Westbound - part 3

[dtrelsky]

(A special thanks to Joe Doe, who created the heart of this section and IMO really made the story work!)

The lights flickered back on and I shook my head to clear it. Everyone had been thrown against the sides of their cages, the sides oriented toward the front of the truck. The trailer rumbled ominously, and a few minutes later it came to a halt.

The trailer sat for a few minutes in silence, except for the moans and exclamations of the women. I reached back through the bars: my clothes were not there. I had lost my grip on them during the rapid deceleration, and I could see them in a heap against the front wall of the trailer, well out of my reach.

The rear door opened and Nicolaides entered, carrying a canvas tool bag. “Blowout, ladies! Everyone out while we wait for repair.”

He spotted my pile of clothes at the end of the aisle and walked straight for them. I glanced at Linda, who looked back at me with a surprised expression, then watched helplessly as Nicolaides gathered my belongings, including the collar I used to open the cage.

“Well, well, well,” he said, then turned to me with a disgusting grin on his face. “What an interesting development this is.” He bundled my clothing into the wall locker, leaving only the collar in his big, hairy hands.

“I need those back,” I said, in the most confident voice I could muster.

Nicolaides made a show of locking the wall cabinet, then turned and smiled at me. “For safe keeping,” he said.

“What?” I said, sounding as exasperated as I felt. “I don’t need them kept safe, I need them returned to me now.”

“Ladies, Back Hands,” he commanded, ignoring me completely. The women backed up to their cage doors, seated with hands clasped low behind them.

Nicolaides started at the far end with Mary, reaching through the bars and placing handcuffs on her wrists, then moved on until everyone was handcuffed but me.

He squatted down in front of my cage, looking me over; I instinctively put my hands over my breasts. “Oh, we can’t have that,” he said, setting down the tool bag and pulling out a pair of heavy steel handcuffs.

“Turn around and place your hands by the opening at the bottom of the cage door,” he said.

“Wait a minute,” I said, “I removed my clothing in an effort to establish—“

“I’m not going to tell you again,” he interrupted, and drew out of his pants pocket a small metal rod that he flicked with his wrist. It telescoped open into a sort of baton, but with a pair of copper spikes at the end. Suddenly a blueish electrical arc appeared between the spikes, making a sinister crackling noise.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I said, my voice getting a bit squeaky with fright. “Your manager said—“

“I’m the supercargo on this trip, which is like being the captain of a ship,” Nicolaides said, clearly enjoying this. “What I say goes. And right now, I’m securing you like the rest of the cargo for health and safety reasons. You can file a complaint when we reach our destination. Now, Back Hands.”

I glanced around at the others: I caught Linda’s eye across the aisle, and she mouthed the words do it at me.

I’m not going to lie, I was trembling a little bit, and finding it hard to breathe, but I did what he asked and felt the cold metal of the handcuffs tighten around my wrists, first one and then the other. Remembering the electric prod, I gritted my teeth to keep my mouth shut.

I heard the folding steps drop down from the rear exit, then Chuy climbed in to the trailer. “Where’s Miss Ontkean?” he said.

I heard Nicolaides say “Lucky Seven,” referring to my cage number.

“What? For real?” Chuy said; Nicolaides took him by the arm and the two of them stepped outside for a few minutes.

When they returned, they began taking the women out of the cages one-by-one; unlike the previous times, they were attaching the coffle chain to their collars while inside the trailer. Finally they secured the last woman (Linda) and Nicolaides squatted down in front of my cage again.

“I’m going to open your cage, and I want you to sit there like a good girl until I tell you otherwise. Understand?”

I nodded.

“I need to hear you say it,” Nicolaides said, “Company policy. Also” — I could hear his smirk in his voice — “You need to call me sir.”

I leaned forward a bit, tightening my stomach in fear: this was bad and about to get worse. But I said what he wanted.

“Yes, sir, I understand.”

“Good girl,” he condescended, then took my collar (why am I calling it “my” collar? It’s the one I took out of the cabinet to open the cage door, but it wasn’t assigned to me… at least not yet) out of the tool bag and opened the door. Predictably I felt the smooth metal slide around my neck and close with a soft click that right now sounded to me like a cannon shot.

“Found it,” Chuy said, and handed something to Nicolaides. I heard the wall locker close as Nicolaides attached something to my collar. It had to be the plastic tag I got from Grace early this morning, and Chuy must have dug it out of my coat pocket.

“Now turn around and come out of the cage on your knees, nice and slow,” Nicolaides said.

When I turned around and looked up, I saw Chuy waiting behind Nicolaides, holding a length of chain.

For me.

So when I stood they locked the chain to my collar, and led me to the back of the coffle. I was locked in place behind Linda, and we all stood quietly in the aisle facing the back door.

Nicolaides stood behind me (I could feel his hot breath on my neck), and I felt his rough hands caressing my butt cheeks; I decided not to say anything.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured. “Couldn’t help yourself, could you? Just had to find out what it’s like to be a slave. All you educated professional bitches are the same: spend some time around slaves, and in no time you’re hot for the collar. Is this what you wanted? Being touched by a man old enough to be your father because you can’t stop me?”

He reached around to the front of my pelvis and ran his hands through my thick pubic curls, then started tracing his fingers along my vaginal lips. I shuddered and goosebumps broke out on my skin.

Nicolaides took his hands and grasped my breasts, fondling them; his fingers were wet, and smelled like my arousal scent. I stared at them, unsure what to think — I must be experiencing some kind of stress reaction. There is no way I am getting turned on by this. “Please…” I said.

“Please what?” he said.

“Please, sir,” I said, “don’t touch me like that. I’m not a slave, I’m a free woman. And as soon as we reach—“

He pinched my left nipple, hard, with his rough, hairy fingers. “Quiet,” he whispered, and gave it a slight twist. I let out an eep but otherwise kept my mouth shut.

“Good girl,” he said, slapped me on my bottom, stepped back and shouted “LET’S GO.”

Chuy opened the back door, tugged on the lead chain, and Mary started forward causing each of us to move as the slack in the chains tightened.

Remember earlier I mentioned the term slave naked? It means when a woman is completely naked from head to toe except for her collar and any minimal restraints.

That was me now. I was slave naked. I had never done this before, not even play-acting with my ex-boyfriend or fooling around with my soldier. I couldn’t do this. This is not right. I’m about to be marched slave naked out into public in a slave coffle. On the side of a highway, no less. Time to end this bullshit.

I loosened the emergency beacon from the side of my tooth, and bit down on it, hard. There should be a response, usually a triple pulse of vibration to let you know your message was received.

Nothing happened.

Probably because I’m still in the trailer, might be blocking the signal. Like it or not, I had to wait.

Then the chain attached to my collar pulled me forward, and I marched out of the trailer, down the steps and into the night.

We were on the shoulder of the highway. I could see a line of road flares on the shoulder behind the truck, warning oncoming drivers; the old, gritty asphalt was rough on my bare feet. It was dark and there were no streetlights, so we had to be in the middle of nowhere, which is as good a description as any of western Texas. We were stopped just before a small overpass, which Chuy was leading us toward; as we filed down the side of the truck I could see the shredded tires on the trailer.

But then I got some good news: four quick pulses on my tooth beacon. It must have picked up a cell tower somewhere outside and reported in. Help was on the way!

Chuy placed us under the overpass, ran a chain around a huge concrete support, and locked it to the chain on Mary’s collar. We weren’t going anywhere. He told us all the sit down, a truck had been dispatched from El Paso to come pick us up so we’d be moving again soon.

It was warm with a slight breeze, and we could sit on the thick grass near the support pole, so I wasn’t uncomfortable. Traffic was sparse, but a couple of times a car passed by, briefly illuminating us in its headlights. I moved as close to Linda as I could, raising my knees up to try and hide my breasts and crossing my ankles to hide my crotch. A big rig drove past, and gave us a double blast with its air horn. I felt like we were gazelles surrounded by lions.

I saw Nicolaides, carrying my bag, jump down from the cab of the truck and walk over to us.

“I had to make a few edits to your recordings,” he said, and showed me the storage drive in my bag. “Basically everything from the blowout onward. Which reminds me,” he said, removing the recorder glasses from my face and dropping them in the bag.

Without those glasses I felt truly naked.

————————

A large RV motorhome approached us, the driver hitting the brakes so hard that the tires SQUEALED as he spotted the gaggle of slave sitting on the grass by the underpass. For a moment I thought he was going to drive into us, but he went under the bridge and pulled over to the side, parking on the shoulder. I watched with a mounting sense of dread as the door opened and the driver shamble out. He was fat, over 50, I’d guess, with a bad haircut and a sandy dad-stache. He looked at the truck ahead of him with the damaged tire, then looked at the naked slave girls. Smiling with his crooked teeth, he made a beeline for us.

“We have company ladies,” Nicolaides said, chuckling. “PRESENT!”

The other girls all stood, held their heads up, pulled their elbows as close together as they could making their chests stick out, and spread their legs wide. Chest out, chin up! I stood too, but with my head bowed to hide my face, my shoulders hunched in a fruitless attempt to cover my breasts, and my legs crossed to hide my pubes.

Nicolaides smiled as he walked down the line; he stopped in front of me and pulled a short, thick piece of leather from his back pocket, not much over a foot long and an inch or so wide, but very stiff with a D-ring on one end; it looked like something a prison guard would own. He used the tip to lift up my chin and smiled at me, moving in so close I could feel his hot, stale breath.

“You too, Frankie. You’re cargo now, remember? You’re not special anymore, which is what you wanted. That means you present, same as the rest.”

The RV peeper moved in for a closer look. Fishing shirt, cargo shorts, camouflage-colored Crocs, and red baseball cap. “I’m not presenting for that pervert,” purposefully hissing my open defiance loud enough for the fat tourist to hear.

Wait a minute, I thought — did Nicolaides just call me Frankie?

“I was hoping you’d get all slave stupid,” Nicolaides said, chuckling. “I’m the captain of this ship, remember?” he said, tapping my chin with the heavy strap. “And since I don’t have to sell your pretty ass, I can do what I’ve wanted to do since the moment I met you.”

Nicolaides placed his hand on my belly to steady me, then raised the strap high in the air. I felt the pain explode across my bottom before I heard the whoosh or the sharp crack of impact.

Nicolaides wasn’t playing; I had defied him, and now I was being punished.

“Whip her, Master! She disgraces our coffle!” Linda said, laughing.

“Yeah, whip her naughty bottom,” Brooke said, joining in on the fun.

“She has it coming!” Kenzie added. WTF you two?

It was almost a festive atmosphere, my “fellow” slave girls laughing and cheering him on as he whipped my bottom, hard. I sobbed, my face wet with tears, twisted my cuffed arms, and did a little jig, knees up high with each stroke, my breasts bouncing around as the fat tourist watched my discipline with open amusement.

Nicolaides used each stroke to drive my status home: “YOU (CRACK!) WILL (CRACK!) OBEY (CRACK!) LIKE (CRACK!) ANY (CRACK!) OTHER (CRACK!) SLAVE GIRL (CRACK! CRACK!)!”

I, for my part, dutifully agreed, shrieking in between sobs. “Please, Sir! Please, Master! I’ll be good! I’ll do whatever you say, Master!”

I hated the son of a bitch, but in that moment I believed I would.

“Make her suck your cock,” Linda suggested helpfully. The other girls laughed.

Thanks, ladies. Feminist solidarity in action.

When Nicolaides finally stopped my ass was cross-cut with a series of painful welts — honestly, I had lost count of how many times he hit me. I knew sitting would be impossible for a while; even if I did get my clothes back, I knew I’d probably prefer making the rest of the trip pantsless and on all fours in a slave cage. I felt like I’d suffered a bad burn from my knees up to the small of my back.

“PRESENT!” he shouted.

The laughing coffle fell silent as they thrust out their breasts and strained to spread their legs wider. This time, I joined them, exposing myself fully in the humiliating pose traditional to a slave girl in an inspection pen.

“Good girl,” Nicolaides said. “You’re a fast learner.”

So my “slave” experience included being stripped, collared, cuffed, chained to a coffle, marched outside, displayed like a piece of meat, and harshly disciplined on the side of a public highway.

As bad as it was, it was about to get worse.

Casually giving my tortured bottom a firm squeeze of ownership, Nicolaides left his new-collared and freshly-disciplined slave girl quietly sobbing in her chains as he turned his attention to his visitor.

“Troubles with your truck?” the fat man said. “Need a hand?”

“Naw, thank ya though,” Nicolaides replied, slipping easily into a good-ole-boy Texas drawl. “It’s nothing we can’t handle.”

“Troubles with your slave girl?” the fat man said, smiling as he looked my naked body up and down. I shuddered under his gaze.

“Not at all,” Nicolaides said. “In fact, you’re welcome to have a look.”

Nicolaides smirked at me, tapping the strap against his palm in a threatening way as the fat man wandered over for a closer look. I didn’t dare move.

“Go ahead,” Nicolaides said, “Squeeze her melons. They’re farm fresh!”

Nicolaides moved behind me, reaching around me and inserting his hand between my widely spread legs. I gasped as I felt his middle finger worm its way into my pussy, while his thumb expertly rubbed my clit.

The bastard was trying to sexually arouse me, after giving me the worst beating of my life. I started to curse at him, but just as my mouth opened I felt the side of the punishment strap tap lightly against my thigh.

The tourist overcame his reluctance and took both of my breasts in his sweaty hands, squeezing them roughly and rubbing his thumbs over my stiffening nipples.

“Wow, these are nice tits,” the fat tourist said, breathing his beer breath into my face — I tried hard to stay expressionless. “My wife won’t let me go to the slave markets. She’s a total bitch about it.”

“She asleep in the camper?” Nicolaides asked.

“Yeah, along with the rug rats.”

“How many kids ya’ got?”

“Three. Two girls, and a boy. The girls are both in college at UT. One’s working on her PhD, if you can believe that. The boy just graduated from High School, and now he’s washing cars. He’s our underachiever. It’s his birthday today, actually, that’s why we went to the lake. Wow, she’s really getting hot, isn’t she?”

I was. My breathing was getting more ragged, my nipples could cut glass, and Nicolaides had worked three fingers inside of me. I was lubricating all over his hand like a common slut. My face burned with shame, but I was also close to an orgasm…

Then, as if on cue, things got even worse. The door to the RV opened and I watched as the fat man’s burnout teenage son shambled out. Torn jeans, ratty sneakers, army jacket, dyed black hair, heavy metal T-shirt, the birthday boy headed straight for us, smiling broadly as he watched his father fondle my tits.

“So it’s his birthday, huh?” Nicolaides said, rubbing my clit faster. “Would you like to give him a present?”

”Hey, Dad, what’s up?”, the teenager said, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Heya, Zeke,” dad said. “I just stopped to see if I could give this nice fella a hand,” his father said, seemingly unconscious of the irony of him squeezing my tits as he said this; Zeke’s smirk showed that he did. “You didn’t wake up your mom and sister, did you?”

“Naw, I don’t think so.” Zeke looked up and down the coffle of naked slave girls, all standing at attention with their legs spread and chests pushed out. “Wow. You got some fine looking slave pussy here, mister. I wish I was ridin’ with YOU.”

Another car drove by. Someone leaned out the windows and shouted “Nice poontang, ha-ha!”

Welcome to Texas.

”You should send HCI a resume,” Nicolaides said, ignoring the catcall. “We’re always looking for bright young men interested in the slaving business. In fact, maybe we can start off by showing you one of the perks. See this little bitch here, juicing herself all over my hand? See the way she’s humping my fingers? She’s slave hot, and since your Dad told me it’s your birthday, I figured she’s probably dying to get down on her knees and give you a birthday hummer!” The bastard quickly side-eyed me then said to the kid, “Whaddaya say to that, cowboy?”

“No!” I hissed, protesting even as I gasped with pleasure from his fingers. “No FUCKING way!”

Nicolaides laughed, and tapped his strap a bit harder across my bottom before speaking to me in a low voice. “Now don’t go all slave stupid again, slut, so soon after the last time. Or did you want me to warm your butt a little more before this young man shoots his load into your dainty little mouth?”

The feel of the strap tapping my welted bottom instantly awoke me to the realization that I WOULD do whatever he ordered me to do. The only question was whether I would be whipped first.

Swallowing hard, I sank to my knees in front of the smiling teenager. He was a bit chunky, although not as fat as his father.  His hair was stringy, he didn’t smell very good, and he had several large zits on his face. I looked over to the truck, thinking of my clothes and ID, which were locked in the wall cabinet in back. So close, yet so far away! I couldn’t even see it, as the beaten up old RV blocked the view, a perfect metaphor for my predicament.

“Beg me for it, slave girl,” Zeke said, smiling down at me as he unzipped his pants. “Beg to swallow my cum.”

“Yes, beg to give him a slave kiss, slave girl!” Linda shouted out, laughing merrily.

“Yes, Master,” Ruzanna added. “Make the slut TASTE her slavery!”

Ordinarily slave girls didn’t talk when in “present” position, but since they were heckling me no one seemed to mind. The smiling teenager pulled his plump little sausage out of his pants and playfully slapped my cheeks with it.

I looked up at Nicolaides, who was impatiently tapping his strap against his thigh. “Do it good, girl,” he said. I wasn’t a slave girl, but we both knew I’d have to play the part, at least for the time being.

Nicolaides and the other slave girls smiled at me as I debased myself before the smirking teenager, who smelt of B.O. and weed. “Let me suck your cock, Master,” I pleaded looking up at zit-boy with all the longing I could fake from the few Slave-TV shows I had watched while prepping for this assignment. “Let this unworthy slave girl swallow your delicious sperm.”

Apparently my plea was good enough to please a chubby, zitty, horny teenager who may have never had a blow job in his life, from the sorry look of him. On my knees in the grass with my hands cuffed behind my back I had little control, but when he pressed his bulbous head against my lips I took what little there was available to me: I gave it a loving kiss and licked off the first drop of his salty pre-cum before taking it in my mouth. Soon I was bobbing my head back-and-forth, trying to finish my ordeal as quickly as possible before I threw up from sucking his foul tasting cock.

“That a girl!” Nicolaides said. “Now that’s a slave kiss!”

“Oooh, you’re a good little cocksucker!” Linda taunted.

“Are you sure you haven’t been trained?” Janet laughed.

“No, she’s just hungry for her master’s seed!” Tracy retorted.

“She longs to swirl his baby-batter in her hot slave mouth,” Ruzanna said. “Make her swirl it around before she swallows.”

Again I ask: WTF Ruzanna? Baby batter? Swirl it around? Where do you even get that stuff from?

“Good idea,” Nicolaides said. “Swirl it around before you swallow. Spread it out, then open wide, so I can see it all over your mouth.”

The other girls laughed as I bopped my head obediently.

“See how it feels, Frankie?” Rhonda taunted me, laughing. “You wanted to know what it was like! One minute you’re a professional, wearing expensive clothes and checking your phone. The next minute you’re collared, cuffed, and sucking some stranger’s dick by the side of the road!”

All of the girls were laughing at me, and a couple more cars honked and shouted. I used my professional training as a reporter to stay focused, treating it like any dangerous situation, and concentrated on the matter at hand. I looked up at Zeke with longing eyes, showing him slavish devotion as I sucked his disgusting dick. I truly did want him to experience rapture, and come, for the sooner this was over with the better!

Another car drove by. “Devil whore!” the woman passenger shouted. “Rot in hell!”

Fucking Texas.

“Slow down now, son,” his dad cautioned. “You want to make it last.”

But Zeke was 19, and stupid, and horny, and he couldn’t slow down even if I let him. A second later he cried out in ecstasy as I felt the first burst of his salty cum. Chubby zit-boy came and came: trapped in a camper with his family on some idiotic road trip, he probably hadn’t had a chance to jerk off in a while. So I was getting the full load. It tasted about as bad as you’d expect, like chlorine bleach mixed with salt, fish oil, and a shot of hemp oil. Worse, there was a lot of it!

I looked up at Nicolaides, who as smiling broadly at my debasement, but fondling the strap in a way that made it clear that his instructions would be followed. Dutifully I sucked out every drop, then swirled it around my mouth, being careful not to swallow any (which would probably make me throw up anyway). When Zeke finally pulled out, I opened my mouth wide, to let Nicolaides see. As he had hoped, my mouth, tongue, and teeth were coated with Zeke’s teenage splooge.

“Stay on your knees, and leave your moth opened,” Nicolaides said, smiling like a predator down at me. “Let it dry.”

“Wow, thanks, Mister!” Zeke said, shaking Nicolaides’ hand. “That was the best birthday present ever! I’m definitely going to apply at HCI.”

“I hadn’t thought of slaving, son,” his dad said. “But that might be a good job fer ya’. Get you out of my house, anyway. Plus it’s a great way to meet girls.”

The three men chatted for a couple of minutes, about the slaving business, football, fishing, and how ‘Texas was the best damn state in the whole damn country.’ In the dry Texas air the ejaculate in my mouth quickly changed from a liquid to a paste to a dry layer of soap scum.

A fly landed on my nose, and I shook it off. Nicolaides, pointing the strap at me, said “FREEZE.”

The fly landed again, and slowly crawled across my face. Nicolaides smiled at me, tapping the strap slowly and menacingly as I dared not to move. Good Lord, that was insanely hard to do.

Meanwhile, Dad blathered on. “The key to fly fishing ayn’t the place, it’s the bait. And I got the secret, I’ll tell ya what!”

I fought the urge to gag as the fly crawled across my lower lip, pausing to lick up the dried splooge, then crawled into my mouth.

It was too much. I coughed and spit it out. The fly, not the cum, which was already dried into a thick skin in my mouth.

“Oh, does the slave girl need more spunk?” Linda said.

“Yes,” Nicolaides observed, “I do believe she’s hungry for some more. What do you say, Mr. Hillock? Wanna give her a go?”

“Go ahead, Dad, she’s amazing,” Zeke said, nudging his dad with his elbow. “This is a once in a lifetime chance! Don’t worry, I won’t tell mom.”

Fat Dad looked at Zeke, and grinning Nicolaides, and then at the kneeling slave girl with her hands cuffed behind her back, her mouth coated with his son’s jizz.

“Maybe I’ll do one of the other ones,” he suggested.

“No can do,” Nicolaides said, shaking his head. “They’re not trained, they might bite you, and my employer would be liable. But this one knows the whip, and she knows how to suck.”

The other slave girls laughed and jeered as the fat man unzipped his shorts and fished his penis out. As I knelt in the grass with my legs spread wide, a new sensation: I could feel a breeze run through my legs, over my winking asshole and past my pussy. Another reminder that this was really happening, and that it could always get worse — Nicolaides could offer up my virgin ass to these yahoos, and there would be nothing I could do about it.

Thank God I had activated my beacon! Hopefully the cavalry will arrive before the situation gets any worse.

Dad was older, so it took more work to get him hard. In the interests of getting the fuck up and off of my knees, I improvised: I tried softly humming The Yellow Rose of Texas as I sucked, and tried to take his short but surprisingly thick cock as far into my mouth as possible. I finally managed it, and was able to stick the tip of my tongue out just enough to lick his salty testicles a few times.

“Damn, girl,” Nicolaides said, sounding almost impressed. “Holy crap, Dad,” Zeke said, clearly impressed. Dad, lost in the pleasure of my hot mouth and tongue, didn’t even open his eyes, but he did manage to grab the back of my head.

I applied a little more suction and increased my speed, and Voila! Dad shuddered and moaned “Oh, oh, oh,” as he came in my mouth. I have no clear idea what his spunk tasted like, since his son’s still clogged my taste buds, but there was a lot of it. I got the impression that dad was even more pent-up than junior.

Cars had been speeding by us every now and then, but the next car was the most unwanted. A Texas State Trooper spotted us and immediately turned on his blue flashing lights. We all watched as the car pulled up in front of the coffle but behind the camper.

“Not good,” Zeke said, as his father pulled out of my mouth and quickly zipped up. Maybe for the first time ever, Zeke was probably right.

As the trooper called in the stop, Chuy walked over to the car and conversed with the trooper through his passenger-side window. Nicolaides looked over at Mssrs. Hillock and said, “We should probably call it a night. All good, fellas?”

“We are more than good, mister,” Dad enthused, shaking Nicolaides’ hand like a pump handle. “Thanks for both of us, but especially my boy.” Just then a soft, feminine Texas drawl came from the RV door.

“So what’s y’all doin?” she asked sleepily.

We all looked over to see an astonishingly beautiful young woman, very tall, and blonde, and leggy, standing in the RV doorway. She was hot, so hot in fact that I’m sure she was probably illegitimate, because there was no way the pathetic sausage I’d had in my mouth had produced a daughter like that. She was barefoot, wearing a burnt orange nightshirt with the words TEXAS printed over a drawing of a longhorn steer, the symbol of the University of Texas at Austin; the nightshirt only came down a few inches past her crotch. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the other slave girls tense up as they gave the newcomer an appraising once-over. Even dressed, college girl was hotter than the lot of us, and slave girls don’t like competition.

Surprised to see his daughter, the blood drained from Dad’s face. “Now Ellie May, what’re ya doin’ here? Get back in the trailer, we’ve got to be going.”

“Don’t have a cow, Dad. I know what a blow job is, and I saw you get one from that slut on the ground there. Glad to see you finally gettin’ some, I know what a bitch mom can be.”

Dad’s mouth fell open. “How long have you…”

“I wanted to pee,” Ellie May said, wiping her eyes. “My disgusting loser little brother left the bathroom smelling like something died in there.”

“I did NOT,” Zeke objected. “And I’m NOT a loser. I just got a blowjob.”

“You did NOT,” Ellie May said. “Even a slave girl wouldn’t blow YOU, loser.”

“This one did,” Zeke said, pointing down at me, sounding kinda proud. “Swallowed my whole load.”

“Ew, Dad, you’re taking sloppy seconds from Zeke?” Ellie May said. “Gross!”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Dad sighed, and started for the RV. “Come on Zeke, we’re goin’.”

Zeke smiled at Nicolaides. “Thanks again, mister — best day of my life.”

Nicolaides handed Zeke a business card. “I was serious about applying at HCI,” he said. “Fill in the online application and send me an email when you do. We got internships and entry-level jobs opening up all the time, and I think you might be good fit. Also,” he said, leaning forward and lowering his voice, “A slave as hot as that sister of yours would be worth a lot of money at auction. Enough to buy a very fast car, for example. And the finder gets to apply the branding iron. Think about it.” Nicolaides winked at wide-eyed Zeke, who took the card, looked back at his sister, then returned the wink with a very wide grin.

“I’ll do that,” he said, and waved goodbye.

————————

Nicolaides walked down to talk with Chuy and the trooper, leaving the coffle by itself.

I sat back down — more accurately, knelt back down, careful of my inflamed bottom — next to Linda.

“Well,” I sighed, nodding at the police cruiser, “I think my ride is here.”

Linda nodded her head slowly. “Mm-hm,” she said.

“Hey Linda,” I said in a low voice, “What was up with all that shouting and making fun of me while Nicolaides was heaping on the abuse? You guys were really egging him on.”

“That’s normal,” Linda said with a shrug. “Part of it is that slaves love nothing better than to see another slave be punished and humiliated. Some sort of pack mentality, I suppose. Part of it was that the girls wanted to make sure that he didn’t back down, but gave you the full-on slave treatment so you had an even better understanding of what their life is like. And part of it was to make sure that it was you and not them who had to do suck-duty on those two walking, talking cow pats.”

“Pretty shitty behavior, if you ask me,” I said.

“It is what it is,” Linda replied.

“Can I ask you a serious question?”

“Certainly, Frankie.”

“One thing I’m having a hard time understanding,” I said. “You know a lot about how slavery works as a system, how the institutions work or don’t work, how to deal with slaves and how they act and what they think. But you were just a pleasure slave to a wealthy man, and before then you were an executive in the energy industry, not the involuntary service one. Not to mention that you have a great deal of natural authority that even professional women like Janet and experienced slaves like Ruzanna respect, and from what I’ve seen you have no fear of anything. To turn it back around, I feel like you are not telling me everything.”

Linda gave a rueful chuckle. “You’re a smart one, I’ll give you that. I’ll certainly tell you; I wasn’t hiding anything, I just didn’t have a chance to finish my story — besides, you deserve to know.”

Here’s what she told me: the “auction” her former boss and now owner held for her was a sham. He really just wanted to make a present of her to his closest friend, his personal attorney of many years, as a companion, and used the auction as an excuse for a party. Once she found out, she was more than pleased: while the attorney was quite a bit older than she, he was a kind man who had always held her in high esteem and respected her intelligence and achievements when she was free. She was his servant, his sex object, and his friend; before long she also became his business partner. Because of her old owner’s interest in slavery, her new owner had developed a great deal of expertise in slavery law and was in demand all over Oklahoma and Texas. She ran his day-to-day office operations, then started advising him on his business, before finally taking over planning and execution for some new ventures that became very successful. She and her owner became very close and eventually grew to care for one another. He intended to free and marry her (called catch and release in the lingo of the trade, she told me) but suffered a heart attack before he could do so. His adult children from his first and only marriage inherited everything, and sold her for fear of what she might do to them.

“The leadership stuff comes from years of managing people and running businesses, while the knowledge of the peculiar institution comes from learning on-the-job at the most popular and successful slave law practice in Texas,” Linda concluded.

Nicolaides returned up the grassy rise, and stopped next to Linda, dropping my bag on the ground in front of her.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Three things, my dear,“ Linda said to me, as she slowly stood up. “First, here’s the missing bit of my story: before Lyn died he had already amended his will. I was to be manumitted if I wasn’t already free, and inherit everything, including the businesses. His children hustled me out before I could act and had me shipped off to Houston and HCI. But I’m not going to let them get away with it: I have the original of the will securely hidden, I just need freedom of action and I’ll make them wish they’d never been born.”

“Second,” she continued, “Theo here is an old friend.” She nodded at Nicolaides, who smiled back. “He’s been helping me ever since he located me at HCI.”

“I timed that blowout just right, don’t you think?” he said, chuckling at the look on my face.

“And finally,” she said, “you’re going to help me, too.”

“Wait— what?!” I quickly shook my head, staring in amazement at her as she turned around, Nicolaides removed her handcuffs, and then unlatched her collar. He pulled a t-shirt, a set of coveralls, and some canvas shoes out of my bag and handed them to her. She continued to talk as she dressed quickly and pulled her long silver hair up into a tight bun, fastening it with pins from Nicolaides.

“The thing about slave transport is that it’s rarely truly corrupt, but it is often poorly managed and insecure. Someone who understands how the system works can manipulate it to their advantage. For example, the only check in HCI’s transport logistics system is whether the truck arrives carrying the same number of slaves it departed with. The photographing and careful checking in at the loading dock, that’s all for making sure the right ones get on. The system has no way of automatically determining if the eight slaves who arrive in Albuquerque are the same eight slaves who left Houston. As long as the right number shows up, no one thinks twice.”

“No one is paid enough to check manually without being told to,” Nicolaides added. “And no one cares enough to tell them to.”

“It’s also not difficult to alter someone’s records at HCI, especially if you have manager-level access like Theo here,” she continued. “I can easily make you a slave and have you sold in ABQ, never to be seen again. And that was the initial plan.”

Linda squatted down next to me. “But the truth is, once I got to know you I liked you. You’re smart and honest, two things I rarely find in the same person. Lyn was that way too. So I changed the plan. Theo?”

Nicolaides squatted down in front of me and pulled his phone out of the dad holster on his belt, tapped the screen and held it up in front of me. It was a recording of a conversation between him and my editor Marla.

“I’m a little surprised she volunteered,” I heard Marla saying, “But that’s so like her. She enjoys the danger, risking it all for a story, a real adrenaline junkie. And I think it’s a great idea for a piece, I’m sure our marketing people will love it. I’ll go ahead and extend her contract at the same rate, although six months seems like a really long time for some slave training, doesn’t it?”

“It’s actually two phases,” I heard Nicolaides’ voice say, “the first is a standard thirty-day obedience school, so you’ll have video of that before your series premier, while the second phase is one hundred and twenty days at the elite companion training academy I told you about. That in itself could be a mini-series.”

“Yes, I like that,” Marla replied. “Of course the network will cover any expenses, which reminds me: I need to send someone out to repair her equipment that was damaged in the accident-“

Nicolaides shut it off and looked at Linda, who looked back at me.

I was almost too stunned to speak, but I did anyway: “I don’t understand. What’s happening? Am I being made a slave?”

“You are not a slave: you have voluntarily indentured yourself for six months in order to undergo training as part of an investigative report,” Linda replied.

Nicolaides showed me his data pad: on it was my indenture certificate, with a pretty good facsimile of my signature.

Holy shit.

“How the fuck did you do that?” I cried.

“Theo, here, will monitor your indenture,” Linda continued, ignoring my question, “Along with an old friend of mine who is an attorney, although if you decide to convert to full slavery afterwards he could certainly arrange that. Like Theo said in the video, your first stop will be at an obedience school, a typically corporate sort of place run by HCI in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Nothing fancy, but it’s what most women experience when they are initially enslaved. As the name implies, it is intended to teach you the basics of being a slave, including obedience.”

“That’s when the whips really come out,” Nicolaides chuckled.

I didn’t think he was funny at all.

“Then you will be sent to one of my former, and soon-to-be-again, businesses, The Venus Academy. There you will learn all about how to be a superior slave, an elite companion to the rich and powerful, and an expert at the art of sensual pleasure.”

“When you’re done there,” Linda continued, “You’ll spend a month serving at an exclusive resort in Taos. Think of it as a combination apprenticeship and finishing school. After that, you will be free to go.”

Nicolaides stood so that Linda could move in front of me. “When you are free, I would very much like you to come find me in Dallas. I think we would have a lot to talk about.” She placed a hand on the side of my face, a sweet gesture that was completely at odds with the fact that she had just sentenced me to six months of sexual humiliation.

“I think I know your soldier’s family: the Carters, they’re good people. They have a beautiful spread outside of Alpine, where they raise horses. You should give some thought to keeping him; I could see his family purchasing Ruzanna, you and her could learn to pull carts as a team.”

All of us noticed simultaneously the blue light cutting off: the DPS cruiser pulled back on to the highway, the trooper waving goodbye to Chuy. A moment later, a white passenger van pulled in where the police car had been, and a rig identical to the crippled one we had left rolled up behind it.

“Well,” Linda said with a wink, “I think my ride is here.” She stood and pulled on a cap Nicolaides handed to her; in the darkness she looked like a mechanic.

“Was it four buzzes?” she asked me. I stared back at her, wide-eyed.

“W-what? How did-,” I said. “What does-“

“It means your employer has terminated the account and the beacon deactivated,” Nicolaides said, laughing at my crestfallen look. “No one’s coming. You may as well swallow it.”

“I almost forgot,” Linda said. “Theo, please draw a line under this conversation.”

Nicolaides strode forward and grasped my right ear, twisting it. When I cried out in pain and surprise, he sprayed something down my throat from a small aerosol can in his other hand. I coughed and choked slightly, and asked what that was for.

Except I couldn’t. No sound came out of my mouth: I was mute. I had never felt so helpless in my entire life.

“That was not done out of cruelty,” Linda said, “but to keep you from saying something stupid while you’re being transported by a new crew. Something stupid that might get you hurt.”

“Ladies,” she said, turning to Ruzanna and Janet, the next two in the coffle who had been studiously pretending to not hear our conversation, “Please look after her as best you can.” Both nodded, and Ruzanna smiled at me.

“See you in the spring,” Linda said. She and Nicolaides strolled down the slight grassy incline to the highway shoulder. Linda climbed into the van along with Chuy, and Nicolaides greeted the transport crew of the replacement truck. The driver was a short thin white guy, but the supercargo was a tall black man with a stern look on his face, hands on his hips, muscular but starting to go to seed, like a former high school football player reaching middle age. He and Nicolaides talked, and Nicolaides pointed directly back at me. When the new supercargo turned to look, I noticed he wore a coiled leather whip on his belt, a true slaver’s whip, the first one I’d ever seen. My stomach knot tightened and my naked, vulnerable skin started to tingle all over.

————————

“And the next thing I know, I’m here,” I said.

“Wow, Miss Ontkean, that’s an amazing story,” Amy the tech said.

We were in a covered area outside the HCI Albuquerque building. I had arrived not long ago, and Amy met me with a claim ticket. It was a bright, sunny day, with a few white puffy clouds in the bright blue New Mexico sky.

Amy looked pretty much like she had when I first met her, wearing jeans and athletic shoes and a CNS-branded polo shirt, big glasses, blonde ponytail, no makeup, chubby but not fat, curvy, busty, and far too enthusiastic; she kept squirming in her chair with nervous energy.

As for me, I was naked, collared, and kneeling on the ground at her feet, holding a bottle of water with both hands, relaying my story — at least I could speak again. Periodically I would put one or the other cool, wet hand on my red-striped bottom: I’d been a little slow getting off the truck this morning and Master Green’s whip let me know it.

Was I humiliated? I’m almost ten years this girl’s senior, and a respected journalist too, but as far as the world is concerned I’m just a slave, and she is my mistress. Of course I was humiliated. And it was just going to get worse. At least I had my recording glasses back.

“I’m so excited to be doing this!” Amy exclaimed. “I really want to be a journalist like you, Miss Ontkean, and being your handler for your story is a huge opportunity for me!”

“I’m glad that’s working out for you,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “But please remember, mistress” — I couldn’t help but choke a bit on that word — “I’m not Miss Ontkean, I’m either Frankie or just slave.”

Her dimpled little cheeks tinged red. “Of course, uh, Frankie. Thanks for reminding me,” she said. I wondered where else she might have dimples? I hoped I wouldn’t have to find out.

Her phone buzzed. While she looked at it, I watched her and realized that she had stopped squirming. Then I figured out that nervous energy wasn’t the reason she was squirming: her jeans were very tight in the crotch, she had been rubbing herself against the denim and now there was a tiny wet spot. She was getting turned on by my story! Fantastic.

“That’s us, um, Frankie,” she said. “Our shuttle to the obedience school is ready.” She picked up the leash on the seat next to her and fastened it on to my collar while I slugged down the rest of the water. When I was done, I tossed the bottle in a trash can and we talked toward the parking lot, her leading the way. She kept glancing back at me; I realized I was several inches taller than her. What a sight we must have made.

“You know, er, Frankie, out of those baggy clothes you really are a very beautiful woman. Oh, and, uh,” she stammered, “Would you really mind if I called you slave from here on out?”

“Whatever mistress wants,” I said, stifling a sigh, “I live to serve.”

(End Part Three of Three)

[Hooked6]

I REALLY hope you will consider doing a sequel documenting Frankie's training during her 6 months of indenture. I think Amy would make an excellent handler - she is so excited about the prospect and eager to make a name for herself that any story that included her would bound to be a winner.

Hooked6

[orflash64]

Wow, I did not see that coming. Gentleman Mariner you have a talent for suspense and plot twists. I really like the Bond villainish disclosure of what is about to happen to Frankie, I hope that is not the end. While part three is a good jumping off point to end the story, I really want to see how the next 6 months play out for Frankie, with all the humiliations and slave sex training she will have no choice but to endure. Was the tire blow out part of the plot? In a few places you write he instead of she, when Frankie is talking to her handler.
When the truck gets to its destination, does Frankie get a delousing scrub down, bowel flush and a Pussy shave, like all the
other slaves?

[jeepster]

You can't stop there! That story needs a sequel or another chapter or two!

[gentlemanmariner]

I REALLY hope you will consider doing a sequel documenting Frankie's training during her 6 months of indenture. I think Amy would make an excellent handler - she is so excited about the prospect and eager to make a name for herself that any story that included her would bound to be a winner.

Hooked6

Initially I hadn't considered doing a sequel; I usually prefer to let works stand on their own and let the readers imagine whatever they want to come next. But in this case, between the positive reception here, and the fact that this story and its characters are a pretty good setup, I believe I will!

(Hopefully the next one won't take five months to write...)

[gentlemanmariner]

Wow, I did not see that coming. Gentleman Mariner you have a talent for suspense and plot twists. I really like the Bond villainish disclosure of what is about to happen to Frankie, I hope that is not the end. While part three is a good jumping off point to end the story, I really want to see how the next 6 months play out for Frankie, with all the humiliations and slave sex training she will have no choice but to endure. Was the tire blow out part of the plot? In a few places you write he instead of she, when Frankie is talking to her handler.
When the truck gets to its destination, does Frankie get a delousing scrub down, bowel flush and a Pussy shave, like all the
other slaves?

Thanks orflash64! You know my weakness for Bond-style villains, or at least comic book Doctor Doom-style explanations of their plans - glad you're still liking them!

Yes, the blowout was rigged by Nicolaides; that's why he was the last one to arrive as the slaves were being initially loaded, because he was planting a tiny explosive charge (really more like a shotgun shell with an electronic trigger) near the trailer wheel. While he was driving and Chuy was asleep, he was watching the video monitors of the cargo area, and when Frankie got her clothes returned he triggered the bang remotely. The plan was to blow the tire so they could get another crew to take the truck in, thus giving Linda an opportunity to slip away and have it go completely unnoticed by the new crew. With Frankie silenced, she couldn't tell them (not that they would ask), so...

Yeah, Nicolaides is a bastard, but a very competent one!

Also, thanks for the tip about the he/she confusion. Sheesh, I blame autocorrect

Finally: oh yes, Frankie is going to get all the "processing" humiliation she can handle, and then some

[gary]

Very exciting, though I don't really like the betrayal. I kinda figured she would end up as a slave or something but I always hope they escape. But a great story.

[GreyRose]

Marvelous story!

I love the twist and the reveal. Its a great setup for a follow up, so many threads to weave with. I hope you do feel inspired to take Frankie's story to the next chapter.

= = =

Minor point, her hands were cuffed behind her so she must be very, very limber to cover her front this way...

Quote:
" The other girls all stood, raised their cuffed wrists high above their waists, and spread their legs wide. Chest out, chin up! I stood too, but covered my breasts and pubes with my hand."

Same for the other girls if their hands were cuffed behind to raise their hands they must have been bent over at the waist to raise their hands much above their hips.

[orflash64]

I wonder what the plan would have been if Frankie stood her ground and not gotten in the cage or taken off her clothes?
Would he have drugged her drink then stripped and collared her and put the cage anyway?
I hope in the next chapter, you write about Frankie's first slave fuck and how she feels about it, especially after she cums multiple times.
Through out her training she also experienced anal sex as well, something she thought she never let a man do to her, but it happens and she gets use to it with intense orgasms.

[orflash64]

GM, there is one other thing that bothered me, when he ordered the slaves to stand up and present by spreading there legs and raising their arms above their head and thrusting out their breasts. How can they do that if their hands are cuffed behind their backs? There was a specific line mentioning Frankie was cuffed behind her back.

[orflash64]

I see I wasn't the only one to notice it.

[jaws]

What a fantastic story, I liked the part where Nicolaides got her to leave her mouth open to dry the taste on, creative and pure evil

Glad to hear there will be a sequel. You're a very talented writer.

[jeepster]

orflash64 and GreyRose: yep, that is an error. It's an artifact of the numerous edits and revisions this went through, and is probably three different versions mashed together

Thanks for finding it, I'll correct it as soon as I can!

As to your other comment, orflash64, that's exactly right. They were going to drug her and swap places, simple as that, but Linda picked up on Frankie's more-than-professional interest in slavery and latent submissiveness, and decided she'd try something else instead.

And yes indeed, Frankie is going to experience the full force of obedience school and "escort" training, with no holes, er, holds barred!

[jeepster]

What a fantastic story, I liked the part where Nicolaides got her to leave her mouth open to dry the taste on, creative and pure evil

Glad to hear there will be a sequel. You're a very talented writer.

Thanks Jaws! But in fairness I have to credit Joe Doe with the "mouth open" idea - he's incredibly inventive that way

[davidwcummins]

Not sure if my message for thorght. Thank you that was a great part 3, love it, looking forward to next.

[orflash64]

So Gentlemanmariner, are you working on the next part of Frankie's adventure or a different story?
You keep topping yourself, each new story is even better than the last one.
I keep thinking about Westbound, it was such a awesome story. Nothing better than a free woman that flies to close to the flame.

[jeepster]

So Gentlemanmariner, are you working on the next part of Frankie's adventure or a different story?
You keep topping yourself, each new story is even better than the last one.
I keep thinking about Westbound, it was such a awesome story. Nothing better than a free woman that flies to close to the flame.

Thanks orflash64! That's a pretty high bar, and I'm doing my best to meet it
And I agree, next to an accidental/unintentional enslavement there's nothing like a free woman risking it all, knowing what the penalty might be...

I'm working on part 2 of Westbound right now: like so many of my efforts, it's evolved from a straightforward sequel to the middle story in a three-parter
Once I started writing it, more ideas came to me and the story started heading in its own direction, so there's no telling when it will be ready but hopefully soon!

[orflash64]

Gentlemanmariner, so a correction in the rewrite would be- Frankie and the rest if the slaves are cuffed behind their backs, as the order was "back bracelets" and they positioned themselves back to the front of the cage as the Supercarrier handcuffed them through the lower food slot/handcuffing slot, right?
So when he ordered the slaves to present they stood up, spread their legs and arched their backs, sticking out their tits, while their hands are still cuffed behind their backs? Frankie knelt definite, hunched over trying to hide her chest, legs clamped together to hide her pussy?
This is how it would have been written if the edits hadn't been mixed up, right?

Was there any other content mix up that was over looked?

In a vinette or alternet short story line, the original plot unfolds - Frankie is drugged, wakes up naked, collared and devoiced and is permanently enslaved and sold. What is the reaction of her Editor? Does she object, is she bribed, threaten, in on it? Would her Editor have been told there was a terrible accident and Frankie had an accident and died?
Your part three everything falls into place perfectly, but the original plan seems to have some flaws in Linda's scheme.
It was such a great plot twist, i can't stop thinking about it.

[gentlemanmariner]

Part 1: Yes you're right, I think you've nailed it down. Gotta get that text straightened out before I send it to Literotica

Part 2: Yep, you've hit on the flaw in Linda's original plan. I meant to hint that Linda doesn't know much about how reporters work, so she wouldn't have realized that even though Frankie is a freelancer she would still have an editor monitoring her, but I must have removed it from the final cut.

As you know, the original plan was to effectively swap drugged and de-voiced Frankie for Linda and change enough of her data so that she would pass a cursory inspection by overworked employees, thus Frankie would have been legally sold in Albuquerque making Frankie a slave while Linda accessed her stashed money and crony lawyers, changed her legal status and wreaked her revenge.

But what happened is that Linda saw Marla and Amy at the loading dock, realized that her plan wouldn't work the way she intended because of outside factors, so she and Nicky changed the plan; when she told Frankie that she had changed her mind because she developed a liking for her, she was lying To her credit, she and Nicolaides came up with and executed the whole new plan during the "turndown" rest stop when they went off to the darkened pavilion together.

Of course, Nicolaides still made Linda give him a blowjob, because that's how he rolls

My initial idea for the changed plan was to have Nicolaides book Frankie-the-Decoy to be transshipped to Wyoming, so Frankie's editor (Marla) would have had a hell of a time finding her, which would have bought Linda enough time to disappear. Frankie would have been located and freed eventually. In that alternate timeline, it would also have made a hell of a good story for Frankie and CNS - which was my original idea.

There would have been a time factor too: if Frankie got off the truck in Jackson Hole and went immediately on to the block before Marla could reach her, she would still have been a legal slave under the three-party rule (i.e. all three parties have to know a transaction is fraudulent in order for the sale to be voided). That was also part of the original story - I was thinking of leaving it as a cliffhanger, with Frankie being led up to the auction block just as the phone starts ringing in the manager's office (which is Marla frantically trying to find her).

Alternately, the driver tries to sell Frankie at a truck stop that also has a strip club attached to it (I've seen them in real life in Texas, believe it or not) in order to settle a debt - which is one way merchandise "falls off the back of a truck" - and while they're haggling a State Police cruiser pulls up... can Frankie get the cop's attention? Maybe the cop wants something in exchange for helping her? Maybe the cop just doesn't believe her? Maybe the cop is in on it?

Finally, I also toyed with the idea that HCI somehow overcomes institutional inertia and discovers what happened, but decides to sell Frankie anyway in order to cover up the whole thing - probably shipping her out of the country. Perhaps to Central America?

So many possibilities. But I'll leave you with this: Linda does have something else in mind, which we'll see in the sequel.

Thanks again for your thoughts, orflash64, I'm pleased and deeply impressed that my story stuck with you!

[orflash64]

So to better understand all aspects of the story could clarify something.
Marla, Frankie 's editor is under the impression that Frankie volunteered for a six month enslavement for a more in-depth story aspect, not knowing the paperwork is forged? By the time Frankie is able to tell her the truth of what actually happened, it's too late and she can't get her out of it, nor does she really want to since it would be a great addition to the story.
Also in the next chapter is it possible the six months enslavement might get extended? Or Marla has some more juicer assignments for Frankie involving slavery weather Frankie wants to do them or not?
Also some people that Frankie has worked in the office would enjoy nothing more than to have Frankie on her knees under their desk and eventually do.

[orflash64]

What i said my last post.

[gary]

Orflash64 you comment seems strange. are you responding to a missing comment?

[orflash64]

No, there is so much posting that Gentlemanmariner can't see my comment to answer. If everyone else is commenting, you can't see the question on the board unless you know it's there or going into your own story to see if anyone commented.
When you click on to the site, you see activity by most recent. So if the author hasn't looked recently, it's lost in the shuffle.

[orflash64]

So I was looking for an answer to my Friday comment.

[automagix12]

It would also be possible to write a direct/private message to gentlemanmariner, and point him to the latest questions.