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Westbound - part 2

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gentlemanmariner
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Westbound - part 2

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We were having really lively conversations now that I was in the cage — even Brooke and Kenzie joined in — and I was a little disappointed when the truck began slowing for what Nicolaides called “turndown.”

“More like kneeldown,” Mary said, chucking at her own joke.

“What do you mean?” I asked her.

“You’ll find out,” Linda interjected. “If I were you, I’d be out of that cage when we stop.”

The rear door opened: it was dark and we were in a truck stop, on the far end of the lighted parking lot where the overnight trucks parked.

“Last stop of the night, ladies,” Nicolaides said, and he and Chuy marched the women to the public “rest area” while I trailed along. Like the earlier stop, this area had a concrete trough and water faucets for the women to use; like the first stop, a small group of truck drivers started to gather near the fence, but unlike the first stop this group had a couple of female drivers as well.

This group was more subdued: no shouting, catcalls, joking and back-slapping. They all appeared to stare intently at the women, occasionally speaking quietly to one another.

I like to think I’m pretty astute, so I don’t know why it took me so long to figure out what was happening. Chuy led the coffle to the gate, then released each woman from the coffle one at a time so she could pass through the gate. When she did, Nicolaides waiting on the other side would stop her, turn her to face the crowd of truckers, and wait to see if anyone stepped forward.

Indeed, a trucker stepped forward for each woman, spoke to Nicolaides briefly, Nicolaides handed him (or her) the section of chain locked to the woman’s collar, and the trucker would lead the woman off to the lot full of idling trucks, a few so excited they were already groping their prize. All of the women left in this fashion except Linda and Ruzanna, who remained behind; interestingly, curvy little Tracy was led off by the two female truckers who I had no idea were together. Like the men, they were large and strong-looking, wearing blue jeans and boots. Tracy looked nervously back at us as each woman slapped her behind before leading her away, leaving pink handprints on her flesh, and I wondered what kind of night Tracy would have.

I turned in time to see Ruzanna and Chuy headed for the sleeper cab of our truck (ain’t no sleeping going on in there, I thought, for some reason) leaving me, Nicolaides and Linda standing near the gate.

“Is, is that legal?” I asked Nicolaides, who laughed.

“Of course it is, why wouldn’t it be? They’re just slaves, currently owned by HCI and under the direction of their agent, me. If I want them to service some hard-working drivers, I can do that, it’s what they’re there for, just so long as they reach their destination undamaged and on time.”

I caught Linda’s smirk before she suppressed it.

“The main store is up that way,” Nicolaides gestured, “it’s got a restaurant if you want anything. We’ll roll in an hour. Now if you’ll excuse me,” he said, taking Linda’s chain leash and leading her toward a darkened, covered pavilion with a couple of picnic tables.

————————

An hour later I returned from the truck stop that Nicolaides hamfistedly suggested I go visit. I had taken a seat at a table and called Marla to check in (the range on my earpiece was limited so I used my phone) and upload the video I had so far; from what she saw, she was very happy with the way things were going. And if she’s happy, I’m happy.

Nicolaides must have seen me coming down the road, because he met me at the trailer door and let me in; all of the women were back in their cages. He had a plastic crate full of blankets (“Microfilament, almost impossible to cut, much less tear, and nonflammable” he explained) and proceeded to hand one out to each woman.

When he was finished, he walked back to the rear door and held it open for me: “I’m going to spell Chuy so he can get some rest. He sleeps in the front — old injury, he sleeps better sitting upright — so you can have the sleeper all to yourself.”

“No, thanks,” I said, “I’d rather sleep in here tonight.”

Nicolaides gave me my second double take of the day. He consulted his data pad briefly, scratching his head, but then he shrugged and handed me a blanket. “Let me show you how to open-“

“I’ve got a key,” I said, showing him the metal collar in my jacket pocket.

He raised an eyebrow and nodded, then hopped down and closed the door.

The blanket was shaped sort of like a butterfly, with an integrated foam pillow. Janet demonstrated how to wrap it around yourself for sleeping, and she looked a bit like a swaddled baby.

The truck rumbled to life and started moving; the lights switched from white to a dull red color.

I sat down inside “my” cage and asked: “So, who wants to tell me what happened?”

Some of the women chuckled or even giggled. “We had sex,” Linda said. “It’s what slaves do.”

“It’s pretty obvious to me that ol’ Nick put our photos up on a private ZipChat page that the truckers know about,” Janet said, “they bid on us, and the winners paid him through VENDmore or CashPal or something. When we arrived, each trucker just had to give him a receipt number and presto! They get their dicks sucked.”

“Is that what happened to each of you?” I asked.

“Mine wanted top and bottom,” Mary said, “But I sucked him so good he busted in my mouth and couldn’t get it back up before his time ran out!” Everyone laughed at that one.

“I have to admit,” Rhonda said, “Mine was fat and old, but he could fuck like a jackhammer. Who’d have guessed? Wore me right out. I’m going to sleep tonight.”

“You’re all taking this really well,” I said. “Aren’t any of you upset at being rented out like prostitutes?”

“Spoken like someone who hasn’t been in our shoes,” Linda said. “First, you get over the sex-whenever-someone-wants-it thing really fast after you’re collared. It’s a coping mechanism, and you don’t have a choice anyway. Second, when you go through obedience school or slave training or whatever, you are immersed in sex, getting fucked several times a day the whole time you’re there, and you either let it break you or you learn to love it. They are very good at making you learn to love it. And third,” she looked around at her fellow slaves, “it’s kind of liberating to be honest. I don’t have to worry about getting a reputation as a whore or a slut, because I’m a slave! I can have sex all day long and it doesn’t matter, because it’s not my decision. I’m just doing what I’m told.”

“Besides,” Ruzanna said, “It’s mostly a lot of fun.”

“Easy for you to say,” Linda laughed, “Chuy is a very cute boy!”

“Yeah, his pecs and shoulders are amazing, and he was all kinds of pent up from working and driving, his thing was kinda numb so we went at it for a long time,” Ruzanna said with a grin. “I’m sorry you got old Nick.”

“Eh, at my age one cock is pretty much like another,” Linda replied. “Still, I could do without all the thick black body hair,” and she stuck her tongue out.

More laughter, then Linda shouted down to Tracy: “Hey Trace, how’d the dykes work out?”

“I’m actually kinda sad it ended so soon. Not only did they reciprocate with the muff diving,” Tracy said with a sheepish grin, “but they took turns on me with strap-ons. I came at least a half-dozen times!”

Her friends woo-hoo’d at her score, and even Brooke and Kenzie joined in with applause.

“So tell the truth, Frankie,” Linda asked, turning to me. “When was the last time you got laid?”

I felt my face flush, and stammered, “I don’t think that’s-“

“That long, huh?” Rhonda said.

“Well, lately I’ve been focusing on my career-“

“Haven’t we all!” Linda said, and the laughter lasted for several minutes.

At this point I was burning with embarrassment and, honestly, anger, so I decided to end the interview for the night. I took off my boots and put them in a corner of the cage, and then folded up my jacket and put it on top of my boots.

I tried wrapping the blanket around me like Janet had demonstrated, but it wasn’t as easy as it looked — I kept getting tangled in it, and it felt like it was snagging on parts of my clothing. I wrestled with it and finally got it sort of like I wanted it, then laid down and curled up. Part of the darn thing was still catching on my socks, so I tried kicking it loose…

…and knocked my boots over, spilling my jacket right out of the cage.

Where Linda reached out and picked it up, pulling the collar out of a pocket.

The collar that opened the door to my cage.

“So, Frankie,” Linda said, “When was the last time you got laid?”

————————

I sat upright. “Can you give me that back please?” I said, sounding angrier then I meant to.

“Answer my questions,” she said, “I’m sure that’ll put me in a more receptive mood.”

I looked around at the other cages; they were all smiling at me, a couple were barely stifling giggles. This is part of a game, and I need to play along.

I sighed. “I broke up with my boyfriend last October.”

Most of the smiles vanished.

“You haven’t had sex in almost a year?” Brooke said, sounding astonished.

I shrugged. “I really have been busy.”

“Okay, I didn’t expect that,” Linda said. “How about women? Do you swing that way?”

“Not since college; that was a one-time thing, and I was drunk. I have nothing against lesbian sex, but if I'm going to make the effort I'd rather it be for a guy.”

Linda raised an eyebrow and looked over at Ruzanna and Janet, then back at me. “How about taking care of yourself? How often do you Jill off?”

My face must have been glowing bright red by then. “Once in a while, maybe once a month? I mostly go running to let out my frustrations.”

Shocked silence. “Jesus, what are you, a robot?” Mary muttered.

“This still doesn’t add up,” Linda said. “I don’t think you’re being completely honest with us.” She tapped a fingernail on a cage bar and Ruzanna leaned over, presenting her right ear to Linda. Linda put her face directly up to the ear, murmured into it, then Ruzanna leaned the other way and did the same to Janet. In this fashion, they had a brief conversation no one else could hear and any lip-reading software couldn’t decode.

“I think you being in a cage has helped us open up to you,” Linda said. “But now you need to open up to us. Take your clothes off.”

“No,” I said.

“I’m not asking,” Linda said.

“And I’m not agreeing,” I replied. “I’ll just wait in here until morning, and either Nicolaides or Chuy will let me out.”

A ripple of chuckles went through the cages. “That’s not how it works,” Janet said.

“Do you have any idea,” Rhonda piped up, “How easy it is to enslave a woman? Especially one who’s already in a cage?”

“And on top of that,” Ruzanna added, “We’ll all testify that after the last rest stop, you told us out loud that you were so horny you wished you could be a slave just to get laid. That’ll be enough for a judge.”

“At least the kind of judges you find in El Paso,” Linda said. “Plus it will keep us out of trouble for blackmailing you, and Nicky and Chuy would split a percentage of your sale price.”

“You know I’m recording all of this, right?” I said, growing more alarmed by the minute.

“Again, not how it works,” Linda said with a shake of her head. “Most state laws, including Texas and New Mexico, state that an enslavement is only invalid if all parties to the sale knew it was fraudulent. What we say here on video won’t matter, because we’re not one of the parties, the testimony of slaves is always suspect, and besides it would be too late to save you.”

My face had changed from bright red to pale white. “Are you serious? You bitches would help enslave me? Because you think I’m lying about something?”

“No,” Linda said. “We don’t want to enslave anyone who doesn’t want it — we’ve all either been there, or know someone who has — we’re just warning you that waiting it out isn’t an option. All we want is for you to take another step closer to our level, so we can maybe find out what is going on with you.”

“Aaaaand we’re kind of bored, too,” Tracy added.

I sat and thought. On the one hand, I could get out of trouble any time I wanted with my emergency tooth-beacon, so they did not have the leverage over me they thought they did. On the other hand I was smelling a story: these women were testing me for some reason, probably to see if they could trust me. But why?

Hell, I’ve done worse for a story.

“Okay,” I said, “you win.” I shrugged off the blanket, pulled off my socks, then my pants, and finally my shirt.

“Everything, please,” Linda said. I bit my tongue and unfastened my bra, then peeled off my panties, so that I was now completely nude in a little pile of my own clothing.

“Fold it all up, nice and neat, and place it outside your cage. Boots too.” I hesitated, but did what she asked. Predictably, Linda reached through the bars and grabbed the clothes, pulling them into her cage. I covered my breasts with my hands and clamped my thighs together.

“Happy?” I asked.

“It’s a start,” Linda said, smiling.

“You’re a very attractive woman,” Janet said. “You have nothing to be ashamed about.”

“Seriously,” Brooke said, “You look like a cross between a ‘girl next door’ and a ‘hot teacher.’”

“Thanks, I think,” I replied.

What was strange, I realized, was being fully clothed around people who were not. Being naked among other naked people, while it might be uncomfortable, was at least more… I don’t know, polite?

“What’s your grade?” Rhonda asked.

I should mention that at slave markets, slaves are graded prior to being sold, and the grades are similar to those used by the meat industry, with Prime being the highest, followed by Choice, Select (formerly Good), Standard, and Utility. But you can be graded without being a slave: it started off as a fad among wealthy women, to see if they stacked up against top-of-the-line pleasure slaves, and it quickly became as common as a credit score, to the point that (for example) banks demanded certified grades before making loans. Ask Janet, Rhonda, and Tracy how that worked out.

I was lucky: my parents were able to pay for my education, and I was accepted by a college based on merit alone, so I never needed to be graded. But most women are not so lucky.

So I lied: “When I was eighteen I was graded Choice, mostly because I didn’t have any training and didn’t know any commands.”

“That’s gotta be it,” Ruzanna said, “because you’re a solid Prime if I ever saw one. You said you run? I can tell, your body is tight, if you added some weights to your workout you’d have the body of a goddess.”

I actually blushed. I have to admit, it was flattering to have my body evaluated as Prime by an attractive, sexually confident woman like Ruzanna.

“Look at her, she’s blushing. How adorable!” Rhonda enthused. Lots of aaaaws from the other cages, and I saw Ruzanna grin.

“Back to the questions,” Linda said. “Why did you split with your boyfriend?”

I shifted uncomfortably in my cell. “It wasn’t working out.”

“Elaborate, please,” Linda said.

“It turned out we weren’t compatible. He wanted things I wasn’t prepared to give, so we ended it.”

“Things like…?”

I sighed, then just took the plunge: “We were sharing an apartment, one thing led to another, and he asked me to wear a collar at home. When I dug in my heels, he told me what he really wanted was for me to be his personal slave, but only in private. Nothing formal, no papers signed or anything, just pretend, but seriously — if I agreed, how long would it be before he started pressuring me to make it official? Then I poked around on his laptop and saw he’d been researching some of those camps for free women.”
“Camps?” Kenzie asked.

“Private slave training for free women,” Janet replied. “They range from slave yoga spa retreats to soft-core fantasy camps to not-at-all-subtle preparation for the real thing.”

“I figured he wanted the latter,” I said, “When I looked through his photo cloud, I saw he’d been visiting a suck bar and taking photos of young naked slaves performing oral sex on him while he held their leashes, which as far as I’m concerned was cheating. The worst part was that a number of them bore some resemblance to me.”

“So you think he wanted to enslave you?” Brooke asked.

“Duh,” Mary retorted. “Two of my ex-boyfriends wanted to do it to me, but the losers didn’t have jobs so they couldn’t afford the fees.” She thought a minute. “They probably meant it as a compliment, though.”

“Your ex probably meant it the same way, Frankie,” Rhonda mused. “More and more young people are opting for indenture contracts or even slavery rather than marriage — we could see it coming in the industry journals. The suck-bar doubles are probably the tip-off that he was pretty serious about you.”

“Well, I didn’t take it that way,” I said. “I had friends in college who dropped out and were sold because of their loans, and I didn’t want that to happen to me. What if this was just a fantasy of his and he got bored with it? What if he got bored with me? If being with me as a free woman wasn’t enough for him, then he could fuck right off.”

“Really?” Rhonda asked. “You couldn’t even try role-playing with him a little bit to see what would happen?”

“As I sit here and think about it,” I said after a pause, “The problem was that I didn’t trust him. I felt like he wasn’t being honest with me, and I didn’t want to take a step down a slippery slope with someone I didn’t trust. I broke it off and moved out the next day. I moved in with my sister and immediately took the Central America gig. Haven’t seen him since.”

“Which leads me to my next question,” Linda said. “What really happened in Central America?”

“I already told you.”

“And I’m asking again, because I don’t think you told us everything.”

I sat and thought for a minute — really, I was steeling myself because I knew what had to happen — the replied: “If I tell you everything, do I get my clothes back?”

“We’ll vote,” Linda said. “If we believe you, then yes, you get your clothes back.”

I took a deep breath. “Everything I told you was true,” I said, “But I didn’t go into a lot of detail on my part of it.”

The truth was I thought I was well-hidden, but a soldier spotted me, and before I could slip away two of them had chased me down and grabbed me. They did strip me: everything, down to my boots, all left in a pile, with me shouting at them that I was an American and a journalist and demanded to see their commanding officer. For my trouble I got a rifle butt in the stomach, which sent me to my knees. The guy who delivered it pulled some cord out of his pocket and quickly tied my hands behind my back, then ran a loop around my waist so that I couldn’t shift my arms. I struggled to catch my breath while he looked me up-and-down, and then grabbed my hair and yanked my head backward so he could see me better. I knew what he was thinking: I was a pretty hot guera and I was about to be raped. Fortunately his avaricious companion had been going through my pockets, found my media ID and passport, and immediately took his friend’s arm and cautioned him against doing anything rash — she might be trouble, better to take her to the comandante first. So I got a piece of tape over my mouth and a length of rope around my neck and they led me back to the village.

To say that I was worried and scared would be an understatement. I was naked, tied, gagged, and being led on a leash into a village being actively pillaged by slavers and sex-starved soldiers. If they decided I was trouble, I could expect to be killed — but not, I imagined, before being used by most of the battalion — or possibly “disappeared” into slavery somewhere (some of the slavers looked up from their work and were visibly interested in me). I was marched past trucks loaded with naked women destined for the block, terrified that I would be among them shortly.

(The part I did not mention out loud was that I had my get-out-of-jail-free card, the emergency beacon, hidden in my mouth. At the time it took all of my willpower to not use it immediately, but instead to wait and see what happened.)

They led me past a group of soldiers — whistling and shouting at me, some reached out and grabbed my breasts or my ass, I was utterly mortified at being naked in front of a crowd of unruly young men to the point of having tears rolling down my face — to the house where their colonel was. He was just then occupied with a young girl, so they took me to his adjutant. He turned out to be a tall, muscular young American military advisor, wearing a local government uniform with a US flag on the sleeve. He looked over my papers and untaped my mouth, I told him who and what I was, he nodded and said he would help me but I had to leave immediately because he could not stop the commander if he decided to do something else upon his return. He untied me, gave me back my clothes, and assigned his aide-de-camp to escort me back to my hired jeep some distance away. By sheer luck, and the integrity of that officer, I made it out in one piece.

“Being paraded through a shattered town in front of soldiers, slavers and their quarry is bad enough,” I said to my attentive audience, “But it’s even worse when you’re naked and gagged. I didn’t want to talk about that part, nor did I want to talk about what happened next.”

I made my way back to the capitol, and filed my story along with the video. I got a room in one of the better hotels, washed the dust and sweat off my body, and laid down on the big bed to get some rest. But I couldn’t sleep: my thoughts kept going back to what had happened, and in spite of my fear and dread I was extremely aroused. I wasn’t sure what was going on in my head, but as I lay in bed my skin was hot, my nipples erect, and my pussy was very, very wet. I could feel the stares of the slavers, licking their lips in anticipation, the rough hands of the soldiers, the sun beating down on the white skin of my behind, the cords cutting into my wrists, but most of all I remembered kneeling on the ground in front of the young advisor, tied and gagged, while a soldier held the rope around my neck. I saw him looking over my body, enjoying my nakedness. I felt like a spoil of war, a prisoner brought before an ancient warlord, my fate decided on his whim. It was so real, and so exciting, I rubbed myself to an enormous orgasm. After that, the entire time I was in-country my mind kept flashing back to that day; I masturbated more in those two weeks than the entire previous year, I think.

“So when I eventually returned to the States,” I finished, “I wanted to know more about the reality of slavery and how it compared to my brief experience. So here I am.”

Murmurs of approval, and a low whistle of appreciation.

“Daaaamn, girl,” Ruzanna said, “That is pretty hot.”

“Did you ever see the soldier again?” Brooke asked.

“Yeah, what was he like?” added Kenzie.

“He’s bit younger than me,” I replied, “super fit, blue eyes, really confident and self-assured. Reminds me a little of that guy who played Captain America. But yeah, I was in the capitol city for a while after filing my story, doing some follow-ups, and believe it or not he found me! He took me to the new slave market that had appeared on the outskirts of the capitol to see if we could find anyone from that village, and I took him to dinner on my expense account. The market was a hot, chaotic mess, and we didn’t find anyone, but with him it was fun.”

“And…?” Brooke asked.

“And…?” Kenzie added.

“AND…?!” Mary nearly shouted. “Did you fuck him or not?

“Well,” I said. “He was totally handsome, and I had a serious thing for him, and I was so hyper sexual just then that — yes, we had sex many times before I left.” I sighed. “I fucked him good.”

Clapping and cheering broke out, and Mary yelled “There she is! That’s our girl!”

When it died down, Linda said, “Have you seen him since you got back?”

“No, he’s still down there,” I said. “But he’s from Texas — his family has a ranch out west — and when he gets rotated back to the US we’re going to meet back up.”

Linda nodded. She looked over at Ruzanna and Janet, and they nodded too.

“Okay,” Linda announced, “Show of hands, how many think Frankie here has earned her clothes back?”

Every woman in the trailer — except Linda — raised her hand.

“Majority rules,” Linda said, smiling, and she put my boots outside her cage and stacked my clothes on top of them (topped off by the collar), then pushed them across the aisle to me.

“Thanks,” I said, and reached out of the bars to grab them.

That’s when I heard the bang, the lights went out, and I was thrown against the side of my cage.

(End Part Two of Three)
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Re: Westbound - part 2

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I really liked the slow build-up of tension in this short chapter and the "Bang" of a cliff-hanger at the end. Nicely done.

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Re: Westbound - part 2

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Wow, the suspense building up and then the cliff hanger. It was just perfect.
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Re: Westbound - part 2

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Nice! Keep writing!
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Re: Westbound - part 2

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Had my heart pounding with excitment
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Re: Westbound - part 2

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I'm trying to push my skill as a writer with each successive story, so I am very glad you all found it suspenseful! :D
Thanks again, everyone, your replies are what makes it all worthwhile.

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Re: Westbound - part 2

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gary wrote: Tue Apr 28, 2020 12:53 am Had my heart pounding with excitment
Thanks so much gary! You and Joe Doe were my "gateway" to this, so it means a lot :D

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Re: Westbound - part 2

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I hope this story goes on and on, so detail you feel like your there?
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