to be in their early to mid twenties.  None was restrained in any way, but each stood on his or her pedestal apparently awaiting our pleasure.  I could see that my partner, Virginia, was letting her gaze rest first on the male’s biceps and impressive chest, then lower to the bulge in his shorts.  My eyes lingered on the flat tummies and long slender legs of the females.

“Why don’t we begin with a round of introductions” Morgan said, turning to the slaves.  “I want each of you to introduce yourself to our guests, tell us how you came to be enslaved, and how you feel about your slavery today.”

”My name is Henry,” said the first one, “and I was enslaved in a criminal proceeding as punishment for having embezzled money from my employer.  Mr. Richmond’s company bought me at a public auction.  I do not much enjoy being a slave but I have been ordered by a court to pay my debt to society.  I have ten years to serve.”

“My name is Laura,” the second slave stated, “and I was enslaved for debt by this fucking company after they bought up all my other debts.  I don’t think slavery should be legal and I certainly don’t think I should be here.  I will never get used to it.  I fight the slavery every chance I get, but something always makes me do whatever they command me to do.”

“My name is Susan,” the third stated, “and I played a high stakes game of chance.  I gambled my freedom against the possibility of a big cash prize.  I lost.  I don’t like being a slave but I guess it is best I cooperate.  It will go easier for me that way.”

“My name is Mary,” the fourth said, “and I too was enslaved for debt.  Slavery has been very good for me because it has taught me my place in the world and a proper respect for people who are my ‘betters’.  I have learned that it is a sin to be ‘uppity’ and that I am most comfortable when other people are exercising their rightful authority over me.”

“My name is Cocoa,” the last one, a beautiful black girl, said, “and I’m here because I just think slavery is so cool. NOT!  I dreamed of a life like this since I was a little girl.  NOT!”

“Well, Bill and Virginia, you have met a diverse group of our products in training– our criminal slave, our rebellious slave, our cooperative slave, our submissive slave, and our saucy slave!  Despite their various attitudes the one thing they all have in common is that they all do obey.  Under the ‘Kinder and Gentler Slavery Law’ we may not resort to physical punishment or the threat of physical punishment to keep them under control.  But there is nothing in the law that says we can’t coerce them.  Slavery without coercion would be a contradiction in terms.  Let me give you a little demonstration of how we do control them.”

“Susan, Mary, Cocoa- Display Now!”  Morgan spoke, addressing the three slaves on one end of the row of pedestals. 

We were then treated to three female slaves pushing their shorts and panties down to their knees, and standing in place, with their legs well separated, awaiting further orders.  I could not help but admire their fine young bodies and erect postures.  We were impressed too by their attitudes.  Smiling faces and no sign of anger or resentment at what they were being made to do.

With them all on pedestals, our eyes were at crotch level.  Virginia was impressed by their instant obedience of course, but, not being a lesbian, showed little interest in their bodies.  I, on the other hand, walked up and down the line, studying the buttocks and genitals of each of these three beauties.  I was astonished to note that all they all had rings surgically installed in their private parts to which a leash might be attached.  One had a labia ring and the other two had rings piercing their clitoral cowls.

“In our culture”, Morgan continued, “free women who are also citizens do not expose their genitals in mixed company for any reason and certainly not on command.  These three had been free citizens until quite recently.  So it was a true test of their obedience that they exposed themselves completely and without hesitation when commanded to do so.  In slave societies of the past this sort of obedience was generally obtained by whippings or other physical punishments, the threat of such punishments, or by withholding necessary things like food or water.  We are not allowed to do any of those things to our slaves, yet we get the obedience we want from them.”

“Is it because you win them over with kindness?”  I asked, half seriously.

“Hardly.  The women we get are almost always experiencing slavery for the first time.  They are angry and resentful toward us for the role we played in reducing them to bondage.  The last thing they want to do is cooperate with us voluntarily.”

“Then how?”  Virginia asked.

Morgan motioned for us all to follow him into a private office at one end of the sales exhibition area where we could talk without being overheard by the slaves.

“We use means of coercion that are not against the law,” Morgan continued, “means that do not involve the application of physical pain or physical injury.  It comes down to mind control whether it is done through the bio-implants they all have, through drugs or through hypnosis.”

“Do the women know that they are being coerced and how they are being coerced?” I asked.

“Yes and no.  In the case of Susan and Cocoa the answer is yes.  They are very conscious of the coercion and how it works, though it works in different ways for each of them.”

“Mary’s case is quite different.  When she came to us she was defiant.  She felt she had been unjustly imbonded.  We subjected her to not only the usual mind control techniques, but also to an extra layer of brainwashing designed to produce the personality you now see.  She now feels herself inferior to us and finds it perfectly natural that we, or others who may be placed over her, should be able to order her to push her shorts down!”

Morgan led us back out to the display area and we all gathered in front of Laura.

“If you think I am going to display my privates to all you perverts, you are very much mistaken!”  an angry Laura said.  I could see the hostility in her eyes and the cords standing out on the sides of her neck.”

“Laura- Display Now!”  Morgan spoke while continuing eye contact with Laura.  We watched with great interest as Laura pushed her shorts and panties down to her knees, exposing her lovely vulva and pubic hair.  We all saw that she, like the other women, had a ring surgically installed through her clitoris.  Her whole body was tense.  She seemed aware of what she had just done, yet unable to stop herself from doing it.  It was as though she had lost volitional control of her own body.  I noted the tensing of the muscles in her buttocks and in her shoulders as she did this, apparently angry at having had her volitional control taken away and at having been made to expose her self.

“Laura is showing us right now”, Morgan continued, “verbal rebellion but behavioral obedience.   We could also suppress the verbal rebellion in her but some clients like that.  Other clients might prefer to see a girl expressing her rebellion only in her body language – in the tensing of her muscles and her facial expressions, while presenting herself as both verbally and behaviorally compliant.  We try to please all types of customers.”

I saw Morgan whisper to Virginia and hand her a 3 x 5 card with some instructions to read.  Virginia stepped up close to Henry, her eyes only about a foot from his shorts.

“I don’t show my package to no woman!”  Henry said defiantly.  I could see his calves and biceps flex as though he might be preparing for a fight.

“Henry- Display Now!”  Virginia spoke while making intense eye contact with Henry.  I saw him proceed to push his shorts and briefs down to his knees, exposing his magnificent endowments to Virginia at close range.  His whole body was tense.  Like Laura he seemed aware of what he had just done, yet had been unable to stop himself from doing it.  Virginia was fascinated.  Even from a distance I could not help but be impressed, as his flaccid penis was long and thick and not circumcised, his hairy scrotum hung low and contained two very large balls.  Henry was aware of his nakedness and where we were all looking, and showed some signs of embarrassment, but mostly he looked angry.

“Chill, Henry!”  Virginia shouted at him, still reading from her cue card.  We saw him visibly relax all his muscles and stand naturally.

“Vanilla ladder!”  Virginia called out, locking eyes with Henry.  We saw a subtle shift in his stance and facial expression, and his eyes took on a somewhat glazed appearance.

“Henry- Erect Now!”  Virginia ordered while continuing eye contact.  Clearly she was reading this command from the card as she would never have had the audacity to say this on her own.  Virginia showed signs of amazement as Henry’s penis began to grow and stiffen before our eyes until it was hard as a rock, while his scrotum tightened pulling those huge balls closer to his groin.

“Henry- Stand Down!” Virginia ordered.  That huge penis deflated as quickly as it had grown and the scrotum loosened dropping the balls back into their original position.  Henry looked disappointed. 

Now Morgan handed me a card with some commands on it and indicated I should address myself to Laura.

“Green Moon!” I said, reading from the card, and making eye contact with Laura.  I saw a subtle change in her posture and facial expression, and her eyes took on that glazed appearance we had seen a few moments before with Henry.

“Laura- Arousal Now!”  I commanded while reading from the card and making eye contact with her.  We watched with interest as Laura’s labia began to engorge and her little clitoris began to extend from its protective hood.  Again I noted the tensing of the muscles in her neck and shoulders and was surprised when she said “You have no right to do this to my body, Mr. Steelforth!”  I just smiled at her as did Morgan.

“Laura- Juice Now!”  I commanded while continuing to make eye contact with Laura.  I was fascinated to see sticky sexual lubricant fluid seeping out of her vulva and running down her thighs.  The odor of her sexual fluids was very much in the air.  I inhaled deeply since Laura was an attractive girl and I was much enjoying the smell of her private parts.  By this time Laura looked absolutely mortified at the way her body was betraying her, even as she stared daggers at me.

“Eyes bright!”  Morgan said while addressing both Henry and Laura.  Suddenly I saw their posture and facial expressions return to normal and the glassy eyes disappear.  Both of them looked acutely embarrassed at what they had been made to do.

“With these two slaves,” Morgan continued, addressing Virginia and myself, “you first saw that there was instant obedience to the ‘Display Now!’ command, even though there were both verbal and postural cues that their attitudes were rebellious.  Some of our clients enjoy overcoming rebelliousness in a slave like Laura or Henry, and we give them the tools to do that.  In fact Laura and Henry were both forced to expose themselves for us by what we call ‘post-hypnotic suggestions’.  This does not require that they be under hypnosis at the time, but certain cue phrases have been planted in their brains that they are helpless to resist.  The phrase ‘Display Now’ would be an example of such a cue phrase.”

“With these two slaves you have also seen what we call ‘direct hypnotic trance control’ which acts directly on both the slave’s conscious and unconscious mind.  It enables us to command his or her body in ways he or she could not consciously command on his own.  This higher level of control is required if we are to force a slave to have a sexual response as we did with these two.  This type of control requires no cooperation or consent from the slave.  The slave is aware at all times that his or her body seems to have a will of its own.”

“With the other three, you saw that they pushed their shorts down when ordered to do so, and without the need for me to invoke trance control.  With them it was not even necessary to use post-hypnotic suggestions.  Their obedience is based on something else.”

“What is that, Morgan?”

“I thought you would never ask.  In the case of Susan obedience was achieved because she knows that if she did not we would immediately invoke either post-hypnotic suggestions or direct trance control.  She obeys ‘voluntarily’ because she knows being put under hypnotic controls would not only deprive her of full control of her own body, but result in her literally being compelled to do that which she had moments earlier refused to do.  She would then have full awareness that her body is obeying us against her will and no ability to stop her body from carrying out our commands.  Thus she knows that disobedience is absolutely futile!   There is a severe loss of dignity in that.”

“In the case of Cocoa, who just arrived today and has not begun her mind control training, obedience was achieved because she fears the possibility that any disobedience might cause us to render her unconscious through her bio-implant.  There is a severe loss of dignity in that.  The control in her case is essentially fear based.”

“The compliance you have gotten from Stephanie prior to her training is similar to that we are getting from our untrained Cocoa here.  After training Stephanie will obey us for the same reason Susan did - because she will have experienced just how our mind control techniques can render her own rebellious tendencies futile and will want to avoid, at all costs, pushing us to invoke that type of control.  This is the most flexible form of slave control since it requires no trance and is not limited to specific previously implanted key phrases.   Also it is not fear based which is a major goal of this enterprise.”

“Now that you have seen the diversity of our products, it is time for you to take the tour with Charlie and let him show you how we produce slaves with these various tendencies.  We have focused on the goals of slave transformation so far.  Charlie will show you how it is done.

Virginia and I said goodbye to Morgan and followed Charlie out of the sales room and then down an elevator to a subterranean level of the building.  As the elevator made its way downward, Charlie began to explain what I was about to see.

“You should realize Bill and Virginia, it is crucial that we have the ability to impose our mind control techniques on even the most resistant subjects.   Many who come through our facility will have heard of hypnosis, are very much afraid it will be used on them, and are determined to resist.   But their ability to resist will depend on their remaining oriented to the reality around them.   That awareness is what we take from them with the help of sensory deprivation and the bio-implants.   Let us go into what we call the ‘cylinder’ room and see some of our subjects undergoing sensory deprivation.”

We emerged on a large open floor with a ceiling that was perhaps 14 foot high.  My eyes were immediately drawn to a row of twenty vertical cylinders made of clear glass, each about eight feet tall and three feet in diameter.  What was striking about these was that each cylinder contained a naked human being, apparently suspended in some clear liquid medium that came up a foot or so higher than head level. These suspended humans had various wires attached to them and tubes coming out of them.  Next to each cylinder there was some sort of control console with all sorts of monitoring instruments.  The room had a surreal look because overall lighting was dim with the cylinders, their naked occupants and the control consoles brilliantly lit up by contrast.

We stood next to the first two cylinders that plainly contained young women.  Further down the row I could see that some of the cylinders contained young men.  In all of these the nude occupants were restrained by handcuffs and ankle shackles.  In all of them the occupants were hooked up to breathing tubes and I could observe the level of liquid in the cylinders subtly rising and falling in time with their respirations.  Fortunately these breathing tubes hid little of their faces from view.  Their eyelids were taped shut.  My impression was that the two women nearest us were asleep and perhaps enjoying a pleasant dream judging by their fleeting facial expressions.   Each had a urinary catheter emerging from her vulva and leading to a clear external cylinder that appeared to be about half full of urine.  Charlie carefully studied my facial expressions for a while to judge my responses to all this, then began to offer me an explanation.

“Virginia, this is the first major stage in each slave’s basic training.  What we do here is subject them to sensory deprivation so that we can control what they take in through whatever senses remain to them.   Right now they are largely resting and blissfully unaware of their surroundings.   We are placing them all into a hypnotic trance by means of subliminal audio superimposed on a music track.   This is being fed directly into their brains by means of the bio-implants.”

“Why hypnosis, Charlie?”  I queried.

“The thing you need to understand, Bill, is that we condition all our slaves to obey verbal commands.  That is so that we can sell them or rent them out to our customers and know that our customer, in turn, will be able to control them.  The customer cannot rely on the threat of physical punishment to force obedience, any more than we can here, since physical punishments in the form of whippings, beatings and the like are against our kinder, gentler slavery laws.   Some other control mechanism is needed.  We have found that post-hypnotic suggestions are the best way to achieve that kind of unthinking obedience from a human being.”

Just then I saw Charlie walk over to the operator at the controls of cylinder number three and whisper something to her.   A minute or so later I saw the naked young woman who was inside that cylinder begin to buck and flex and un-flex her body repeatedly within the confines of her cylinder.   I walked quickly over to stand next to this cylinder where Charlie also was.   Then to my amazement I saw the nude occupant use her hands, which had been cuffed in front, to rub her vulva and diddle her clitoris, even as I saw further evidence of tensing of all the different muscles in her body.   She clearly appeared to be in some sort of sexual arousal.

“Charlie, doesn’t she have any inhibitions about masturbating like this with people watching her?”  I said.

“That is one of the beauties of this whole setup, Bill.   She doesn’t know anyone is watching her.  She is in a deep hypnotic trance and we are feeding suggestions to her with our subliminal audio that tell her she is at home in the privacy of her own bed!   She has no idea that a couple of men and various control employees are watching her every move.”

“But surely some slaves are going to be very resistant to hypnosis, aren’t they?”

“Ah, resistance!   That is where the bio-implants really come in handy.  They enable us to detect certain patterns of neural activity that suggest the subject is trying to resist the hypnosis.  When we detect such patterns we send signals directly into the subject’s brain that cause feelings of nausea.  It is not long before the subjects learn to turn away from any resistant thoughts!”

“Fantastic!” I said.

“But it goes even further.  When the bio-implants detect patterns of neural activity suggesting cooperation with the hypnosis, our operators are able to send signals of sexual pleasure directly into the subject’s brain through his or her implant.”

“Our techniques are so powerful now,” Charlie continued “with the help of the bio-implants, that not one slave in the last 500 processed at this facility has been able to resist the hypnotic induction or the successful planting of all needed post-hypnotic code commands.”

I marveled at all this.  It was the most exciting breakthrough in slave training I had heard in many years.  And it completely eliminated the need for any sort of physical brutality such as whippings, beatings or electro-shock.  All the desired control over human behavior could be achieved in ways that met the new kinder, gentler ethic of slave management.   As I watched the show in the cylinder was becoming even more frenzied.  It wasn’t every day I got to watch a beautiful young woman masturbating for real who was not even conscious that she had an audience!   Just then the cute young lady at the controls of her tank spoke up.

“Mr. Witherspoon, the girl is very near climax.  Should I stop her?”

“No, Betty.  Let her climax.  I think it will be a nice treat for our guests to see.”

The young woman was massaging her genitals in a frenzy and tensing every muscle in her arms and legs.  Soon all this built to a crescendo, then stopped.   I saw the most beautiful relaxed look on the young woman’s face.  This was one of the most beautiful sights I had seen in a long while.   I felt very privileged to have been witness to this very special intimate moment in a slave’s life.   I wanted to know more about this young woman – her name, who she had been before her enslavement, if she had ever been married, and so much more.  I turned to Charlie and started to ask, but he anticipated me.

“Bill, most of what you probably want to ask me is on that sign on the other side of her cylinder.  Go ahead and read it.”

I walked around to the other side and learned that her name was Jennifer Marston, that she was single and had been a member of the corps de ballet of the National Ballet of Capitallia.  She would probably know Vivienne, the dancer I had helped get back into the ballet company as a professional slave.   I wondered if this Jennifer might need a similar favor from me.

“You are probably wondering if we plan to let her pursue her ballet career while a slave.  Rest assured we do.  You don’t need to make this one your special project.”

“I wonder if I could have something as a souvenir – perhaps a photo of her or something?”

“I can do better than that.  How would you each like a video disk of that whole masturbation you just saw?”

“That would be fantastic!”  I said.  Virginia said she would pass on that.  Fortunately neither Charlie nor I needed to ask the young dancer if that was all right with her.  She had no rights anymore.

I looked further down the row of cylinders and saw that two technicians were bringing in a very sedated and naked Stephanie Glenn.   I noted that they were headed for one cylinder that was empty.   One of the technicians fitted her with a breathing tube and urinary catheter, while the other technician secured a lifting harness around her shoulders.   Her hands were cuffed in front with shiny steel handcuffs.   Soon an electric hoist raised her high in the air and over the cylinder and lowered her into the clear liquid.

“We will begin the process of hypnotic induction”, Charlie continued, “with your Stephanie just as we have with the others.   Within a few days she will have learned to obey a whole range of post-hypnotic commands.   Once we have secured her unconditional obedience to commands, we can concentrate on developing the particular attitudes in her that will be pleasing to whoever is going to have ultimate use and control of her person.”

“Now that must be the whole point of what Morgan was demonstrating to us up in the sales room with the five slaves on the pedestals”, I said.

“That’s right.  Some slaveholders want a more or less forced obedience.  They want the pleasure of controlling a slave who obeys because she must, not because slavery is natural to her or comfortable for her in any way.   She obeys ‘voluntarily’ because she knows that failure to do so or hesitation in obeying commands will result in her being compelled by the post-hypnotic suggestions to the point of losing control of her own body.  This will be the case for your Stephanie because she has been requisitioned by a client who wants exactly that kind of compulsory obedience from her.”

“Who is the client?”  I asked.

“Sorry Bill, but I cannot reveal that at this time.   You will be informed when her training is complete and we have turned her over to the control of that client.   I know you are eager to follow Stephanie’s training, but she will be in the sensory deprivation cylinder for about the next three weeks.   If you watched that it would be like watching paint dry.   What I would suggest is that we call it a wrap for today with an invitation to come back and see how Stephanie has progressed 30 days from now.”

“Sounds good Charlie.”  We shook hands and he walked me out to where my car was parked.

Chapter 11.   Lost Memories

Almost a month later to the day I returned to the SlendaBond Training Facility.  Virginia was not with me on this trip.   I visited Morgan Richmond again briefly and again set out with the training director, Charlie, for another tour.   I hoped to see many things this time that he had not shown me on my initial visit.

“I am just dying to see how far you good people have gotten bringing Stephanie under control!”  I said.

“We have been able to embed many post-hypnotic suggestion words in her subconscious that we can use as a backup if she fails to obey ‘voluntarily’.   We also now have the ability to put her into direct trance control whenever we want just by uttering a key phrase – just the way you saw us do it to Laura and Henry on your previous visit.  We can then directly control her sexual responses, make her nipples erect, make her labia engorge, make her little clitoris come out from hiding in the clitoral cowl, even make her vagina secrete sexual fluids!”

“That is fantastic!”  I said, and high fived him just as we did on my previous visit.

“But I don’t want you to just take my word for it.   Let us go pay Stephanie a visit in her pod.”

“Her what?”  I said.

“If you will follow me, Bill, I will take you to another level of this building called the “pod floor” where you will see how we continue a slave’s education after she completes basic training in the ‘cylinder room’ that you saw last month.

First we visited the Olympic size swimming pool first.  There were many naked slaves of both sexes swimming and diving there.  They all looked physically fit.  We progressed to the gymnasium where we saw row after row of naked humans of both sexes.  Some rows were learning to prance.  Each was made to lift his or her knees high on each beat of the music.  Other rows were doing sit-ups to strengthen and tone their abdominal muscles.  There was one row of women only receiving basic fellatio training.  Charlie took me close to these young women.  It was obvious that each woman in this group thought fellatio was beneath her dignity.  Yet each was performing the act on her respective male trainer.

“Why don’t some of them refuse?” I asked.

“Because of the post-hypnotic controls.  Some of them are actually responding to post-hypnotic commands even now.  Others fear losing control of their bodies to the hypnotic commands, and so will obey ‘voluntarily’ in order to avoid coming under hypnotic controls.  Either way they are being compelled to do an act which most of them find repugnant.  It is, in a real sense, their introduction to what it means to be a slave.”

I followed him back to the elevator and up to the third floor.  As we stepped out on this floor I saw row after row of beds called “pods” containing naked humans with each covered by a clear plastic dome.  Each naked slave was restrained except for one hand and I noted a video camera trained on each one.   Each wore an earphone headset.  Some, but not all, were wearing a special visor over the eyes.  Those in this latter group also were connected to IV lines dripping saline solution and other drugs into their bodies.

“This room looks positively spooky.”   I said.  “What is the purpose of all these restraints, all these visors, and the clear plastic domes?”

“The clear plastic dome is to keep their space draft free and temperature and humidity controlled.  That way we don’t have to give them clothing blankets or sheets for reasons of comfort or health.   It also means that we can observe them 24/7 without their having any privacy.  We do not allow them to masturbate on this floor.  It is all part of their training that they are no longer masters or mistresses of their own bodies.  The video cameras are there to detect any attempts at masturbation.   Operators monitor these video cameras 24/7 and when any masturbatory act is observed, the operator will immediately reprimand the subject through the earphones.  A second offense means they lose their free hand privilege.” 

“So basically” I responded, “the subject is reminded that his or her genitals are the master’s property and that to touch them without permission ‘would be like stealing’ from the master.”

“That’s right, Bill.  We do not want to keep them sexually frustrated on a long term basis but, at this stage of training, it make a powerful impression on their psyches.”

“I’ll bet it does!” I gleefully replied.

“If the cylinder room you saw last month was about ‘sensory deprivation’,” Charlie continued, “this pod room is about ‘memory deprivation’.  It is also about the installation of new ‘memories’ to replace the ones deleted.”  The new ‘memories’ are installed by means of virtual reality software through their visors.  With the help of certain drugs, they will forget certain memories we want them to forget and they will remember virtual reality experiences we implant as though these things had actually happened to them in real life.”

“Where do you get drugs like that?”  I said, amazed.

“In the early twenty first century,” Charlie went on,  “there was a drug widely used in hospital operating rooms for light anesthesia.  It was a beta-blocker called propranolol.  It was discovered that this drug had the ability to block all recall of things that happened while the patient was under the influence of the drug.  Later researches showed that this drug could be used to help victims of post-traumatic stress learn to forget their traumatic experience.”

“I don’t quite follow you, Charlie.  What does post-traumatic stress have to do with brainwashing slaves?”

 

“Bear with me.  Eventually another drug in the same family was found, patented under the name ‘MemZip24’ which could be used to completely suppress any memory by recreating the memory in conscious awareness while the patient was under the influence of the drug.   Finally a sister drug called ‘MemZip27’ was developed which had the interesting property that it could reinforce a memory, or turn a virtual reality experience into one remembered as though from real life.”

“But why would you want to erase parts of a slave’s memory, Charlie?”

“The most important way in which we use these drugs, particularly ‘24’, is at the end of a slave’s indenture, prior to setting him or her free.   Here the purpose is to purge the slave’s mind of any knowledge or memories of their service which might compromise a company’s proprietary processes, confidential client lists, or the sexual privacy of any person the slave was made to serve during her time of slavery.  We cannot have a newly freed slave going out and writing a book exposing the sexual quirks of some of her past masters or their friends.”

“I guess not!” I said.  If they could do that after they are freed it would kind of defeat the whole purpose of the slave system, would it not?”

“Indeed, Bill.  If you look down the row of pods you will see that maybe a third of them have the virtual reality visors and the IV line hookups.  Most of these, in turn, are slaves who are near completion of their indentures.  When they leave our facility as free men and women, they will have no memory at all of what really happened during their term of slavery.  Instead they will have some false memories of that time implanted by us through virtual reality with the help of the drug we call ‘27’.  The false memories are a kindness since that way they will not have constant anxiety about a ‘black hole’ in their memories.  In the false memories they will remember that they were slaves for a number of years, but that they only performed mundane tasks like filing, shelving books, digging ditches or whatever.  They will not remember who their masters were or the actual nature of the things they did.”

“Wow!  Can I ever see the benefits of that!  That gives a whole new freedom to masters and mistresses, knowing that their secrets are forever safe!”  I exclaimed.  “Do you use ‘memory deprivation’, as you call it, for other purposes as well?”

“Indeed yes.  Some want a slave who obeys out of a deeply held feeling and belief that we, and others that we may designate, have a moral right to exercise absolute authority over his or her person.   We are, after all, his or her ‘betters’.  I want to stress that your Stephanie will not be getting this type of conditioning.  In her case the client does not want to take away her belief in her own dignity.  Rather he wants her to obey him in all things because she will feel compelled to do so by the post hypnotic suggestions.”

“You may remember Mary from your earlier visit.  She would be an example of the type of slave who believes other people are her ‘betters’.  She is eager to obey and shows no resistance whatsoever.  She was nothing at all like that when she was sent to us under court order.  In fact she was one of the most independent minded and defiant slaves we ever received at this facility.”

“How is it possible to change a person’s basic nature so profoundly?”  I asked, amazed.

“The very will to resist mind control stems from a belief in the dignity of the person based, to a considerable extent, on Jeffersonian notions that all men are created equal, and that certain rights are ‘inalienable’.  Any memory of such a belief is the first memory we have to remove from those of our slaves who are going through what we call ‘inferiority training’.  Usually we only do this to the ones who are enslaved for life, though it is possible to do it on a reversible basis to the ones who are serving a five or ten year indenture.”

“Will this be done to Stephanie?”

“No because the client did not want a slave who felt inferior.  He wanted Stephanie to be independent minded and defiant about her condition.  This dovetails nicely with the fact he is also planning to use her professional abilities.”

“If we are going to produce an ‘inferior’ slave, we first strip away the slave’s initial belief that she is, in some fundamental sense, equal to her captors.  She is not equal and must learn that early on.  She is inferior to her ‘betters’.  She is Inferior morally, philosophically, legally, politically.   She must learn that all her satisfactions in life are to come from being pleasing in the sight of her master or mistress and their friends.  If these people smile upon her then she is worthy and entitled to self-esteem.”

“If she is commanded to suck a penis or lick a vulva, she does not even ask if she is attracted to the man or woman whose penis or vulva it is.  Of course she is attracted to that person and his or her genitals because that person is one of her betters.  He or she is entitled to pleasure from her.  If she is asked to spread her legs for a man’s pleasure she doesn’t question if this is a man for whom she feels some special attraction.  She spreads her legs because it is both her duty and her pleasure to submit to one of her betters in this way.”

“So much for producing future slaves like our ‘Mary’.  I think what you really came for today is to see what we have done with your Stephanie.  Am I right?”

“Yes!  Lead on please!” I replied excitedly.

We walked down to the 37th pod on the left side and I gazed, through the plastic dome, with fascination at the girl I had done so much to enslave.   Now my client was clearly well on the way to turning her into a creature that would give great pleasure to the ultimate client.   Stephanie Glenn was quite naked, like all the others.   I noted with great pleasure that a platinum ring had been surgically installed through her clitoral hood.  I studied all the details of her body while she slept. 

After a few minutes Charlie decided to wake her.  He did this by reaching through an access port on the side of the pod that enabled him to directly touch her body.  He gave a little tug on her clitoris ring and she woke up, rubbed her eyes, and saw two men staring at her.  It took her a moment but soon she recognized me as well as the training director.   Charlie unfastened hidden latches that could only be opened from the outside of the pod, and then swung the hinged dome open.   He released her hand that had been restrained, cuffed her two hands together behind her back, and released the foot restraints.   He attached a safety leash to Stephanie’s clitoris ring and commanded her to get out of the pod and stand on the floor at attention.  I admired the long lines of her slender body and the beautiful muscularity of her legs and buttocks.  Charlie handed me the genital leash.

“I am sure you will have no difficulty getting her to follow you anywhere, Bill, since her handcuffs make it impossible for her to grab the leash to relieve the strain.  Even though it is a safety leash, I must still ask you to be very careful with her.  We don’t want to injure her private parts,” he admonished.   He walked away and indicated that we should follow.

I began leading Stephanie along with us, being very careful to keep only a gentle pull on her genitals.  We went to a small demonstration room that reminded me of the sales room but on a smaller scale.  It was a plushly carpeted room with a pedestal, dark blue velour drapes and special lighting.  There was some gymnastic equipment, one wall was mirrored, and the room was soundproofed.   He ordered Stephanie to stand on the pedestal with her feet two feet apart, placing her well opened crotch at eye level for both of us.   I found this view very pleasing indeed and studied the details of her genitals much as I had many months ago at the creditor’s exam.   I longed to touch her vulva and pubic hair.  Charlie read my mind.  He indicated that I might touch her if I chose, but for some reason I declined.   I guess there was a part of me that wanted the girl to like me at least a little. 

“How is the no masturbation rule working for you Stephanie?”  I asked.

“It leaves me very frustrated Sir! ” she said while glaring at me.  Her words were deferential but her body language spoke of rebellion just below the surface.

“This slave would like to ask if she might masturbate now?” she had turned to address Charlie.

“I will take it under consideration as a possible reward for you if you first show us you are a good slave girl.” 

He ordered her to get down on the floor and give us 20 sit-ups.  I marveled at her physical condition and how taught the muscles of her abdomen were.  He then ordered her to give us 10 chin-ups and I was blown away by her upper body definition and strength.  After that she assumed the standing ‘display position’, waiting for further orders.

“It is worth making a point here, Bill.  You see how strong she is.  Many of our slaves are this strong by the time we turn them over to our clients.  Many of our clients are sedentary people who, although they may workout, are not strong enough to physically master the slaves they receive from us.  So it is so very important that we develop foolproof means for the client to be able to control the slave through essentially mind control methods.”

At this point he placed the flat of his hand gently on her lower abdomen just an inch or so above her pubic hair.

“Stephanie,” Charlie stated, “I can feel that your bladder is full.  Go get the jar from the cabinet and void for us now.”  She did so.

Through all these commands we could see her body was tense, the muscles in her neck were tense.  Clearly she did not like being a slave, but she obeyed because she knew the alternative to ‘voluntary’ obedience was to be placed under hypnotic controls and no longer being in control of her own body.

“You did well, slave.” Charlie said.  “You have my permission to masturbate now.” 

He produced a dildo vibrator from a closet and handed it to her.  We were delighted to see her put on quite a display for us.  Evidently her slave training had managed to get rid of most of her inhibitions about doing this in front of others.  Either that or she was just so desperate for relief that nothing else mattered.  We saw her play with her clitoris, and then it came out from under its hood as her labia became engorged and her nipples hardened.  We saw and experienced the odor of her sexual fluids running down her inner thigh.  While all this was happening she was bucking and flexing her leg muscles and the expression on her face told us she was far removed in her mind from this room and our presence.  She inserted the vibrator in her vagina and began to piston it in and out.  We saw more flexing of the leg muscles.  Soon she reached a shattering climax and her body became limp.

At Charlie’s direction I led Stephanie back to her pod by her genital leash and Charlie locked her back in with one arm left free and closed and locked the clear plastic dome over her nakedness.

“I don’t know about you Bill, but I am starting to feel horny with the show we just watched.  How about you and I pick out two slave girls from the gym to give us a quick blow job before we go to lunch?”

“Sounds good to me Charlie!”  I had a very satisfying release into some pretty girl’s mouth that I would probably never see again.  Charlie did the same.  Then he took us to the sumptuous executive dining room on the fourth floor where we started with a fine bottle of Merlot followed by tender porterhouse steaks, and a delicious salad.

Over lunch Charlie explained one other aspect of the program.  Because Stephanie was going to be a “professional slave” there was another final step to her training.  Up until now most training for her had focused on developing her instant and unquestioning obedience to orders.  For her to act as a professional in her field, which was accounting, she needed to be able to be assertive in giving input to her superiors when they would want her input.  This would typically be when discussion turned to subjects where her professional knowledge or abilities could make a contribution to her superiors.  In such situations abject servility would not be appropriate.  But before asserting herself professionally, she would have to always remember to say “Permission to speak freely, Sir!” like any well-trained soldier, and wait for an affirmative response.

Charlie stated that his firm used role-playing groups to teach slaves appropriate slave behavior in professional situations.  Slaves needed to learn when to be assertive, how to be assertive, and when to slip back into slave like behavior, at the slightest word or gesture from a superior.

As we lingered over our crème brulee deserts and coffee, I expressed my appreciation to Charlie for the splendid tour he had given me.  He in turn advised me that Stephanie would very soon be turned over to the control of their client. 

Chapter 12.   Enslaved Professionals

One day, at the “facility”, my trainer said the words I had been waiting to hear.  These were words I feared, but also words that meant the end of the endless repetition of exercises designed to prepare me for my future.

“Stephanie, your new life is about to begin.”

I remembered clearly that I had once been proud, that I had once possessed freedom and dignity.  I had been able to choose what college to attend, what profession to prepare for, what employment offer to accept, what men I would date, with whom I would have sex.  All these things were a distant memory now.  Since the jury verdict at my trial I had been stripped of all that even as I was stripped of my clothing.  They told me it would “only” be for ten years!  Then I would be restored to my freedom.  So they said.

I had been trained at the Richmond Slendabond facility to obey orders from anyone placed in a position of authority over me.  While I still had a will to disobey any ability to disobey had been systematically trained out of me.  Escape was impossible due to some device they had implanted in my neck.  I had no standing to appeal to any court concerning my status as a slave.  Disobedience was pointless since, if I were slow to obey, they would just take over my body in some mysterious way and cause my body to do what they had commanded independent of my will.  If they wanted me to suck a penis I would suck a penis whether I did it of my own volition or my body just did it against my will.  It wasn’t for me to know how they did these things to me.

When they spoke of my “new life”, all I knew for sure was that it would somehow involve me working at my profession as an accountant.   I could not even imagine what it would be like to apply my professional knowledge and skills under conditions of slavery.  Would I be able to speak freely my professional opinion about how best to carry out the tasks assigned to me?  Probably not.   Could I refuse an assignment if I found it morally repulsive?  Almost certainly not.  Would I be forced to have sex with my business superiors and their clients?  Does the sun rise in the morning?

The day for me to leave the ‘facility’ finally came.  I was brought down to the loading dock where I waited, my hands securely cuffed behind my back.  They could have controlled me quite easily without the cuffs, so I supposed that was done mostly to impress upon my mind that I was no longer a free girl.  They had dressed me in low-rise blue jeans that fitted me like a glove, leaving little of my lower form to the imagination.  Much of my midriff was bared by the low cut of these jeans together with an abbreviated and tight fitting t-shirt they put on me.  The contours of my firm breasts were visible through this t-shirt as were my nipples.  When I used to dress like this in college guys would often tent their slacks.

Shortly two more young people were escorted to the loading dock, similarly cuffed.   I soon realized that these two were people I had known during my physical training in the gym.  There was Jennifer Maisten, the blonde ballerina from the National Ballet of Capitallia.  She was nearly as slender as I and had been similarly dressed in low-rise jeans and midriff baring t-shirt.   The jeans revealed her highly muscled legs while the t-shirt revealed how thin and fragile her upper body was.  Her breasts and nipples could also be quite clearly seen through the translucent t-shirt.  The other one to join us was Harold, the lawyer, clad in tight fitting jeans and a tight t-shirt that showed his biceps, shoulders and bared six-pack abdomen.  An impressive bulge could also be seen in his jeans at the juncture of his muscular thighs.

Soon an extended body SUV pulled up and two smartly uniformed female security guards got out and approached us.  They wore badges, stun guns in holsters and their uniforms proclaimed them to be working for Richmond SlendaBond.  They announced that we would all be going to our new owners. We all nervously eyed the controller devices on the wrists of each of these guards.  We knew only to well that either guard could render any of us unconscious at the touch of a button.  They opened a back door of the SUV and we were escorted in to a carpeted and upholstered space where there were two long padded benches, one on each sidewall.  As each of us took a position on one of the benches a guard shackled our feet and one wrist to convenient eyebolts attached to the wall and floor of the truck, then belted each of us in with seat and shoulder belts.  

There were no side windows so we would not be able to see where we were going, though there was a long ceiling window that admitted plenty of light.  This space was evidently designed for carrying human cargo and was completely walled off from the cab up front where the guards would ride.  I noticed a video camera that would enable the guards to keep an eye on us.   We were all dying to ask one of the guards where we were being taken but no one did.   We had all been voice trained.  One of the female guards announced that we had permission to speak freely during the trip but only to our fellow slaves.  The rear doors were closed and locked and the SUV began to move.

The trip took about two hours.  I suspected we had been heading toward New York City, and this was confirmed when I heard one of the guards announce our first stop.

“This is your stop, Jennifer.   We are at the stage entrance to the Montmarcy Theatre, home of the National Ballet of Capitallia.  You will be one of a growing number of professional dancers who will work at your craft while enslaved.  Enjoy.”

“This is wrong”, Jennifer muttered under her breath, “they can’t make me dance for them if I am not free!”

Jennifer was unshackled from the bench and escorted out of the SUV where a uniformed male guard from the ballet company came out to meet our guards.  I heard some conversation about Jennifer and then the ballet company guard was talking with someone on his cell phone.  He then announced that Jennifer was not expected here until evening rehearsal.  Our guards indicated that Jennifer would be escorted on to her day job and returned to the theatre in time for the evening activities.   So that was how it was going to work, I thought.  None of us would have any say about who used us or when or how.

The SUV began moving again and after about 15 minutes we sensed the vehicle going down a ramp into an underground parking garage under some office building.  When we came to a stop we were all unloaded.  Another SUV had pulled in to the parking spot next to ours.   On the side of this one was written “Maxim’s Slaves” and “We Specialize in Full Figured Types”.   A man of perhaps 40 years with a rather portly pear shaped physique and a slave collar around his neck was being led out of this vehicle.   If he was Maxim’s typical product I thought, rather irreverently, then they might as well rename their business “Porkers-R-Us”.  Evidently his future owner would be valuing him more for his mind than for his body.  They had given him baggy jeans and a baggy shirt to wear.  This was the man we would later know as Edgar, the economist and statistician.  After he disembarked there was also a woman getting out of that SUV who could accurately be described as “full figured” but certainly not obese.  Our respective guards then herded all of us from both vehicles into an elevator.

When the elevator stopped I was amazed at the sight before us.  It was a very large gymnasium that was currently being used as some kind of processing center for physical exams.  There were lines of naked people everywhere queuing up to stations where doctors and nurses were examining them.  A pair of orderlies in white coats met us.  Our SlendaBond guards announced that the clothing we were wearing belonged to SlendaBond and must be returned.  Maxim’s guards said the same to the portly man and the full figured woman.  We were all instructed to undress.  I did not feel comfortable doing this in such a large space where so many people could observe us, but I knew better than to disobey or even to hesitate.  In no time we were all naked.  Then the orderlies cuffed our hands behind our backs so that we could not even protect our modesty.   I thought this gymnasium looked vaguely familiar.

We were guided into the first of several lines.  I noticed from their collars that some of the people in the line were slaves like us.  There were other naked people in line, however, who did not have slave collars but had, instead, those non-citizen wristbands.  When we reached the table a nurse checked our blood pressures, listened to our hearts, drew blood samples, and had us produce a urine specimen.  There was no privacy here.  We had to produce a specimen in full few of several hundred people.  If you couldn’t produce one, they had an electric probe that would make you urinate.

As I was leaving the first table and getting into the second line I looked up.  There was a kind of balcony or mezzanine overlooking the gym and there were fully dressed people up there looking down at all of us in our nakedness.  Suddenly I knew where I was.  I looked more closely at the people up there and I spotted my former co-workers June and Lacy.  They were looking directly at me and smirking.  They had just seen me forced to urinate into a cup.  I had once stood up there on that balcony looking at the naked non-citizens on my first day on a new job.  This was the facility of my former employer, Masterson Automotive!

There were several more lines to go through and more indignities.  At last Harold, Jennifer and I and the “fat guy”, as I then thought of him, had completed the processing and were waiting in one corner of the gym for further developments.  We did not have long to wait.  A guard wearing a company uniform came over to us.  Steel collars were placed about our necks and locked shut with some sort of special tool.   The collars bore the inscription “Property of Masterson Automotive” and each had multiple attachment rings to which a leash might be attached.  June and Lacy came down to collect us.  I noticed the two of them were really looking over Harold’s naked body, his six-pack abdomen, his most impressive low hanging balls and his thick uncircumcised penis.  I had seen Harold naked before at the training facility but he was a novelty to my former coworkers.  Our fat fellow traveler stood by self-consciously with his pear shaped obesity, his love handles his rather small penis and a tight scrotum that had not fully descended.  I felt sorry for the guy.

Lacy and June attached leashes to each of our collars and took the four of us, still naked, up the elevator to the floor where I had worked when I was still employed by Masterson Automotive.  I was most unwilling to step off the elevator but I had no choice.  I thought I would die to be seen naked and collared by all my former coworkers and by my former bosses.   All four of us would have covered our genitals if we could, but of course we all still had our hands cuffed behind us.  I felt a warm flush on my face and breasts and that my nipples were getting stiff.  I told myself that it was because I was cold but the truth was I was feeling some degree of sexual arousal being paraded naked before everyone I had known at this company before I was fired.

My two former coworkers escorted us all down a well-remembered long corridor, plushly carpeted and with tasteful artwork, to an office that was all too familiar.  There was that same spectacular view of the New York City skyline that I remembered from the day I had first come here for a job interview.  There was Jeff Duncan, Human Resources Director, seated behind his elegant desk, speaking for a moment to someone on the phone.  We all stood and waited.  He acted as though it were the most natural thing in the world that there should be four naked and collared slaves standing in his office and waiting on his pleasure.  After what seemed an eternity he finished his call, motioned to Lacy and June that they should disconnect our leashes and leave.   He did not invite us to sit and he made no move to unlock our handcuffs.  Evidently he wanted to make a point that none of us were free.

“Well, my most exquisite ‘human resources’ have arrived at last!” he said expansively.  As a “Human Resources Director” I have long aspired to have the kind of human resources which you four represent!”

“Stephanie, Jennifer and Harold, meet Edgar who comes to us from an academic background in economics.  You are probably wondering why you are here and what sort of work we have in mind for you?” he continued.  “You all have permission to speak freely.”

“Yes sir, we all did wonder that” Harold replied.

“Well you slaves should all know that Stephanie was with us as a well paid employee up until two years ago.  Now she will be here again under rather different terms.  It seems she got a bit uppity with Tom Jenkins, one of our department managers.  Nearly all our female employees are smart enough to know that if a department manager wants to fondle their legs, they are obliged to submit to this.  But not our Stephanie.  Oh no!  She was too full of herself for that.” 

“She even went so far”, Duncan continued, “as to file a sexual harassment claim against Tom.  Naturally I filed that in my circular file.  We don’t keep our female employees in line by investigating sex harassment cases.  The general feeling of management here is that harassing the female employees is a perk that goes with any management job.”

I felt the anger rising in me.  My heart started beating faster and the muscles of my arms, shoulders, neck and upper back all began to tense.  Duncan seemed to notice this and said something to me that didn’t make any sense – something about “green moon”, then “forget fourteen”.  For some strange reason I began to relax after he said that, and a short time later I couldn’t even remember what I had been angry about.  But I glanced at Jennifer and the two men and saw they were all still tense.  That puzzled me.

“But lets get Tom in on this discussion” Duncan continued.  “After all the four of you will be working for him now.  And I assure you that, since you are all slaves now, Tom will be able to fondle much more than just legs.  He is bi-sexual and may find interest in all parts of all your bodies!”

In my newly relaxed state it did not seem odd that a manager would have such access to my body or the bodies of the others who reported to him.

Duncan made a call.  Tom Jenkins soon entered the room and took a seat.  He openly stared at my naked body, at my firm breasts, my erect nipples and most particularly at my crotch which, still being handcuffed, I was powerless to cover.  I was embarrassed of course, yet it did not seem wrong that the man who would be my superior would take such interest in my body.  It was his prerogative after all.  Duncan had said so.  Yet this man Jenkins seemed vaguely familiar to me.  I felt that I had known him in a past life that was now beyond recall.

“We have a project in mind”, Duncan continued, “on which the four of you can collaborate.  The New York State legislature has recently passed a new Apprenticeship Law. There was a widespread belief in our society that too much idleness has a corrosive effect on our youth.  Teenagers have way too much time on their hands and this often leads to juvenile delinquency and the use of dangerous recreational drugs.  It also often leads to young people entering the labor market with poor work habits or no work habits at all.”

I found myself in general agreement with these points.  I had long thought much the same myself.

“By contrast” Duncan continued, “in the early history of the United States most teenagers were either doing chores on the family farm, helping their families run small businesses, or were learning a trade after being bound as an apprentice to a master in that trade.  It was not uncommon for a young boy to be indentured by his parents to a master printer, bookbinder, candle maker, blacksmith or any of dozens of other trades.  The boy would be under contract to the master for a term of years at a very low wage, or perhaps for board and room only.  In return the master would teach the boy a trade so that when the apprenticeship was up the boy, now a man, would be qualified as a journeyman in that trade and would have a marketable skill which he could freely offer to any employer.  It was a good system.  Many a boy got an education his parents could not have afforded to buy for him and learned to earn his livelihood in this way and eventually became a master in his own right.”

Harold, our attorney colleague, raised his hand and was recognized to speak.

“Are you saying that the project we will be working on has something to do with this new law?”

“Yes, Harold” Duncan replied.  “You see Masterson Automotive wants to be a pioneer in taking full advantage of the new Apprenticeship Law.  The new law allows boys and girls to be apprenticed under indenture from the age of 12 up through the age of 19.  Contracts are initially written to go from age 12 to age 16, with an option for the

apprentice, having reached the age of majority, to extend the apprenticeship to age 19 if both parties agree.”

“Would the child be free to quit the apprenticeship at any time?”  Harold asked.

“Not at all” Duncan replied. “You see the employer makes quite an investment in providing a child with a useful education and is entitled to something in return.  He is entitled to have full control of that child during the agreed contract term, so as to be able to fully exploit the labor of his pupil to his own advantage.”

“So there could be all kinds of abuses, just as there were with the historical system of apprenticeship!”  Harold exclaimed.

“Well not quite.”  Duncan responded.  “Our new law is called “The Kinder and Gentler Apprenticeship Law”.  It implicitly recognizes that apprenticeship does create a kind of slavery for the young pupils, and so they need all the same kinds of protections that we afford to adult slaves under the Kinder and Gentler Slavery Law.  For example no corporal punishment may be used, the hours of work are limited to 20 hours a week so that the child may attend regular school classes, the best medical and dental care must be provided, good nutrition, opportunity for the child to exercise, and a small trust fund setup that will be under the child’s control when he or she becomes an adult.”

“What about sex?” Jennifer asked. “Are the children ever used sexually by their masters or mistresses during the apprenticeships?”

“The new law absolutely bars any sexual contact between master and apprentice while the apprentice is below the age of consent.  In New York the age of consent is 16.  So the question of sex would only arise if the apprentice freely agreed to extend the apprenticeship for an additional 2 or 3 years after reaching age 16.  Such extension would give the master free reign, sexually speaking.”

“But if a child doesn’t agree to extend his or her apprenticeship after reaching age 16, then would that child would have to enter the labor market at that point?” Jennifer persisted.

“True” Duncan replied, “but a 16 year old boy or girl entering the labor market with at least a basic apprenticeship training accomplished would command a much better wage than if he or she had to enter the labor market at age 12 with no such training.”

“Nevertheless” Jennifer continued, “there would be quite a bit of pressure on the 16 year olds to sign off on the sexual consent business to get the benefit of the extended apprenticeship training!”

“I won’t work on a project where 16 and 17 year old boys and girls can be forced to have sex with their teachers!”  Harold declared.

“I feel the same way.  I won’t do it either!”  Edgar said.

“No fucking way anybody is going to make me do work like that!” Jennifer expostulated. 

“Your freedom of speech can be taken away, Jennifer, if you abuse it!  Do not forget who and what you now are, Jennifer, Stephanie, Harold and Edgar.  As slaves you don’t have any choice about what projects you work on any more than you have a choice of your sexual partners!”  Duncan exclaimed as he pounded his fist on the desk.

I could see the muscles in the backs and shoulders of the other three tightening up and their faces turning red with anger.  I remained strangely relaxed about the whole thing.  But of course Duncan was right.  None of us had any choice about anything anymore.  We could be commanded to do anything and we must obey! 

“Keep in mind”, Duncan continued in a more conciliatory voice, “that in Capitallia there is no system of publicly funded education beyond sixth grade.  Even the K-6 program will eventually be eliminated as other ways are found for private financing of education.  Children of poor families have, until the recent legislation, often found it necessary to enter menial jobs immediately after completing sixth grade.  Now there is a way for such children to continue their educations and prepare for much higher paying occupations – all without being a drain on the taxpayers.”

“When you put it that way it sounds like we will be helping these children” Harold remarked.

It sounded like child prostitution to me, but obviously my opinion would not matter in the least.  Duncan would only respond that 16-year-old youths were hardly children anymore and that, in any case, they were not being asked to turn tricks.

“Another point to consider is that all apprenticeships are entered into initially as a contract between a child’s parents or guardian and an individual teacher and practitioner of the skill the parents want that child to learn.  Children are never apprenticed to impersonal corporations or passed around from person to person.  The individual practitioner may well be working as a highly paid professional employee of a corporation when the apprenticeship begins, but if that individual moves to a different corporation, or goes into private practice, his or her apprentice moves with him.  A special, and very personal relationship exists between teacher and student that is often consummated sexually when the student has reached an age of suitable discretion and consents to do so.  Not every apprenticeship will work this way, but many do.”

“Where do our respective professional skills fit in to such a project?”  Jennifer asked, a puzzled expression on her face.

“Let me address that one, Jeff” Tom Jenkins interjected.  “What we need is a study of the legal, psychological, economic and financial cost control implications of filling literally several hundred key skilled positions with apprentice labor.  Harold, you will contribute your legal expertise to make sure that the plans we formulate are in full compliance with the new kinder and gentler apprentice laws.  Jennifer, you earned a degree in psychology as well as in dance, so your day job will be to help us to work out the psychological ramifications of how we can best assist our professional masters and mistresses to motivate and control their apprentices.  Evenings and weekends we will loan you out to your old dance company.  Stephanie, you will contribute your cost accounting expertise to help us figure out how much money could be saved by using apprentices.  And Edgar, we are going to want you to use your training as an economist to take a look at how such a program will impact the price of labor generally.   We will want to be sure that we are not bidding against ourselves for apprentice labor or that we are not excessively depleting the pool of unskilled child labor.  We will also want you to look over Stephanie’s shoulders to make sure all the economic assumptions she will be making in her cost accounting are valid.  Any comments slaves?”

We all sat in stunned silence.  They were actually going to force us to work on a project about which we had serious moral qualms.  I was also becoming ever more conscious of my nakedness and wanting some clothing to cover my body.  Duncan anticipated me on this.

“I know you four probably would like some clothing” he continued, “but, with a couple of minor exceptions, that is not part of our plan for you.  Instead you will spend nearly all your time with us essentially naked.  The only exception will be that for you women high heels and certain required jewelry will be worn during all working hours.  For you men black bow ties will be attached to your slave collars and you will also wear mid calf leather boots during all working hours.  The footwear will both call attention to your nudity and improve the lines of your legs.  We feel that your constant nudity, while interacting with colleagues, superiors and visitors who are fully clothed, will go a long way to maintain an awareness in your minds that you are not free and are not equal to the others.  We will issue you clothing only when needed for protection from job hazards or from inclement weather.  That will be entirely at Tom’s discretion, and any clothing issued to you will be of a type or design he approves and be available to you only as long as actually needed for such protection.”

As I stood there, naked and handcuffed, listening to Duncan I began to feel quite chilly and my muscles began to shiver from head to toe. 

“You will live in barracks style accommodations on another floor of this building.  You will be under constant surveillance.  You will be forced to exercise daily to keep those bodies toned.  We will use sexual frustration and sexual pleasure as the primary means to motivate the four of you to do what we want you to do.  In general you will be denied sex, even masturbation in order to maintain you always in a state of sexual tension.  When we wish to reward you for a job well done we will permit you to masturbate or even arrange for you to have a full sexual experience with a partner of our choosing!”

Again I could see the muscular tensions in the bodies of my three colleagues.  Naked people find it very difficult not to show their emotions through their muscular responses!   Nakedness denies a person not only physical privacy but psychological privacy as well!   I had accepted, since some point earlier in our meeting, the idea that my life, my body and my sexuality were at the disposal of my corporate masters, so again I remained strangely relaxed at this particular time.

“The good news for you slaves” Duncan continued, “is that you will be permitted at least 4 hours of leisure every day and all your medical needs will be covered.  Your primary care will be from our own company doctor.  Should you ever need the services of specialists or hospitals, a medical insurance program the company maintains for all its slaves will cover these.  Coverage is more comprehensive, in fact, than what the company provides for its free employees.

Duncan at last noticed that I was shivering from exposure. 

“It is not our intention to make you suffer physically from exposure to cold or drafty air.  We have a solution for that.  Tom, why don’t you take charge of these four, get them settled in and begin briefing them in more detail on the project?”

Tom Jenkins then led the four of us out of Mr. Duncan’s office and down the hall into the large high ceiling open office area where I had worked here when I was a free employee.  Coworkers I had known from then stared at my companions and me.  Some smirked.  Someone called out to me “How do you like your new life, Steph!”  This was all just too humiliating for words.

Then I saw something that had not been in this area before.  It was an oval shaped conference room formed entirely of clear glass panels, about 15 feet by 25 feet, elevated on a platform about two feet higher than the surrounding open office area.  Inside this glass room was a glass conference table and 8 chairs, and all along the back wall of the oval room was a series of 7 glass cubicles.  There were major traffic aisles passing both in front of the oval room and behind the row of glass cubicles.  Any of the 40 to 50 employees of the accounting department plus visitors to the department would be passing regularly back and forth along these traffic aisles many times a day.

“Here are your new office accommodations” Jenkins said, clearly sweeping his hand toward the raised platform.  We call this the ‘fishbowl’.  It is all glass so that many others will have opportunities to view you as you work naked here everyday.  It is all temperature and humidity controlled to make nudity practical.  The glass enclosures will protect you from drafts and there are adjustable infrared heaters in each cubicle you may adjust to your comfort level.  He proceeded to unlock all our handcuffs after extracting a promise that we would not use our hands to cover ourselves.

“Stephanie, you take cubicle number one.   Jennifer, you are in number two.  Harold, you take number three, and Edgar, number four.  Now up you go!”

We each found that we had to climb three steps to get up to our new “offices”.  I soon became aware that lighting had been arranged so that I would always be highly visible in my cubicle to all in the room and to any passersby.  Also I became aware that the only furniture was a specially designed seat consisting of a backrest and two padded thigh supporters, but no center part to protect my modesty.  The first thing my eyes took in was a computer monitor suspended from the ceiling, so oriented so that when I sat facing this monitor I would be facing one of the major traffic aisles.  Also suspended, next to the monitor, was an “air mouse”. Underneath the monitor were two stirrups for my feet with leather locking bands.  There was also a web cam and headset.  No printer, no filing cabinet, and only one small drawer for personal things located near the ceiling so as not to obstruct sight lines.   There were three video cameras in the cubicle to monitor me from different directions.  The chill I had felt in Duncan’s office soon melted away as I felt warmth from an infrared heater which I could control.  Jenkins had disappeared into his office.

Someone from Human Resources came in and fitted us women with our high heels and jewelry, and fitted the men with their leather boots and bow ties.

Suddenly there was a message on my computer screen:

“All of you sit down, place your feet in the stirrups provided, and put on your headsets!”

As soon as I had obeyed this directive I felt the leather locking bands electrically lock my feet into the stirrups.  It would now be impossible to get up from this seated position until or unless someone sent a signal to electrically unlock the stirrups.  More messages appeared on my screen accompanied by their verbal equivalents in my headset.

“You will notice that your feet are now locked in place”, Jenkins voice continued through our headsets, “and that, for you females, the stirrups also raise your knees to approximately nipple level.  Should you have a need to arise from your seated positions to go to the bathroom or for any reason you must seek permission from myself or from one of my two assistants.   The stirrups are designed to keep your feet well separated.  There are also sensors that will detect any attempt to bring your knees together and deliver a verbal reprimand should you attempt to do so.  You may not use your hands to conceal any part of your bodies at any time.  This is now a paperless office.   Everything you will need to do your jobs should be available to you through your computer terminals.” 

“Your bathroom”, he continued, “is the seventh glass cubicle at the end of your row.”

We all groaned inwardly.  The company meant us to perform even our toilet activities on display to the world.  No doubt there would be video cameras and microphones there too, that no one in the entire building should miss out on the sight and sounds of our humiliation.

“At this time slaves”, he continued, “you will all watch a twenty minute training video on your monitors to acquaint you with the programs and services available through your personal computers.”

After the training video we were ordered to convene in the glass conference room to receive our first briefing on our first assignment.  We all used electronic notepads to take notes on the briefing that were saved back to our personal computers.  I felt this was all coming on too fast.  I was overwhelmed with all that had happened to us this day.  Nevertheless I opened the “Notepad” program so that I was ready to take notes.

First Jenkins introduced one of his two assistants, Sally Rogers, who would sit in on the meeting.  I noticed that she carried a riding crop attached to her belt.  No doubt a symbol of her authority.  She sat down next to Edgar, our portly economist.

“Sometimes” Jenkins began, “you slaves may feel the sting of Sally’s riding crop on your bare legs or buttocks when she wishes to quicken you in the performance of some task.  This is not intended to physically hurt you but to remind you of your station here and of the need for prompt obedience.”

“Masterson Automotive has long been tempted” Jenkins began, “by the idea that we could use enslaved professionals like yourselves to perform key professional and managerial roles within our firm.  The advantages would be lower cost per hour and the fact our investment in training slaves could never be lost due to worker attrition.   Slaves would not be able to leave their work with us and go to work for our competitors, taking our trade secrets with them.  We have to feed slaves and provide for their medical care, but the costs of housing slaves in barracks style facilities is much less than the costs incurred by free employees for maintaining their own homes, commuting and the like.”

Sally Rogers at this point casually used her riding crop to poke at Edgar’s love handles and to lift his small penis up.

“Does this little thing actually work?”  she demanded.

“Yes ma’am, it did the last time I tried it.” 

“And how did you ‘try’ it?  Did you fuck a woman?”

“No ma’am.  I don’t get many opportunities to do that, being as fat as I am and as shy as I am.  If you must know I masturbated, ma’am.”

“Perhaps I will require you to demonstrate that later on” she replied. 

Edgar’s face was turning red and he looked away to avoid eye contact with Sally or any of the rest of us.

“We are not going to let you use it or play with it for quite some time now” Sally continued.  “When you have impressed us with some spectacular results on your project we will then let your “little economist” come out and play.  We will then reward you by providing you the use of various female bodies for your pleasure, including, quite possibly, the va-jay-jays of your two female colleagues here in this meeting!” she said, looking meaningfully first at Jennifer and then at me.

I caught a fleeting expression from Jennifer that said ‘when hell freezes over’.  My own feelings were somewhat more complex.  I felt so sorry for poor Edgar, to see him mocked so.  I instinctively liked Edgar as a person, though I was not physically attracted to him and probably would never have given him my phone number if we had met when I was a free woman.  Nevertheless I was beginning to feel some solidarity with him in our common predicament and it would give me great pleasure to give him pleasure.  If ordered to fuck him I would do it with good grace.

“Your team assignment slaves”, Jenkins continued, “will be to explore a variety of different skilled jobs within our organization and determine the extent to which indentured apprentices would be practical in these jobs.  For starters I am going to take you all on a tour of one area of our factory where printed circuit control boards are assembled.  Workers in this area must be very detail oriented and possess high finger dexterity.  We find that adult female workers and teenage girls generally work out best.  There is an extended training process for these jobs and we have often lost our training investment because of fairly high employee turnover.  If we could replace “at will” employees with indentured youths we might cut out much of that turnover expense.”

“If you will all follow me we will begin our tour.”   So saying he led us to an elevator and took us to one of the manufacturing floors. 

When we stepped out on the 4th floor we were told we would be entering a clean room environment and we had to all take showers and step through a large blow dry machine.  Jenkins and Ms. Rogers each donned a special clean room suit.  The four of us had to leave our footwear outside.  Then we all walked out on a very busy assembly area.  There was row after row of benches where naked workers were assembling circuit boards.  No one seemed uncomfortable, as the room was draft free and temperature and humidity controlled.  Also there was an infrared light aimed at each worker to simulate the warmth of sunlight.  Each row consisted of twenty teen-age girls and a male or female supervisor.  Each supervisor wore a slave collar but the girls, who were between the ages of 12 and 16, were obviously not slaves as each wore the non-citizen wristband.  I marveled at how uniformly thin their bodies were and how their nimble fingers seemed so well adapted to the assembly of tiny components onto the boards.  I noted the immaturity of their young bodies, breasts that varied from small to none and rather well defined ribcages.

“Why are they all naked?”  I asked.

“It is mainly because this is a clean room.  All workers have to shower and blow dry just as you did before entering this room.  Management felt that not permitting clothing would eliminate the risk of lint and dirt particles contaminating the finished boards.  Also it made it simple for the girls to take an exercise break in the swimming pool mid morning and mid afternoon and return to work without the hassle of wet clothing, lockers, etc.  Then too it was felt that all this nudity would be aesthetically pleasing when we bring customers and other visitors through.  I can assure you these girls are not being subjected to anything of a sexual nature, except possibly for some of the sixteen year olds who consent to sexual service for extra pay.  These girls are all free employees with permission from their parents to work a 15-hour week so as to not conflict with their schoolwork.”

Jenkins then approached a thirty-year-old slender woman with a slave collar who was obviously the supervisor of the first 20 girls.  He caressed one of her impressive breasts and toyed with the nipple briefly, then engaged her in conversation about how production was going.  She dutifully reported how many boards had been turned out in the last 4 hours and how many rejects there had been.  He introduced her as Rebecca to the 4 of us and explained to her that we were slaves like herself and would be doing a study and might need to ask her many questions.

“Rebecca, what did you do for a living when you were free?” I asked her.

“I worked as a production line manager for a competitor of Masterson Automotive” she replied.  “Then the mortgage company raised the interest rate on my mortgage and I could not meet the new payments.  I was enslaved for debt.  Masterson bought me and I have been here these last 6 years.”

“What sort of problems have you experienced in your job as a supervisor here?” I asked.

“The limited hours these teenagers can work and the constant turnover.  I am constantly training new girls.”

“I am sure Stephanie will be coming back to spend more time with you, Rebecca, after she gets her feet on the ground” Jenkins said.  “For now we need to proceed with some of her other orientation.”

Tom Jenkins then led the four of us back to our fishbowl.  He indicated that I should accompany him back to his private office, while the others were to get more familiar with their computer terminals.  When we entered his office he locked the door and motioned me to lie down on his couch.  He proceeded to take all his clothes off and came and lay down on top of me.  His intention was becoming all too clear.

“I have been waiting a long time for this!” he said rather excitedly.

I wasn’t sure what the big deal was.  If he wanted to use me sexually that was his prerogative.  He was, after all, my corporate superior.  I felt his hardness against my thigh, then against my vulva.  When he had lubricated himself, he then positioned his penis and was soon inside me.  Although I felt no particular attraction toward this man, the sensation was pleasant enough as he began pistoning in and out of me.  His penis was thick and made my vagina feel very full.  I did not want him to stop.  Soon I began to meet his thrusts and was lubricating copiously.  I felt my clitoris becoming quite engorged and sensitive.  The muscles of my pelvis and legs were contracting rhythmically as I began to reach my own climax in time with his approaching climax.  Then I felt his seed reach my womb.

At that moment he said something that made no sense to me at the time.  He said “Bright Eyes!”  Then everything changed in an instant.  I suddenly remembered who this man was. 

“You bastard!  I shouted as every muscle in my body began to tense.

He was the one who had tried to fondle my leg when I was a free employee of this company.  He was the one against whom I had filed the sexual harassment claim!   It was his viciousness that had cost me my job and led to the poverty that ultimately cost me my freedom.  And this bastard had the nerve to penetrate me and come inside me and, in fact, still had his half hard penis inside me.  I wanted him out of me, but he would not withdraw.  He intended to enjoy the sensations my body could provide to his penis for as long as possible.

“Do you know why you were enslaved, Stephanie?”

“Because of my debts” I said

:”Not just that, girl.  Lots of people have over $10,000 in debts and don’t get enslavement petitions filed against them.  You did because I wanted you enslaved.  After you filed the sexual harassment claim against me I knew I had to have you, had to be inside you.  Had to become your absolute master.  It was a matter of simple sexual justice.  So I went to Greg Masterson and persuaded him to start the ball rolling.  You didn’t even owe the minimum $10,000 so I had to call in some favors to phony up some additional debt for you to clear the statutory hurdle.  But it all worked out and here you are.  My sex slave for the next ten years!”

“Pull out!  Get off me!”  I wanted to throw him off.  I knew that I was in better physical shape than he was and my muscles should have been able to throw him off easily.  But somehow my muscles would not do as I bid them.  I was helpless physically to resist him.

“Better watch your manners, girl!  I can fuck you six ways from Sunday anytime I want.  Or I can keep you in a perpetual state of sexual frustration.  For now I think I will just stay inside you and enjoy the sensations.”  He began to fondle my inner thighs, my labia and my clitoris.

I absolutely did not want to feel any more arousal because of his fondling or his presence inside me.  So I began to think about the national debt and accounting problems.  It seemed like an hour, but eventually he pulled out.  Then he penis whipped my face and dried his penis off in my hair.

“Clean yourself up, girl.  Then I will expect to see you back in the fishbowl for another staff meeting in fifteen minutes.”

Chapter 13.   Backstage at the Ballet

One day I received an engraved invitation at our agency’s office.  It indicated that I was invited, as a “World Class Patron” of the National Ballet Company of Capitallia, to a special ballet event for patrons only.  It was to be an “Un-Dress Rehearsal” of the company’s upcoming performance of “La Fille Mal Gardee” (The Girl Who Is Not Well Guarded).  Well of course I knew what a “dress rehearsal” was but I had never heard of an undress rehearsal, so I read on.  It seemed that during this very special rehearsal, open to patrons, that all the dancers would dance naked.  This was in part to condition the dancers to performing nude since the company was working on another ballet where they would actually perform naked before the general public.  It was also intended as a special treat for patrons to show the company’s appreciation for our financial support.

It was an evening rehearsal.  On the day of the event I arrived an hour early, as I wanted to go backstage and meet some of the dancers.  At the stage door Zeke, the doorman, recognized me immediately.

“Good evening, Mr. Steelforth!” he exclaimed as he waived me past the stage door checkpoint.  “If you came to see the dancers I can tell you most of them are up in the second floor rehearsal room doing their warm-ups.”

As I entered I heard the cacophony of excited voices and other sounds one can always hear backstage at any theater before a performance.  I also smelled the familiar aroma of greasepaint from the nearby makeup room where some of the dancers were getting their faces done.  I wondered if they would apply some sort of greasepaint to their whole bodies since they would be performing nude.  I passed the open rear door to the stage and saw briefly that scenery was being moved into position and a couple of technicians were checking out the focus on lighting instruments.  I could see the full depth of the stage from the rear and beyond that into the lighted empty auditorium, as neither the Act Curtain nor the fire curtain was down as yet.

I headed up the stairs to the second floor rehearsal room.  Most of the dancers were here as Zeke had said.  They were not naked but attired in the leotards and tights they would normally wear for classes and rehearsals.  The room was setup like dance studios everywhere – mirrored walls and the inevitable barre running most of the way around the room.  The barre resembled a handrail attached to the mirrored walls and was set at a height that dancers could use it as both a hand rest and a leg rest in their warm up exercises.  As I moved about the room dancers would greet me warmly.

“Mr. Steelforth” they would say “we are so glad you could make it to this special performance!  We appreciate so much your generous support for our company!”

Many of these dancers knew me well from earlier visits I had made to their rehearsals.  Those who had not met me personally before had evidently been briefed about my support for the company.  They all regarded me as their sugar daddy.

I looked for Vivian Morentzy – the accomplished young lead dancer slave I had rescued from degrading pole dance work in a bar six months earlier.  She was nowhere to be seen.  Since she would be playing the lead in today’s rehearsal I assumed she had a private dressing room and was preparing there.

I did see one naked dancer at the other end of the room and recognized her right away as Jennifer Maisten, the slave I had seen unconsciously masturbating at the SlendaBond training facility in the cylinder room.  I walked right up to her, introduced myself and began fondling her breasts and nipples.  Jennifer seemed to regard it as purely routine that I should do this. She was well trained.  The Artistic Director of the company had told me that I might do this with any of the enslaved dancers.

I stood and watched Jennifer and the others go through their warm up routines.  They were so elegant as they assumed all the classical ballet positions.  Although Jennifer was otherwise naked, she did have on her toe shoes and leg warmers and was standing in fourth position ‘en pointe’.  As she raised first one leg and then the other to the barre, I could not help myself from caressing her long slender legs and buttocks.  I asked her if this was her full time job now.  She replied that this was her second job and that her day job was at Masterson Automotive as a psychological consultant.

“Oh, then perhaps you know Stephanie Glenn?”  I asked.

“Yes indeed.  Steph and I work on the same project team at Masterson and she also works here at the theater evenings.  The lighting designer needed an all around assistant and gopher so he arranged with Masterson for her to work here evenings.  You can probably find her somewhere backstage now if you wanted to talk to her.”

I decided to check out what was going on down on the stage and perhaps look for Stephanie.  I had only a short while before the performance.  As I was coming back down the stairs from the second floor rehearsal room I ran into the choreographer of today’s performance.  He seemed to know who I was and introduced himself as Leonard Morrison.  We shook hands.

“I have been quite curious, Mr. Morrison, about one thing.  What is it like to work with enslaved dancers?  How is that different than working with your free dancers?”

“There are a number of interesting differences” he replied.  “For one thing we can keep an enslaved dancer in a state of sexual tension most of the time.  We find this most advantageous when dealing with the female dancers.  The sexual tension seems to add an extra dimension to their performances.  Then too, we can also use sexual relief as a kind of reward for a job well done.  With our male dancers we find it advantageous to almost always give them sexual relief just before a performance.”

“What about corporal punishment?”  I asked.

“We can do that too within certain limits prescribed by law.  Generally if I am very disappointed in a dancer and feel he or she is not performing up to the level I require I can use the quirt I carry at all times to administer a sharp reprimand to the naked buttocks of an enslaved dancer.  Naturally we cannot do this with our free dancers.”

“Another thing would be the freedom I have to position a slave dancer the way I want her to stand.  I can put my hands on any part of her body to guide her into the exact position I seek.  With the free dancers I have to spend a lot of time talking them into the position I want.”

“Thank you Mr. Morrison.  I know you have much on your mind and won’t take up any more of your time.”

As I entered the door to the back of the stage a red light was blinking and a technician shouted a heads up warning.   I heard the purr of electric motors and looked above me.   I could see that the huge wrap around cyclorama, or ‘cyc’ as it was known, was being gradually lowered from way above stage level down to ground level position.  This would form the sky backdrop for most scenes.  As soon as it touched the stage floor I made my way around the far end of it toward stage right.  From here I could see that the fire curtain was down and could hear a murmur of audience voices on the other side.    Evidently they had opened the house while I had been upstairs.  It was apparent that a rather elaborate set had also been rolled into position. 

Just then I saw a strange sight.  All of the hundreds of lighting instruments overhead were being tested in some pattern or sequence.  Sharply defined beams of light punched through the darkness to illuminate every point on the stage from every possible overhead position or angle.  Even as I watched I could see that many of these instruments were being re-directed or refocused or having their tints changed – all by some form of remote control.  I looked around and could not see anyone doing this.  Things had certainly changed since I took a technical theater course in college.  Back in the day lighting instruments were bulky and hot and adjusting them meant someone having to climb a tall ladder.  I asked the technician about this and also where I might find Stephanie Glenn.  He said that Frank Matters, the lighting designer was doing all this pre-rehearsal checkout of the lights from his studio office and that Stephanie, his assistant, was with him.  He pointed me toward a door in one rear corner of the stage.

I found myself in an office with an elaborate miniature mockup of the real set and hundreds of extremely tiny lighting instruments that seemed to echo all the real lighting instruments out on the stage.  There was Frank Matters at his desk at a lighting control console and a very naked Stephanie next to him taking notes.  One of his hands was resting affectionately on her naked thigh.

“Ah, Mr. Steelforth!”  He spun around in his chair when he heard me enter.  Stephanie looked startled and amazed to see me here of all places.   “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.  We have heard so much about your generous contributions that have kept this company afloat.  If there is anything we can do to make your visit more pleasurable, just name it!”

“Actually I had been wanting to say hello to Stephanie since I had a little time before curtain and she and I go back a ways, don’t we Miss Glenn?”

“Yes, Mr. Steelforth, we certainly do!” she said.  I could see her face starting to flush and noted increased muscular tension in her neck and shoulders.

“I understand you are Frank’s assistant now, Stephanie.  How did that come about?  I thought accounting was your field?”

“Jennifer Maisten and I work together” Stephanie replied.  “We work days over at Masterson Automotive.  One night she persuaded me to come watch one of her evening rehearsals and my master agreed.  Mr. Matters had been looking for a lighting operator and gopher and decided he would like to have me.  So he called Masterson and they agreed to send me over here every evening to assist him in any way that he might desire.”

“So what do you do here exactly?”  I asked.

“Stephanie is my lighting operator.” Frank quickly interjected.  “She sits at a control console on an elevated open platform just inside the back wall of the auditorium.  From there she can see everything.”

“Does she work naked in full view of the audience?”

“No.  I decided that might be too distracting.  So I usually issue her a cutoff t-shirt and a pair of short shorts when she is working in the auditorium.  When she is back here with me I like to keep her naked.”

“Frank, I had a little exposure to lighting when I was in college.  Just enough to be dangerous.  We learned about lighting for plays.  Would you say that lighting for dance is different?”

“Very much so” he replied.  “With dance performances we are concerned with what we call ‘plasticity’.  That means we must use light to bring out the three dimensional qualities of each dancer’s body, so that the audience can experience each dancer as a kind of living sculpture.  Now that we are starting to have naked performances we have even more of a challenge.  The patrons now want to see every detail clearly, the line of a leg, the voluptuousness of a bared buttock or breast, the form of muscles, tendons, bone structures.  They even want to see clearly the details of each dancer’s genitalia.  With the technology we have today we can use computer software to insure that lighting accents move around to follow the dancers, and that the most interesting parts are always accented, no matter what position or pose the dancer strikes.”

“Amazing.  I had no idea.” I said. 

“There is another thing a lighting designer has to worry about now that we have naked dancers.  Theaters tend to be drafty.  It is now part of my job to see that infrared lighting on stage warms each dancer to the desired degree, but none of them so much as to cause unnecessary sweating.”

“I certainly am looking forward to this evening’s performance.”

“Stephanie and I have just finished our pre-rehearsal run-through of all the cues.” Matters said.  “I have to go upstairs and speak with the choreographer, so you two can have a few minutes privacy if you like.”  So saying he was out the door.

“How are you doing, Stephanie?”

“I am finding slavery hard, sir!”  I saw a tear start to form in the corner of one of her eyes.

I was sure she had mixed feelings about me.  On the one hand I had been instrumental in getting her enslaved.  On the other hand I had also been kind to her in taking care that all her personal possessions were kept safely and not auctioned off.

“It was never meant to be a vacation” I replied.  “It is society’s way of making sure you pay off your debts and your creditors are justly compensated.”

“But what if a person is unjustly enslaved – for debts they did not even owe?”

“Are you saying that was your situation, Stephanie?  Why should I believe you, girl?  And why are you making an appeal such as this to the very man who did the most to enslave you?”

“Because you are a fair man.  Everyone says so.  And you could satisfy yourself as to the facts because you have all my receipts and business records in your possession.”

Stephanie was down on her knees before me now, with a pleading look in her eyes.

“That is true.  I do have all those records.  But if all the debts mentioned in court were not really yours why didn’t your defense lawyer challenge them?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Steelforth.  He is a public defender and maybe he just had too many cases to devote that much time to my case.  Besides that he had no way of knowing what I know now – that my old boss, Tom Jenkins, wanted to fuck me so bad that he contrived a case against me, even falsifying documents, until he gained complete control of me!”

“Has he actually fucked you?”

“If you m-must k-know, yes!”  Her face was red now.

“Under normal circumstances I would say he had every right to fuck you if you are his slave.  But if he set about bringing a false enslavement case against you for the sole purpose of fucking you later, he may have committed a felony!”

“And if it was a felony” Stephanie continued “then surely there must be some way it can be undone!  There must be some way I could be set free!”

“You should contact your lawyer to see if that is possible.”

“But as a slave I don’t even have the right to call him or write to him.  Will you help me Mr. Steelforth?  Will you check my business records that you have in your possession and then talk to my defense attorney, Mr. Green?”

She was still on her knees looking up at me with pleading eyes.  I felt something for her but was reluctant to let her see that she had made any progress with me.

“I can’t promise you anything Stephanie.  But it is possible I will look into it if I have the time.”  I gave her a gentle pat on the head as one might pat a child and bade her rise.

At this point I realized there were but twenty minutes to curtain and I wanted to look in on Vivienne, one of the two principal dancers in this evening’s performance.  I said good-bye to a tearful Stephanie and made my way to the dressing room corridor.  When I found Vivienne’s dressing room I knocked and was admitted.  She was naked but for her pointe shoes and putting on all over body makeup to look her best under stage lights.  She greeted me warmly, no doubt because of the role I had played in getting her back with the ballet company after her enslavement. 

“Mr. Steelforth, I am so pleased to see you!  You saved my career when you interceded for me with my owner!  Is there anything, anything at all, that I can do to show my gratitude?”

“Well I know you are very busy now getting ready for the show.  I expect that your performance tonight will excite me sexually, so I will ask that you remain in your dressing room after the performance until I come for you.  I will want to discharge my excitement in your person!”  I said with a wry smile.

“Certainly, Mr. Steelforth.  I will wait for you!”

“That is all I wanted to say just now.  I know you have much to do and I need to find my seat in the house.”  So saying, I bid good-bye and left her.

As I entered the auditorium from the front of house I saw the raised platform Frank had described to me.  Stephanie, in the scanty attire Frank permitted her, had taken up her position there behind the lighting control console.  She was clearly on view to all audience members as they filed in.  This must have been very embarrassing for her the first time they made her work like this but I sensed she had gotten acclimated to it.

I took my seat in the third row center on the main floor.  A more distant seat, or even a first row balcony seat would have given me a better view of the big picture and a sense of the depth of the staging.  But I liked this close seating location because I liked to study the details of dancer’s bodies at close range.  For me this was, in no small part, a sexual thing.  Particularly when I knew I could look forward to fucking the principal ballerina after the performance.  Vivienne was well trained in the classical dance since she was 8 years old, but reduced to pole dancing after her enslavement.  At her request I had interceded with her owner and persuaded him that she should be restored to the art form for which she had so long trained.  Vivienne would be playing the lead role of Lise in this production.

As I read the program notes I learned that the title “La Fille Mal Garde” means “the girl who is not well guarded”. ** It is the story of a 16-year-old girl with very protective parents and a male suitor who is very resourceful in overcoming obstacles.  The ballet, written originally by Jean Dauberval, dates from the time of the French Revolution, having been first performed in 1789 in Bordeaux.  It is considered to be one of the happiest and sunniest of ballets.  It is romantic yet realistic, both touching and amusing. 

As the house lights dimmed, and the jumble of voices in the auditorium became hushed, I thought of the pleasure I would have penetrating the principal ballerina right after the show.  Her exquisite grace and beauty would be all mine to enjoy.  My penis began to harden at the thought.

The curtain went up on an elaborate set.  It was wonderful to see a whole stage full of naked dancers moving to classical music.  For me this wasn’t just about looking at cunts, though there certainly were some magnificent cuntscapes to be enjoyed each time a female dancer would lift one leg high or do a pirouette.  I enjoyed this to be sure but there were other delights as well.   What I enjoyed fully as much was just the unbroken lines of all these slender bodies, the long elegant legs with definition of bone and muscle not obscured by tights and firm well-muscled buttocks that could be examined with no intervening leotards to dampen one’s pleasure.  Then too there were all the lovely breasts on display with, in many cases, erect nipples.

I had wondered before the show started what it would be like for all the naked male dancers.  I had visions of each male dancer looking ridiculous with his penis flopping all about every time he moved.  Surprisingly this did not happen.  I had to infer that something had been done to “stabilize” each penis so that it moved very little.   Whatever had been done in no way interfered with the ability of audience members to clearly see what at least some of them would want to see in detail.  I would have to ask Vivienne about this after the show.

Ballerinas taping their breasts had long solved the problem of distracting movement, for female dancers.  Since that wouldn’t work with nudity, using only dancers with relatively small breasts now solved the problem.

One of the highlights of the production was the Grand pas de deux where Lise dances with her suitor.  This production was probably unique in its use of a naked couple to perform this playful and flirtatious dance.  The choreographer had gone even further than that by having the male dancer erect through this dance, and the female with her breasts flushed and nipples erect.  I had seen other productions of this ballet but Vivienne as Lise exhibited the swift intricate footwork as exquisitely as I have ever seen it – such neat pointes, such beautifully phrased sequences, such light jumps.  I thought I had died and gone to heaven to think I would soon be fucking this exquisite creature.  Vivienne, after all, was an enslaved dancer, and I had full permission from her owner to enjoy her to the fullest.

At the conclusion there were many curtain calls and shouts of “Bravo” and “Brava!”  The audience was on its feet.  Eventually the calls were over and the house lights were coming up.  I made my way backstage by way of the “green room”.  I had to pass security to get backstage but I was well known and there was no problem.

I let myself into Vivienne’s dressing room with the master key I had been provided.  She was still quite naked from her performance, still had on her stage makeup and her pointe shoes, and was somewhat breathless from her exertions and the excitement of the curtain calls.  Fortunately star dressing rooms each came with a cot.  I locked the door and wordlessly pulled her down on that cot, and soon was inside her.  She wrapped those long slender legs around mine and bucked with all the energy and grace of a ballerina and seemed to be trying to draw my penis in.  Soon I exploded in my delight of what had been my best evening in recent memory.

** Readers not familiar with ballet or this particular ballet may find short video excerpts of this ballet on YouTube.

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