A 'Routine' Enslavement

Chapter 16.   Steelforth Is Challenged

It was a Thursday afternoon when I received a phone call at my agency that was to profoundly change the course of my career as a slaver.  It was from a Paul Gregory who identified himself as the company psychologist for Masterson Automotive Group.  He said the subject of his call to me was concerning Stephanie Glenn, who of course I well remembered since my own examination of her person and from the time I drove her to the slave training facility.  I was, moreover, the person who had done the most to bring about her enslavement.  Or so I thought at the time.

“Mr. Steelforth”, the voice said, “I know you are a busy man but I have a concern that a very intelligent and sensitive young woman may have been wrongfully enslaved.  I believe your own actions in this matter may have been entirely ethical and well within the law - based on the information that was being fed to you at the time.  Nevertheless, the young lady has convinced me that much of that information may have been lies deliberately fabricated in order to wrongfully convict her, and that the fabrication was by a conspiracy of people who stood to profit by her enslavement.”

“That is quite an accusation” I replied.  “Do you have evidence to back it up?”

“Unfortunately I do not” he continued, “but she has laid out a plausible case and I was hoping you would be willing to look into the matter to see if any corroborating facts can be found.”

“You are asking me to work to turn up evidence against my own client?”  I asked, astonished.

“Maybe not your immediate client, Richmond Slendabond, but against your client’s client.”

“But that would be Masterson Automotive Group - the company you work for!” I blurted out.

“Yes it would, but hopefully not the company as such, but only a small clique within the company” he replied.

“Isn’t it risky for you to be calling for an investigation that could implicate important people in your own firm?”

“Indeed it is.  That is why, until we learn just who is involved, this phone call never took place.  Is that agreed?”

“I will agree to that and I will look into the matter, but I can’t promise anything yet.”

“Understood.  Let us leave it at that for now.  Good bye.”

I remembered that night backstage at the ballet where Stephanie had gotten down on her knees and pleaded with me to look into her claim of unjust enslavement.  She had pointed out, reasonably enough, that all her business records were now in my custody.  I felt moved to investigate her claim, particularly now that there had been some corroboration from a Masterson employee.

That night, upon arriving home I retired to a certain area in the attic of my home where I had stored all of Stephanie’s books, papers, clothing and personal effects.  Everything, in fact, that defined who she had been when she was free.  Now, of course, she was legally a non-person and could have no right to privacy of any kind.  All her most intimate things could have been sold at public auction to the highest bidder.  Partly as an act of kindness to the girl, but also because the girl fascinated me, I had called in a favor from Morgan Richmond and arranged to buy all her things for a token sum.  I had been intending to spend an evening perusing all these things anyway, if only for my own amusement.  After all I did have a fascination with this girl and wished to know all I could learn about her from her personal possessions. 

I began by flipping through the pages of her high school yearbook.  I saw that she had been captain of the school’s cheerleading squad.  These photos showed her to be a perfect physical specimen.  She also looked a bit ‘stuck up’ in these pictures.  I could well imagine how she might have lorded it over her classmates, snubbing other girls, rudely rejecting the advances of boys she thought were beneath her.  Well nobody could be beneath her now, I thought with a wry smile.  I had known girls like her in high school and there was a part of me that experienced intense pleasure at the thought of how such a girl could be brought so low.  Another part of me knew that if she had been enslaved unjustly, that those of us who cared about the integrity of the system would have to overcome such feelings and see that such an injustice was rectified.

I moved on to a photo scrap album and saw some tantalizing pictures of how she had looked in white tennis shorts at the age of 13.  She showed that particular charm of a girl on the verge of young womanhood.

I reached for the box marked ‘clothing’ and proceeded to idly handle all her skirts, blouses, hosiery, bras and panties.  There was another box marked ‘unlaundered clothing’ and the scent of her was on these things and I felt myself beginning to get aroused. 

I found a little red book called ‘My Diary’ which had a locking mechanism and required a key to open.  Fortunately that key had been taken from her when she was arrested and was now conveniently taped to the back of the diary.  With a quickening of my pulse I put that key in the diary’s lock and turned.  What a world then opened for my enjoyment!  There was an entry describing her experiences and emotions the day she first experienced menstruation.  There was an entry describing the pleasure she experienced when she first discovered her clitoris.  There was quite a long section of many pages describing her infatuation with a high school boy and her feelings when he didn’t invite her to the school’s formal dance.  Getting inside a young girl’s head in this way was exhilarating for me.   The voyeurism of all this plus the aromas of her clothing caused me to tent my pants.

But then I reminded myself that I had a more pressing purpose.

One of the first things I discovered was that she had kept a ledger where she recorded all of her financial obligations.  If she took a loan from anyone or bought anything on credit there was an entry for it in her ledger.  How like an accountant to be so methodical.  Then I found a file where there were copies of all loan documents and credit card slips that matched up exactly with the ledger entries.  Oddly, the grand total of all these obligations did not even reach $4,000, let alone exceed $10,000 as had been alleged in court.

I had brought her court file with me from the office.  In it were detailed all the debts which supposedly totaled over $10,000, the statutory minimum for enslaving a person.  I began to notice there were quite a few major loans and credit purchases that were not in Stephanie’s ledger.  I compared her signature on those items with the signatures for items that Stephanie kept in her file.  There appeared to be a difference, even to my untrained eye.  If these documents had been forged, who would have done it and how could I prove such a thing?

Finally I finished my explorations into her personal things.  It was a warm early evening in the springtime.  I was driving home in my chauffer driven limo with the wine bar in the rear seat.  I was feeling the beginnings of a stiffening of my penis and a certain tightness in my balls as I thought about the ease with which I had been able to invade Stephanie’s private things and her private thoughts.  I needed some relief.  So I had my chauffer drive me down one of the streets in lower Manhattan where I knew there would be lots of scantily clad prostitutes working.  As my limo turned toward the East River on Fourth Street I saw that there would be abundant young people to choose from and that, in this part of town at least, the working gals and guys were blatantly displaying their bodies and the services that might be had.

Prostitution was entirely legal in Capitallia; in fact the government encouraged it.  It was considered good public policy that there should be an abundance of interesting sexual experiences available to match the lusty needs of middle class citizens - both men and women.  Turning tricks was one of the most common and lucrative occupations for young men and women who were not citizens.   There was no stigma to this work and quite a few of them could save enough money after perhaps ten years to finally make the transition into the citizen class.

Citizens could freely partake of the fleshly delights on offer without having to worry about catching something.   This was because the government also considered it good public policy to provide good quality free medical services to all working gals and guys. 

Street prostitution was not limited to any particular district of the city but it took different forms in different parts of town.  Streetwalkers on Fifth Avenue and Sixth Avenue and much of the Upper East Side were required to be fashionably dressed according to a dress code.  Clothing could be form revealing but must be elegant and generally somewhat expensive.  The females were required to wear long dresses and high heels, while male prostitutes must wear expensive tailored shirts and slacks.  They could not advertise their profession in any overt way, other than by wearing a certain approved design of earrings.  The client always must be the one to initiate contact.  In other parts of the city working guys and gals could wear more casual attire and discreetly flirt with passersby.  The working people in still other areas could dress in a highly provocative manner, exposing nearly all of their bodies to public view, and make very explicit offers of specific sexual services to anyone who showed the slightest interest.  It was to this part of town that I had directed my driver.

I kept the tinted windows rolled up at first.  I displayed a small symbol on the outside of the car so that the street people could tell it was a male client looking to pick up a female.  Several of the women, wearing micro skirts and revealing blouses, approached my car and thrust their hips suggestively in my direction.  I could hear their voices.  One called out “Fuck me mister, only thirty dollars!”  I knew I could have her for less.  The going rate for fucking was only twenty.  But her legs weren’t very long.  I motioned for my driver to move on.  Further down the block I saw something very exciting.  She was slender as a reed and with well defined legs that just wouldn’t quit.  Besides her high heels she wore only a g-string and short blouse exposing a very flat and firm midriff.  Her buttocks were entirely visible, well rounded and muscular.  She was a natural redhead as I could readily determine from wisps of her pubic hair that escaped her all too brief string bottom. 

I rolled my window down and crooked my finger at this redhead.  She came at once to my door and introduced herself.

“Hi!  My name is Sheila.  I fuck real good mister, don’t require you to use a condom and I don’t rush you.  I am also a very good cocksucker.  What is your pleasure sir?”

“First things first.  Let me see your photo ID and scan it through my laptop.”

She handed me her card, as she was required to do by law.  I could see the photo on the card was clearly of her.  The card said “Sheila Brown, Public Prostitute” and was issued by the State of New York.  I swiped it through the scanner.  Up popped a summary of her medical history for the last ten years and the date of her most recent medical checkup and most recent vaccinations.  She was clear.  The name on her card was, of course, a “working name” and not a real name, nor did the computer display her real name or her actual place of residence.  I clicked on another item and got a history of any comments and/or complaints noted by previous clients.  There were quite a few positive comments on her fucking ability and no complaints.  Then I pulled up her price schedule and learned what her standard fees were for fucking, for blowjobs and for other services.  Another click and I was presented with a tally screen showing how many tricks she had turned that week so far.  She would easily make the quota she needed to keep qualified for free medical services and to qualify for the government’s ten percent matching bonus for the week.  I handed her back her card with a nod indicating that I was satisfied.

“Now it is my turn”, she said.  “If you don’t mind sir, I would like to run your card through my hand scanner to see if you have any kind of record.  It is purely routine and necessary for my protection.”

“No problem”.  I handed her my card with my photo and my “pleasure name”, an alias I used only for hiring ladies of the night.  Her scanner soon showed her that no other prostitutes had filed complaints against me.  Only the disappearance of a working girl or a sworn complaint or affidavit filed in a police station would ever get logged against my card.  Routine transactions for sex services were never logged.

I opened my door to her and gestured for her to join me in the back seat of the limo.  I rolled up the partition separating my compartment from the driver’s space that we might have some privacy.  I rested one hand on her warm slender thigh.

“Business first” she said in a not unpleasant voice, removing my hand from her leg, and told me her price.

So I pulled out my anonymous debit card and slid it through the scanner, entered her price, and clicked on “Purchase Service”.  Soon a paper receipt came out of the laptop that I handed her and she seemed satisfied.  I put my hand back on her warm and well-defined thigh and this time she did not object.

“Sheila, why don’t you remove your clothing now so I can enjoy you more?” I said as I tripped a hidden switch that locked both doors to the rear compartment from both the inside and the outside.  She would not be leaving now until I was quite finished with her.

There was a rustle of clothing and soon we were both quite naked.  I laid her back down lengthwise on the seat and mounted her.  The pleasure of entering her was simply delicious.  She was tight and very pneumatic and lubricated fairly well considering it was a commercial transaction.  Her muscular legs wrapped around my legs and produced the most wonderful sensation.  My car was moving slowly in heavy traffic.  By the time we had traveled three blocks I had spent myself in her.  I quickly dressed and bade her do the same.  I handed her my business card and told her I could use a girl like her in my office.  I suggested she look me up later in the week if she was interested in an office job, then handed her a generous cash tip and opened the door for her exit.  The whole episode had taken little more than ten minutes.

I still had her profile up on my laptop.  I decided I would give her a good performance review on the fucking and also a generous tip.  But there was something about her that was familiar.  I clicked on another item to see what her ‘day job’ might be.  I learned to my shock that she was an elementary school teacher.  Now everything clicked into place.  I knew this woman by her real name.  She was my nephew’s fourth grade teacher!  I had met her at a parent teacher conference when I was substituting for my nephew’s father, my own brother!  Had she recognized me?  If she had she had kept it to herself.  Prostitutes learn to be discreet in such matters.

After a fitful night’s sleep I returned to my office next day.  At the time of the enslavement proceeding I was acting as agent for Richmond Slendabond, and it was that firm that had given me all this evidence of her indebtedness to use in court.  I needed to track this information back to its source.  In view of the delicacy of the situation I thought it best to call on my old and trusted friend and client, Morgan Richmond, who was the founder and CEO of the firm that bore his name.  I knew Morgan to be an honorable man who would want to catch the forgers as much as I would.  But it would be best if I broached this topic with him one on one.  When I called to request a meeting I did not indicate what the nature of the subject would be, only that it would be “a delicate matter”.  We agreed to meet for lunch at the Stallions Club.

“Morgan - thank you for accepting my invitation” I said as I greeted him and we were shown to a private dining room I had reserved for this meeting.

“Always a pleasure to dine with you Bill” he replied.  “You certainly have gone first class with this!”  he replied, noticing that a couple of naked slave girls were manacled to the wall in alcoves of our private room, apparently available for any pleasures we might request.  Both were pretty and slender, one Eurasian, the other an American black.  Their pubic hair had been trimmed back enough to make their vulvas quite visible.

Our drink orders were taken and when the waiter brought us these drinks he also placed the key to the girls manacles on our table.  I instructed him that we would summon him with the call bell when we were ready to order our food and were not to be disturbed until then.  After he left us I unlocked the girls handcuffs and released them from their alcoves.  I gestured to Morgan to make his choice.  He chose the black girl and so I would have the Eurasian.  Soon they both crawled under our table and were hidden entirely by the long tablecloth.  They began to adjust our clothing and to apply their young mouths to provide us relaxing pleasure to accompany our wine.  I decided that we should just get into a more relaxed mindset before proceeding to the business at hand.  Such preliminaries were common practice for business lunches in Capitallia.  After about twenty minutes of such pleasuring we both reached our climaxes, the girls washed us with warm scented oils and adjusted our clothing back to what it had been before they started.  The girls waited under the table for any further requests and, at a gesture from Morgan, I indicated that they should leave us now.  He had obviously decided it was time to move things along.  Between the girls and the wine we were both sufficiently relaxed now.

“Now what is this ‘delicate matter’ you wanted to discuss?” he said.

“It is about an enslavement I managed for your firm about a year ago, Morgan.”  I have lately come across some evidence that I may have unjustly enslaved a young woman on what can only be called ‘fabricated’ debts.”

“And you think my firm may have been involved in this - this ‘fabrication’, as you call it?”

“I am not sure who, exactly, is involved at this point” I replied.  “I do know you set high standards for integrity in your firm, and I felt sure you would want to assist me in getting to the bottom of this.  You have spent many years building up your business and trying to satisfy the public and the legislature that slavery can be run on an ethical basis.  The last thing you need is for a scandal to break out that you could have handled quietly.”

“Quite right, Bill.  Quite right,” he sighed.  “Who is the young lady in question?”

“Stephanie Glenn,” I replied.  She is a young accountant your firm had me acquire so that she could be trained in your facility and later sold to your client, Masterson Automotive.”

“I don’t believe I have heard that name before.  I was not personally involved in that deal,” he responded.

“On a tip from an employee of Masterson Automotive,” I continued, “I went through and compared all debts claimed against her in court against her own meticulous records.  I also compared signatures.  What I found is most disturbing.”

“And who is this whistle blower?” he said with raised eyebrows.

“I have promised to keep him out of this since his own job could be at risk,” I replied.

“Fair enough.  If you will furnish me copies of all these alleged debt documents, indicating which ones you find suspicious, I will track this down with my people to find out exactly who fed us this miss-information - if that is what it turns out to be,” he responded.  “I can assure you, Bill, that I want to get to the bottom of this as much as you do!”

I handed him the file I had prepared for just this purpose.  We then called for the waiter, ordered our meals and the conversation turned to lighter topics.  After dessert and coffee we shook hands as old friends do, and parted.

Two days later my office phone rang and it was Morgan.

“Bill, I have had one of my key investigators working on the matter we discussed.  It turns out first that one Jeff Duncan, the Human Resources Director at Masterson, supplied all of the information to my team about what debts she owed.  He was also the one who approached us about enslaving her in the first place.  But our second finding was that we had bought up all the debts you questioned from one particular credit card firm.   Jeff Duncan and some other Masterson people apparently own that firm.  We have not been able to determine as yet if Greg Masterson is involved.  Naturally we hope that turns out not to be the case, as it would mean I would have to give up Masterson as a client.”

“How would you suggest I proceed then?”  I replied.

“You can’t handle this alone, Bill.  You need to bring in that attorney who originally defended Stephanie at trial and see if he can bring to court a ‘Petition to Nullify a Wrongful Enslavement’.  If fraud has been committed there may also be a criminal case and I will have our attorneys work on that aspect as we develop further information.”

“Morgan, I am concerned for Stephanie’s safety while all this is going on.  If the wrong people at Masterson get wind of our investigation before we have all our ducks in a row, some ugly ‘accident’ could befall her to make any further legal proceedings moot.”

“I think I may be able to cover that, Bill.  I am going to have my Training Director, Charlie Witherspoon, contact Masterson and say that, in reviewing Stephanie’s training records, we discovered a significant omission in her conditioning that should be rectified to make her more obedient.  We will request that they send her back to us for a month of ‘enhanced training’ to make her a more pleasing sexual slave.  I think they will go for that.  Then she will be in a safe place while we bring all this to fruition.”

“Excellent plan, Morgan!”  With that we concluded our conversation.

My next move was to contact Michael Green who had defended her at trial.  His defense had been slip shod in my opinion.  Obviously he had not done proper trial preparation.  I would have to contain my rage to have any chance of gaining his cooperation now.

When I sat down with Mr. Green in his office I laid out the case so far that Stephanie had been framed.  He became highly defensive and kept protesting that I didn’t understand his business - that he had far more clients to defend than there were hours in a day, and that the county only pays so much for each case, and so forth.  I told him I had not come to judge him but rather to give him an opportunity to right a great wrong.  Finally he stopped with the defensive nonsense and began to address himself to the facts before us.

He indicated that he would investigate all options but that matters would have to be held in abeyance until after his return from a long planned vacation.  The man had no sense of urgency.  I left him feeling quite frustrated.

It was late in the afternoon and I was headed home when I remembered that I needed some casual laborers to clean up my yard.  There had been a storm that had brought down a number of trees so there was a need for some manual labor to pick up all the heavy tree branches and other debris from that storm.

So on the way home I stopped at one of the day-hire centers where cheap labor could easily be obtained on short notice.  When I entered the place it was obvious that there were far more would be workers than there were job postings.  I could have my pick of the hundreds of workers waiting there hopefully for the chance to hire out for one day at a time.  These were non-citizens who had limited options for working since they could not practice a profession or own their own businesses.  They were limited to non-skilled jobs.  Many had a look of desperation on their faces, knowing if they did not land a day job for tomorrow they might not eat tomorrow night!  Or their families might not eat.

It was customary in such labor centers for the prospective workers to be scantily clad, that prospective employers might be enticed by a display of flesh.  Each one would have an identifying number on a cord around his or her neck. There was a kind of bidding system where a worker would hear his or her number called, would go up to the stage and say a few words about his or her skills and willingness to work hard.  Then there would be bids and the worker would be led away by the highest bidder.  Some workers would receive no bids and would have to return to their seats in the hall and wait for another chance to go up and be bid upon in another hour or two.

Although these men and women were not technically slaves, it was extremely rare for any offer of employment to be refused.  The workers were not free to pick and choose among offers.  They were expected to go with the highest bidder.  If they did not they would be disqualified from offering their services in this labor market for the next 7 days.

This whole setup was, of course, very congenial for employers like myself who had jobs to offer.  We had our pick among hundreds of eager workers and could select on physical appearance, apparent intelligence and skills.  Often the workers were willing to offer employers ‘fringe benefits’ such as sexual services in order to secure an assignment.

It was the class system in Capitallia, enforcing a distinction between citizens and non-citizens, which made it so pleasant and cheap to hire unskilled or semi-skilled workers on the cheap.  Many citizens took advantage of this system for lawn work, for babysitters, for getting their cars washed, and so forth.  So the citizens loved it.

The citizen class was being continually refreshed by an influx of the ‘best and brightest’ individuals from the lower class.  The influx depended, for the most part, on promising non-citizens being sponsored by wealthy citizens who would advance them their first year’s tax.   Some non-citizens were also able to make the transition by prostituting themselves for a number of years.   At the same time any citizen not paying the citizen tax 2 years in a row or failing the annual citizenship test twice would lose his or her citizenship.  Some of the people here available for hire by the day had been citizens a few years back.

I quickly picked out 4 young people in their twenties, two young men and two young women, that appeared physically fit for this rather demanding physical work.  The cost to have the four of them work all day tomorrow cleaning up my lawn was minimal.  I led them away from the labor exchange and had them climb in the servant section of my mini van.

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