Gabriela's Enslavement

[ZeeChromosome]

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Gabriela’s Enslavement
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Author's note: I originally had no intention of writing this story. I had planned to keep it as a backstory, only revealed it brief discussions during someone else’s story. Gabriela is a recurring character in my "Stallion" stories. She is the mother of Gwen Bellefleur, who is the primary love interest of Hank/Hammer.

This story describes events 22 years before "Stallion - Arrival" and a few years after the Reinstitution of slavery. Criminal slavery has been around for a few years. Due to the inadequacies of criminal slavery (i.e., too few sexy young female slaves who were not tooth-rotted meth-heads), debt slavery and voluntary slavery have been added to the mix. But it's still the "Wild West" years of slavery and most of the institutions and controls of modern slavery have yet to be instituted. But the outline is there. We will follow it to the best of our ability.

Credits: Joe Doe for letting me use the Big D auction house and Jake Henry. Joe, if you have any objections to anything I wrote, please let me know and I'll change it.

Also, credit to Avvy, Eroticstoryspinner, Carl Bradford, and Mr. Smith for comments and edits. I started this project 10 days ago and this wouldn't have been possible without their help. Sometimes you have a fully formed project in your head and it just bursts out of you.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Here And Now: I bring you a tale of star-crossed lovers!
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

There she is, terrified and alone. She waits in darkness. Her life is in ruins. Her budding career in slavery finance is destroyed. She is on the hook for literally hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt. The maximum indenture for debt is seven years and she is almost certain to serve all of it. She has provisionally been graded “Prime”, but that won’t matter if she can’t put on a dynamite block routine. If a girl doesn’t sell in the Prime range, she isn’t Prime.

She knows that. She accepts it. She is ready.

She is objectively beautiful. She knows that, too. She has had a target on her back since her early teens when the outline of her future maturity began falling into place. Every girl in the modern world knows that the prettier you are, the more people there are who want to seduce or enslave you. It’s a fact of modern life with slavery legal again. So she was careful. She was clever. She learned all the rules, she learned all the tricks, she even made enslaving people for debt her profession. And none of it saved her. It had happened anyway.

The door of the cattle chute opened. Her handler pushed her forward, and she rushed out into the sands of the auction arena. The bright lights blinded her… but that didn’t faze her, she knew it was coming. She didn't need to see them, she knew they were there. She herself had been in this exact crowd many times. The roiling crowd of onlookers and gawkers made their presence known by roaring their approval from the darkness beyond the halogen lights. Somewhere out there was a Man, somewhere out there was THE man, the Man who would buy her, the Man who would save her. He was out there. She had hope. She had confidence. He would find her, buy her, and she would be his. He would care for her, protect her, value her and perhaps even love her… but he would absolutely and unequivocally value her because she would be the best and she was going to cost him a LOT of money. She was worth it, and she knew it.

She skidded to a halt in the sand, transitioning gracefully into the “present” position. First impressions are important. Here and now, at this time and place, demeanor means everything. Some girls stumbled out of the chute sobbing and confused. Others came out terrified but determined.

Gabriela Chavez, currently known as “slave 5993”, came here to make a sale.

“MASTER!” she shouted. “Here I am! Buy me!”

Gabbie smiled her brightest cheerleader smile while she did so. It was a false smile, and the bidders knew it was a lie. But it was a lie they liked, so it was worth telling.

She struck a second pose, and then another, moving seamlessly between the lewd and demeaning positions of slave yoga, all with a level of gracefulness and poise rarely seen on the auction block.

“Here I am, Master, this is for you! I am tight, I am ready, I am willing!”

After each mantra, she shifted to the next outrageously revealing pose.

“Master!” she shouted, slapping her round bottom while displaying her ass, “fuck my asshole, it exists for your pleasure!”

The rabble and riff-raff roared their approval. As she spun and turned and whipped her hair at the crowd of unseen onlookers, she occasionally caught a glimpse of the bidding screen above the auctioneer, the auctioneer who was SELLING her - no time to think of that now – and she saw the same icon appear again and again. Every time someone bid, G422 topped them. Every time someone upped the ante, G422 struck again like a rattlesnake. Whoever G422 was, he was not to be denied. He would own her.

“Master!” she cried, “this is your pussy, I brought it here for you! It is yours!”

With each bid, the term of her slavery and the cost to Gabriela in suffering and lost youth ticked slowly upward, driven by the harsh calculus of net present value and financial derivatives. Gabriela had excelled in the math of computing the value of human lives. She understood exactly what was happening and why. The more a buyer paid for a slave, the more service he expected to receive. The algorithms were driven by uncaring mathematical analysis. The government actuaries who wrote these programs were technically human, but their souls were not.

“Master,” she pleaded, “my mouth is yours, use me as you will! I exist to serve you!”

The bidding ticked upward. The years of service ticked upward as well. The auction price approached the total debt that Gabriela's no-good relatives had put her on the hook for. Gabriela's term in bondage was approaching the magical 7-year mark. The debt would be paid in full and the banks would be satisfied. The seven-year limit on debt slavery was a holdover from pre-Reinstitution law when individuals were permitted to declare bankruptcy. And THAT in turn came directly from the Bible. Deuteronomy 15, to be precise. At that point, if the bidding continued, the years of service would begin to inch downward. Slowly.

The bank would still continue to reap the sole profit from the transaction, but Gabriela would be rewarded for overcompensating them with the quality of her collateral. "Collateral" meaning her naked body.

For every undeserved and unjust dollar that her enslavers extracted from her downfall, Gabbie would receive a small bit of freedom in return. She meant to regain as much of her life as possible. And if her enslavers profited thereby? Fuck 'em, the Lord knows they were trying to fuck HER.

At this point, having reached the "magic mile", the bidders were paying more money for less service. If Gabriela had been a Prime Plus slave, bought for millions of dollars, her term of service might have been driven down to three and a half years. But that wasn't likely to happen. She wasn't a famous model or actress; she was merely an extremely attractive young woman. The bidders' enthusiasm would wane rapidly now.

Gabriela couldn't let that happen. Gathering the remaining shreds of her ability to influence her future, she sprang into action. Already sweating under the harsh lighting, she pivoted away from the crowd, dipped into a deep crouch, tossed her hair over her right shoulder, and looked back over her left. Then she began to twerk.

"Look at this ass, Master! Don't you want to own it? How much do you want it? Because it wants YOU! This is YOUR new ass! Your new play toy! Come and get it now!"

The bidding started to pick up again. The buyers began to realize that this was no mere pretty face. This was not a common pleasure slut born with the right combination of physical traits; she was something else, something special. Wealthy men often bought pretty faces so that they could use them, abuse them, and then... after they grew bored... dispose of them. But this girl was special. She could keep a man entertained for months... years even, with the right incentives. She was spicy.

The bidding picked up again but then began to level off. Bidder G422 regained his dominating position but began to hesitate. He seemed to be growing bored of this competition. The Big D contained easier prey. Sensing weakness, the sharks gathered, and G422 lost ground.

Gabriela had two more tricks. Most girls abandoned slave yoga once they reached the magical age of 18 and submitted to their first slave grading. Most women never slave-graded again. Why bother? They had achieved the minimum legal requirements. Anything further was unnecessary effort and risk.

But not Gabriela. Her course of study made the risks clear to her. She wasn't about to show up on the sands of the Big D auction house carrying "freshman 40" pounds of unnecessary fat combined with years of stiffening ligaments. She practiced her yoga routine every night while her roommate was out. The narrow space between their dorm room bunks wasn't an obstacle, it was a challenge.

Gabriela pivoted into her second-to-last bold move... her penultimate attempt to attract the wealthy and powerful protector she needed. Slavery has many bad endings and few good ones. Gabriela was determined to be one of the lucky - and deserving - few.

Taking up the same semi-crouched pose as before, Gabriela began to twerk again. But this time she wasn't just bouncing her booty, she was bouncing her breasts. She had seen it once on an old black and white newsreel as a teen. The unnamed burlesque dancer had somehow managed to simultaneously twirl her breasts in opposite directions while dancing. Gabriela had eventually learned to do the same thing alone in her dorm room. In her mind, it was the raunchiest possible display of sexual availability.

“Master!” she screamed while giving the unseen crowd her most dazzling smile. She was excited to be here, she wanted to be here, and she needed her future Master to know that. “See me, know me, love me... these are your boobies that I am bouncing for you! Buy them and love them and know them as only you can! I am yours, Master, come and get me!”

Bidder G422 struck down yet another rival as the bidding pool narrowed. That was it, this was He, bidder G422 was the worthy one! He was the man who would own her; she could feel it. As she began to run out of block moves, she began to despair. She began to accept that her youth was over and that she would become the plaything of the mysterious G422. Her heart began to empty, her slave heat began to cool… Gabriela’s enthusiasm started to waver. She was losing momentum.

No! Not now and not ever! Gabriela would survive! She would make this unchosen fate her own!

She began the countdown to her final trick of the night. Her audience was male. Her potential buyers were men. It is and will always be the subtext of slavery. Masters are men, sex slaves are women. Variations exist, but they aren't important. They do not exist in sufficient numbers. Gabriela knew the numbers. She knew the odds, and she knew that they favored her. She needed the right Man, she needed the right Prince with the right price, and she needed him now. Right now, while her entire future teetered on disaster and destruction... she needed Him now, and she was going to call unto his power to save her.

The first time it happened, Gabriela was horribly embarrassed. She was terribly ashamed. She had spent the remainder of the evening furiously scrubbing away the evidence of her sexual crime with wet-wipes and Clorox bleach. When her roommate returned, she only smelled scented cleaning products and saw Gabriela “asleep” under her covers. There was no evidence. Gabriela’s secret was safe.

But now was not the time for hiding. Now it was time for the revelation of Gabriela's filthiest secret... she needed a powerful man to dominate and control her sexually.

Here under the bright lights of her own personal nightmare, she put a name on him. She put a face on him. The name was “Justin Bellefleur”. The face was lined and carved with years of grief and stoic determination. It was a sad face, but a strong one. The face of a man with a wry smile and a twinkle in his eye. It was also the face of a man who would pause an important business meeting by raising a single finger in the air and answer a phone call from his daughter and only surviving child with a heartfelt “Hello my love, how are you today?”

Holding onto that vision, she blocked out the sound of the crowd, the glaring lights, and the ruthless and unforgiving bidding board counting down the step-by-step destruction of her freedom. Gabriela faced the lights, she faced the hidden crowd behind them, and with her entire soul, she cried out to the one Man that she truly believed in.

All her adult life, Gabriela knew that this was a possibility. All her adult life, she knew that she needed to prepare for this moment. And when it finally came... she did, too. Sliding her hand down her sweat-slicked stomach, she hit her outer core, she hit her inner core, and then... like so many times in the privacy of her dorm room... she hit her innermost core and erupted. Gabriela collapsed on the sands of the Big D auction house, spiraled her legs together, pointed them at the ceiling, and plunged into a mind-destroying screaming orgasm.

Cued by their experience filming thousands of prior orgasms, the Big D's professional videographers caught it all on HD video and picture frame... the nude, twerking slave girl with her hand between her thighs as she gently rolled backwards into the sands of the auction floor... the graceful pose of feminine perfection as she impacted with the sands... and the erotic fountain of glistening droplets erupting from between her entwined thighs.

He was coming for her. She had seen cold and implacable fury behind his eyes when he saw her being led out of the front doors of Bellefleur Financial by the slave catchers, naked and terrified. She knew that the anger wasn’t directed at her. She knew that icy rage was directed and whoever was behind her enslavement. He would save her… her burning slave heat exploded as she writhed upon the sand. “Master, save me! Where are you?” she cried out plaintively as the orgasm exploded through her body and the arc of glittering fluids erupted through her slender fingers, soaking the Big D’s uncaring sands.

That was it. Gabriela had blown her last shot. Panting and sweating, she gave up on the churned sand in the middle of the auction arena. She was a spent force and had no more fucks to give at this point. Her boneless thighs gave way and her legs splayed out shamelessly on either side. Modesty was beyond her comprehension at this point.

Sand is dirty, sand is dusty, the dusty sands of the Big D auction house are plowed by the feet of hundreds of desperate horny women every day of the year. If Gabriela had been able to see herself, she would have seen a picture her widespread thighs framing a glistening pink pussy dripping with slave heat and the aftermath of an incredible “slave-gasm”. On either side of her open folds was a brown stain from the dust sticking to the juices leaking from her aroused pussy and coating her thighs as she waited in the chute. It was known as the “Big D Dusterfly”.

Gabriela didn’t care about that because her True Master was Justin Bellefleur. She had been struck by his presence the day she first met him at a Career Day at Texas A&M her junior year. His perfectly coiffed silver-blonde hair, his gentlemanly demeanor, and the friendly twinkle in his grey eyes drew her in. At the time, she had begun to fear the career choice she had made. Slavers had a reputation for callous misogyny and the more she explored the options in her chosen career path, the more she had begun to worry. Several of her interviews had gone poorly, the men she met with were clearly only evaluating her as potential property and not an employee. But this man was special. He had talked to her and treated her like an actual person, not an object to place in inventory. He had taken her to dinner and set her at ease. She accepted a summer internship with his firm and had finished her three months at Bellefleur Financial deeply in love with him. She knew it could never happen. The age difference was too great. He had a daughter the same age as she. It was impossible… and yet she was irrevocably drawn to him.

And now he would buy her. The one slaver that treated her like a person with human potential would soon become her owner. The bidding exploded again at her brazen display of unbridled sexuality, but it was dying down for real now, the increments were becoming smaller as the skilled auctioneer eked the very last bits of profit from Gabriela’s destruction. G422 was staying strong, though. Gabriela hoped and prayed that G422 was Justin Bellefleur’s icon. The alternative was too terrifying to contemplate.

“All right then,” the auctioneer chanted into his microphone as he raised his gavel, “two HUNDRED and twenty SEVEN thousand dollars going once, going twice…”

The crowd had finally quieted down. The gyrating slave had fallen to the sands. The auction was coming to an end. Gabriela’s life as a vibrant young professional with a bright future was coming to an end… “Bing!”

The auctioneer paused, gavel raised high. He squinted at the screen imbedded in his podium. Then he turned and looked at the big screen behind him, as though it might tell him something different. A new bidder’s icon had appeared, one who had remained hidden until now.

Bidder B9 had appeared at the top of the pile. And he hadn’t just topped the pile, he had crushed them all. Gabriela’s term of enslavement had suddenly dropped to 5.2 years in one fell swoop. The auctioneer swiftly spun back around to face the audience. He knew a power move when he saw one. “RIGHT! Three HUNDRED and FORTY thousand dollars going once, going twice, a-a-a-nd… SOLD!”

The fateful hammer came down with a sharp crack. Gabriela had been sold. It was done.

Suddenly energized, she sat up and stared in open-mouthed astonishment at the icon of the man who had bought her. What kind of crazy low number was B9? It had to have been one of the first slave broker licenses sold in North Texas! It even had a little gold crown over it, indicating that it was the personal license of someone buying for their own account.

A pair of slave wranglers pulled her to her feet and led her away. It made sense to her now. Bidder G422 had been a cat’s paw all along, teasing the price upward without overdoing it. Then, in an extravagant display of power and wealth, Justin Bellefleur sent a message. Every professional slaver in the room who was not a drooling idiot received that message loud and clear, “This one is MINE.”

The Big D doesn’t allow just anyone to bid on its merchandise. The average person or corporation seeking to buy a slave would need to work through a licensed bidder. But there were some people who had special privileges. It didn’t shock Gabriela at all that Justin Bellefleur was one of them. Because of course he was.

As she was led stumbling and barefoot through the back passages of the Big D Auction house, Gabriela was still assuming that her former boss was now her new owner. She had worked closely with him for months now and she just couldn’t see it any other way. The man didn’t leave anything to chance. It was impossible that he would allow an enemy the opportunity to buy one of his own employees.

The average slaver is much like a shark, except with more teeth and less conscience. Within days of buying her, they would have had all of the secrets of Justin Bellefleur that Gabriela had ever had access to. As a helpless slave under their complete control, Gabriela would have been able to hold nothing back. And once they had wrung her dry, she would have been disposed of. Gabriela shuddered at the thought… “disposed of” could have so many meanings. The possibilities were endless and some of them were quite horrific.

On the other hand, Justin had to be furious with her right now. Gabriela had lied about the lien on her body. She was required to disclose it, but she didn’t. She deserved his anger. She had earned it. At the time, she justified the lie by reasoning that she was not the primary collateral. She wasn’t even the secondary collateral. She was the third-tier collateral. The only way that her body could be sold was if her relatives’ tire shop failed, the assets weren’t enough to cover the debt, and the insurance company didn’t pay. Her protection was ironclad… until it wasn’t.

Instead of paying down the debt on their very successful tire shop, her brother and uncle had invested the profits in a meth lab. Which had exploded and destroyed the business. It had also destroyed the value of the real estate and voided the insurance contract on it… leaving Gabriela’s body as the sole remaining collateral to be seized. She HAD been seized and now she had been sold. Hopefully to her former boss. Or maybe not. She had lied to him, he was certainly angry with her, and now she might be his slave for the next five years. Or the slave of someone else, but she just couldn’t imagine Justin allowing that to happen. She still had no idea what was really going on.

Her scattered thoughts followed her as she mechanically obeyed the commands and shoves of the slave handlers as they moved her around. First she was showered, then scrubbed, then taken to back to the beauty salon. Realizing that this was not normal, she looked around for a clue.

“Umm,” she asked, “wasn’t I just here? Haven’t I already been sold?”

The slave wrangler’s response to unauthorized talking was swift. Gabriela found herself shoved up against the nearest wall, knocking aside a pair of handcuffed teenagers waiting their turn. She found herself looking into a very, very cold pair of eyes as her head was painfully tilted back. During her frequent visits to the auction house, Gabriela had learned that some slave handlers were just regular folks who wanted to do their jobs with a minimum of fuss and drama and then go home. But, as with every authority figure ever invented, there was also a second type. They reveled in their power and took every opportunity to exercise that power. This was clearly the second kind of slave wrangler.

“Listen to me, you stupid little slit,” he hissed menacingly with his face inches from her own. The opportunity to slam her up against the wall must have excited him, because he was breathing heavily, his foul-smelling breath washing over her face. He was also smiling, and Gabbie could see that he was enjoying the ability to manhandle an attractive young woman and get away with it. “You’re not a free woman anymore, strutting up and down these halls wearing those tight skirts and treating us like we’re beneath you. You’re a naked slave now, and slaves don’t get to ask any FUCKING questions!”

He sneered as he continued, “Yeah, I know exactly who you used to be, little miss oh-so-important. Not so important any more are ya? Just another two-legged FUCK hole that needs to learn her place.”

Gabriela could feel the sharp horns of his taser being shoved into her ribcage, grinding painfully against the bones beneath her skin. It wasn’t the only hard object making its presence known. Lower down, she could feel his erection pressing into her hip as he pinned her up against the wall. She had never been so terrified in her life.

She had been to the Big D many times over the past few months, and the previous summer as well. As a new hire, before that as an intern, and even before that as a student. Mr. Bellefleur had frequently given her the task of traveling to the Big D to check on his property being processed or to deliver paperwork. She was also quite familiar with the more industrial environment of the big HCI Cattle Market in Fort Worth. In both places, she had frequently encountered men like this who didn’t consider her fully human, just future slave meat that hadn’t been seized and processed yet.

Now, viewing it from her new perspective at the very bottom of the social ladder, she realized that he was right. She had responded to the stares and leers she received by… strutting. Just like he said. She put on a show of confidence that was 90% false bravado and 10% pride in her status as a free woman among slaves. If a man had done it, nobody would have even noticed. But when a woman strides down a hallway with confidence, especially one of THESE hallways, she’s instantly labelled a stuck-up bitch who thinks too much of herself. With a sinking feeling in her heart, she knew that, no matter how vile he was, this man was completely correct. She HAD strutted through the halls while trying desperately to be thought of as someone better than her surroundings. Those “surroundings” had included this slave handler. He had taken notice. And now she was entirely at his mercy, an emotion that she could see that he completely lacked.

She needed a new strategy and she needed it now. Casting her eyes downward submissively, she said meekly, “This slave was wrong to act that way, Master. Please let her make it up to you by sucking your huge cock.”

The man smirked and backed away from the wall to give the handcuffed slave room to slide down onto her knees as he fished out his erection. “That’s right,” he said cruelly, “how easily they fall to their knees when they lose their fancy-ass clothing. Just proves what I always say,” he grunted in satisfaction as he thrust his already-hard penis between the kneeling girl’s lips, “…they’re all whores on the inside, and they need a real man to put ‘em in their place. Well, you found your place in the natcheral order of things, slut. On your knees with a real man’s cock in your stupid pie hole. Mmm, that’s good. I always knew you were a natcheral-born cocksucker. You just needed the right motivation to prove it.”

On her knees, she took the hard member in her mouth and was gratified to discover that the man’s hygiene was a lot better than his bad breath had indicated. Gabriela desperately tried to put her inexperienced tongue to work on the penis in her mouth while ignoring his self-congratulatory gloating and the presence of other slaves and slave wranglers watching her voluntarily debase herself. Unlike some free women, she didn’t have an aversion to sucking cock. She had done it for a couple of her college boyfriends. But she noticed that if she did, their attitudes toward her changed. They started seeing her less as a peer, and more as a sex object. It was one of the many effects of legalized slavery. “Cock sucking is a slave whore’s job” was a common perception of both men and women. As a result, free women refused to do it. And, as Gabriela had learned through bitter experience, free women who DID do it lost the respect of the men they serviced. Instead of being grateful, they became scornful and dismissive. After her second bad experience, Gabriela had joined the “never again club”. That was three years ago. Now she was desperately trying to remember how to do it right.

“But that was then and this is now,” she thought as she justified her actions. “I needed to avoid a painful shock and this is the best way to do that. Since I am a slave girl, cock sucking is expected of me now.”

So focused was she that she failed to notice Cici, a supervisor that she knew from her previous life as a human being, walk into the room, take a quick look around, and walk back out into the hall. Then, moments later, she came back in. “Gus!” she called out, “Is that 5993?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So we need her in the smithy pronto. Get off her so I can get her cleaned up. There’s a VIP down there chatting with Mr. Henry and he wants his slave right now.” She turned to the clinicians as Gus reluctantly released Gabriela. Slave handlers usually wouldn’t interrupt another handler from getting a slave tip – it was one of the perks of the job – but apparently the name “Mr. Henry” had worked its magic. Jake Henry was the founder and general manager of the Big D Auction House. Gus may have been fantasizing about this specific blowjob for months, but he wasn’t going to finish it in Gabriela’s mouth.

Cici guided Gabriela over to a now-vacated seat and the clinicians got started. They cleaned her face and set to work with foundation, mascara, and lipstick. The two young women that Gus had pushed aside earlier were wearing pink grading collars and he simply shoved one of them to her knees with a squawk and then shoved his unsatisfied stiffy into her mouth without a word while giving Gabriela and Cici the evil eye.

It had been Gabbie’s previous experience that temporary slaves wearing grading collars – especially the younger ones – were more-or-less off-limits to the staff. Apparently, that rule was a little bit more flexible than she realized, she thought as she watched the man ravage the 18-yr-old’s unwilling throat. The other girl looked on in sympathy and revulsion, but did nothing. She was obviously scared stiff and there wasn’t really anything that she could do, anyway. Even though women being slave-graded were not technically slaves, they WERE under slave discipline, and could be punished as slaves while that was true.

In the past, Gabriela had seen similar sights but had looked away with her eyes and her heart. She told herself that wasn’t Gabriela on her knees in a slave auction house. She told herself it was never going to be Gabriela on her knees in a slave auction house. And yet here she was, a naked, collared and cuffed slave. Livestock sold on the block… at the slave auction house.

Gabriela tried to look away from the distressing sight of the young girl being forced to service the cruel slave wrangler in her place. Even though she was utterly powerless to influence events, she felt a stab of guilt watching the scene.

“Stop squirming!” snapped the make up girl as she forced Gabriela to look straight ahead at the tableaux in front of her.

Cici was standing over Gabriela with her arms folded. She turned and glanced at Gus and his new victim. “Hurry up Gus,” she said in a bored tone, “then go find Harry, he needs something. Dunno what he wants.”

The nude makeup artist shifted positions so that Gabriela’s view was thankfully cut off as Gus grunted his way through his orgasm, snarled something at the girl, and walked out. Gabriela was glad that he was gone and hoped to never see him again… fingers crossed.

Cici hauled Gabriela bodily out of the chair and led her toward the door. The two teenagers in grading collars were standing next to it. Both looked like they were about to start bawling. The face and chest of the one on the right was smeared with what appeared to be semen.

Cici paused, made forceful eye contact with the other slave wranglers in the room, and turned to the makeup girls.

“Minh!”

“Yes, boss!”

“Get this one next, she’s been contaminated. Hop to it.”

“Yes, boss!”

Gabriela was then guided out the door. Mentally, she wished the two younger women luck. Slave grading was a traumatic and important life step for them, and she hoped that the experience hadn’t been ruined by a horny and brutal slave wrangler.

Gabriela’s guide Cici was a middle aged Black woman about 20 years her elder. She strode along easily next to Gabbie with her hand on her butt. She slipped her index finger into Gabriela’s crack without actually penetrating her sphincter. Several previous handlers had done so today, and she was grateful for the forbearance.

“It’s a little different on the other side, isn’t it, honey?”

“Yes, boss.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll do fine. Word is that original gangster Justin Bellefleur just bought his first sex slave… that being you, honey. There’s a lot more going on here than most people know. There was a real commotion in the C-suite when Mr. Bellefleur's two-digit icon appeared on the auction board. Nobody even knew he was in the house. Stay strong, do what he says, and come out on the other side smiling, you got that?”

“Yes, boss.”

“Good girl. Just for the record, I never hated you. Lotsa people here did, but I didn’t. Woman’s gotta make her own way in the world somehow and ‘hotshot slaver’ is one of ‘em. On the other hand, everyone has a downfall in life. Live through it, live with it, make it your own. Here we are, good luck.”

The smithy had its own dedicated venting system. Powerful fans sucked the air through vents in the ceiling. As Gabriela was led through the doorway, she felt the air currents on her nude body as they sucked air into the room from the hallway. She had noticed this a few times before as her hair fluttered while passing through this door. But today she wasn’t wearing a skirt suit. With her entire body exposed, it created an entirely different sensation. She shivered... and then the smell hit her.

Gabriela had been in this room several times. Not “many”, but “several”. Occasionally, the firm sold slaves to buyers in other states. They purchased their new slaves remotely, and wanted their new property to receive the full Big D experience before being shipped to them. That meant branding. Someone from Bellefleur Financial needed to physically inspect the new brands in order to ensure that it had been done properly. That somebody was usually Gabriela, the low woman on the totem pole.

As a result, Gabriela was ready for this, or she thought she was. She had been here before. She had smelled the combined scent of burning charcoal and burning flesh. She had graded Prime. She understood from the beginning that she was going to be branded with the “Big D” corporate logo burnt into her flesh as soon as she was sold.

She did her best to ensure that she was as mentally prepared as she could be, but it wasn't good enough.

As soon as she walked in the door, the smell hit her and her body recoiled. This was HER flesh they were going to burn! Her mind was ready, her heart was resigned, but her body had NO INTEREST in being burnt. She bolted… and slammed directly into the open arms of the slave handler who brought her here.

“Whoa there, honey, whoa there! I gotchu, you're not goin’ anywhere. Hold on there, I gotchu, c’mon honey, lemme hold you.”

Cici, who had been doing this for many years now, caught the bolting slave in a wide-gripped bear hug. Braced for impact in advance, she hardly shuddered as she stopped slave 5993 well before the skinny White girl could build up momentum. Then she dug her legs in and began to force the slave through the door.

Gasping in panic, Gabriela looked around for salvation. There! Justin Bellefleur was already in the smithy, talking to Mr. Henry and another man named Joseph Do. Justin really WAS bidder B9! He would save her, he had always been so kind to her, he would never let her be hurt.

Alerted by the commotion, Justin turned around and saw what was happening. I brief look of annoyance and disappointment crossed his face and he pointed an unlit cigar at the row of badging benches.

That look pierced Gabriela's heart. Not because he reaffirmed that she was to be branded, but because she could see that he was disappointed in her. She had embarrassed him. That was unacceptable to her. She could never willingly disappoint him. All resistance ceased, she reversed course, and walked willingly over to the empty branding bench. It was a padded steel frame covered in attachment points to hold slaves still as they were kissed by red hot iron. Gabriela managed one final glance over her shoulder as the slave handler laid her stomach firmly on the bench. Justin wasn't smiling and he wasn't angry, but she saw a sadness in his eyes for a moment before the disinterested mask of a professional slaver reasserted itself.

As with any position of authority, being a slaver requires a significant component of performance art. The slaver must always project an aura of unimpeachable authority, an image of invincibility. It was one of the things that drew Gabriela to him so strongly. Justin's masterful aura wasn't an act, he really was that person. At the same time, because he wasn't acting, he also had the ability to care deeply for the people whose wellbeing was responsibility. Gabriela had seen the compassion for the less fortunate hidden inside his armored shell and knew that there was a beating heart in there. A lonely one. Justin's enemies would never believe its existence, but it was there.

Gabbie realized now that Justin had to put on his "cruel slaver" act for the crowd of onlookers. He had an image to maintain. His firm had a major security breach and one of his employees had been enslaved. His image of invincibility had a hole in it right now, and he needed to patch that up. He was going to do that by burning a hole in Gabriela's ass while he watched, calmly smoking a cigar.

Cici draped Gabriela's willing body over the platform and began to bind her to it, making adjustments in order to ensure that she was too securely bound to harm herself when she started thrashing. Not "if" she started thrashing, "when" she started thrashing. All the while, she kept up a patter of encouraging, sympathetic talk as she forced the frightened girl toward her destiny with a white-hot branding iron. Once Cici was satisfied, Gabriela was so securely tied that she couldn't move a muscle. "There we go, honey, you just wait right there until we're ready for you. Don't go anywhere, now," Cici told her, chuckling at her own joke.

Gabriela experimentally shifted in her bonds a bit. Absolutely nothing moved. Her limbs and torso were completely locked in place, at the mercy of Merle, the smith. Only her head and neck were free to move. Gabriela had always been too squeamish to attend a branding herself, but she knew that freshly branded slaves often bucked from the pain and any attempt to restrain the head could result in injuries to the neck. So her head was free to move and she looked around.

In front of her was a camera pointed directly at her face. Apparently, "Badging Faces" was a popular insert in the Big D's The Sandyfoot magazine each month. Gabriela had never looked at that, either. She was afraid that she would see the face of someone that she had worked to enslave. Or even someone that she knew personally.

Plenty of girls had gone missing from campus over the course of her college career. Some people looked away, pretending that the missing girls had simply dropped out of school or transferred. Other students reveled in it and treated the topic as their favorite gossiping point.

Gabriela realized with a sinking feeling that the camera was going to capture her "badging face" for all the world to see. And those nosy campus gossips were going to see it and entertain themselves by gleefully chatting about her downfall. Oh well, nothing to be done about it now, this was her current place in life and the only possible trajectory was upward. So at least there was that small comfort.

Behind the camera was a plexiglass wall. The Big D auction house charged gawkers five dollars apiece to come in and view the proceedings. Some of them had even groped Gabriela while she was on display for public viewing. Now they were staring at her through the wall from a few feet away, eager to witness her branding. The excited looks on some of those faces churned her stomach. How could people be so vile that they actually enjoyed seeing pretty girls suffer? She looked away, trying to pretend they didn't exist. It was better that way. Instead, she decided to see who was sharing her ordeal today.

On her left was an extraordinarily slender-waisted, busty girl with dark hair wearing a pink grading collar. Even with her breasts squashed flat against the bench's surface, the handlers had to put an additional pad under her stomach so that her spine wasn't too severely arched when they strapped her down. Gabriela knew it was another necessary safety precaution. The Big D didn't want any of its inventory damaged before shipping out. It was exactly the sort of detail that Gabriela had routinely checked in her previous life as a free woman. No reputable merchant wanted to be known for delivering damaged merchandise.

In front of the prone girl were two other people. One of them, kneeling in front of her in the place of the usual camera tripod was a videographer with a large professional camera. He seemed to be setting up his shots and checking the lighting. The other man appeared to be someone from the Bid D marketing department. Gabriela didn't know his name, but he looked familiar. He was leaning over the bound girl and giving her a pep talk. She was obviously extremely frightened and the marketing guy seemed to be trying to calm her down so she wouldn't ruin the take. "All right, Bethany, this is your big finale," he said in a soothing voice "After this, you're all done. We do the big reveal and that's the end of it. It's almost over now. This is the second to last thing you'll do here and then we'll send you off. Try to be brave, honey. Remember, it's for the sea turtles."

"After this you'll let me go?" the frightened young woman asked plaintively.

The marketing guy turned his face away from her and smirked at the camera, then gave it a sly wink. "You know I can't tell you that, honey. The voting is still live, but we have to do the big reveal after we're done here. That was the deal. You know I can't tell you anything before then. Don't worry, though, I'm sure everything will be all right. Your followers will never let you down. And after today, you'll have so many new followers. Your subscriber numbers have gone through the roof during the last few hours. It's been really impressive to see the figures climb. You’re going viral right now as we speak. I’m sure that #savebethany is rocketing upward at this very moment. I guarantee you'll have far more followers than you've ever had. I know it's been tough on you, but you're doing it for the sea turtles."

It finally clicked in her head, that's where Gabriela knew him from. She met him at a networking event that Mr. Bellefleur took her to. He was one of the new "social media initiative" agents. Their job was to promote the Big D's business interests in the ever-shifting world of social media. This looked a lot like an influencer who had been lured into... a trap? A challenge? Something about sea turtles, maybe a charity event?

A bustle of bodies on her right distracted Gabriela from the apprehensive influencer. A pair of similar-looking curvy blondes wearing grading collars were being draped over the two unoccupied branding benches. That left Gabbie as the only true slave on the four branding benches. One woman was older than the second, perhaps her mother? She flopped down onto her bench and wiggled her round bottom in satisfaction, clearly relishing the attention. The other, younger woman, struggled for a bit as she was bent over her bench. She clearly wasn't expecting to be branded during her grading. The Big D's policy was to always brand Prime and Choice graded slaves sold on the premises. Women who were only being graded had the option of getting a brand, but it cost extra. It wasn't hard for Gabriela to figure out what happened. The older woman had signed the two of them up for a mother-daughter slave grading with the deluxe package that included a branding for those that qualified. Even though slavery had only been legal again for a few years, society's attitudes were rapidly changing. A "Big D Prime" brand was considered by many women to be a source of pride. It was easy to see why. Only the hottest 10% of graded women were graded Prime.

The Big D's primary source of revenue was of course the sale of human chattel. But slave grading was its other major income stream. In an effort to increase grading revenue, mother-daughter paired grading had been introduced. The two women were graded as one, so an older woman with an extremely attractive daughter could get a higher grade by participating. This mother was clearly very pleased to receive her brand, while the teenage daughter was not interested at all and was squirming vigorously.

"Too bad," Gabriela thought, "once you're in the system, once you're under their control. They'll do as they please and you have no say in the matter."

Just like herself, she thought glumly. She had had all of her life choices stripped away along with her clothes earlier today. At least she had been rescued... maybe. Probably? Hopefully, Justin would protect her in some way. She had very little hope that he might release her immediately. A professional slaver who did something like that for a mere employee would take an immediate and disastrous hit to his reputation. Doing it for a family member was understandable, even expected. But a mere employee? It would require special circumstances. Was Gabriela special enough to Justin to merit that? She didn’t know. She knew he loved her, but… but she didn’t know. Nothing to be done about it now.

Justin needed to save face, especially after Gabbie's public enslavement at his place of business. He was going to have to be hard on her in order to protect himself and everyone else who worked at Bellefleur Financial. Gabriela was being sacrificed for the greater good. She turned worried eyes back to the influencer girl next to her. Apparently, Gabriela wasn't the only sacrifice today, poor thing. Whatever game the Big D marketing department was playing, she hoped it ended well for Bethany.

Gabriela knew that she would most likely serve most or all of her indenture. She just hoped that Justin would protect her by not selling her to someone awful. She shuddered at the thought. As a professional slaver, albeit one with very limited experience, Gabriela knew that slavery encompassed a whole field of horrors. On the other hand, Justin might decide to keep her as his personal sex toy. In contrast to the fearful thoughts before, that image gave Gabriela an erotic thrill. ANY woman under Justin Bellefleur's power and protection would feel the same. Gabbie was certain of it. Who wouldn't feel that way?

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
First Meeting
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It was no accident that Gabriela masturbated to visions of Justin Bellefleur during her block routine. She had been immediately impressed with him when they first met him only a year and a half ago at the college career fair, He was tall, well-dressed, and very gentlemanly. Based on his reactions, he was very pleased with her as well.

The day had been very long and frustrating. She was wearing her brand-new interview outfit - red pencil skirt with matching jacket, cream silk blouse, red leather pumps, stockings and faux pearls. She knew she needed to present a striking appearance if she was going to compete with her male classmates. Her female professors had impressed upon her that a professional woman needed to look her best in order to be her best.

The field of Slavery Studies was heavily male for a number of reasons, and her job search was an uphill swim. She was determined to make it, though. At this point, she really had no other choice. She was committed. Given her current student debt load, she absolutely needed to put her degree to work and get a high-paying job in her chosen field. Failure was not an option. The percentage of female Slavery Studies majors who did NOT become slaves was... frighteningly low, and heavily weighted toward the lower slave grades. Gabriela had provisionally graded at "Prime Minus" three years earlier, so that was yet another mark against her.

That morning, Gabriela had risen at 5:30 AM to get ready. Everything had to be perfect. Hair, make up, outfit, it all had to be flawless. She needed to make the right impression. Today was too important to her future. "Failure is not an option!" she told herself in the mirror before she left. "Will power and a can-do attitude moves mountains!"

She arrived an hour early for her 8:00 appointment with her annotated folders of company profiles ready for action. The morning hadn't gone well. Corporate recruiters' eyes had simply slid over her before fixing onto one of her male classmates. The eyes that did NOT merely slide over her just stripped her naked, assigned her a sales price and then moved on. She could practically feel their thoughts tickling over her body like cockroaches. It was frustrating. She was smart, she was hard-working, she was at or near the head of her class in everything she did... but none of it seemed to count because she didn't have a penis.

At lunchtime, she regrouped. The cost of her interview suit had wrecked her budget for the remainder of the school year, so she bought a light snack in the campus food court while she pored over her notes. The morning schedule had mostly been big banks and financial resources firms. They hired junior analysts by the bus load. Obviously, Gabbie reasoned, they were looking for cookie-cutter fits for their corporate cultures. The afternoon would be different, though. It was a more heterogenous mix - a variety of wholesale organizations that dealt in physical bodies and a scattering of smaller, boutique slavery firms. These jobs might not pay as much as Big Corporate, but they came with health insurance and a sufficient salary to pay down her student loans if she budgeted carefully.

Gabriele gathered her things, took a deep breath, and headed out. This time it was going to work!

It hadn't. At 3:45 in the afternoon, she was looking at yet another empty booth. The convention hall was emptying rapidly. She was sifting through dregs now. There had to be some gold here. At least this booth still had a few brochures and a stack of business cards left behind. She put her now-much-heavier bag down and started checking the brochures for names and phone numbers. "Bellefleur Financial," she read aloud. Whoever these guys were, they had apparently found what they wanted and gone home. Nevertheless, it was still possible that arrangements might fall through. A determined woman showing up at the right time and place could seize an unexpected opportunity and...

"Huh, looks like I'm too late." spoke a bemused masculine voice behind her.

Startled out of her glum reverie, Gabriela spun about and... looked up. This man was very tall, 6'3" at least. In her by-now-painful pumps, Gabriela was 5'10" tall. He was dressed in a very sharp suit that was slightly disheveled. Gabriela understood that at this hour of the day it was impossible to look one's best, but someone needed to be taking better care of this man. His suit and shoes were expensive but hadn't been carefully maintained and required updating, the shoes especially.

Nevertheless, he seemed important, and she immediately thrust out her hand and gave him her best smile. It was a tired smile, but it was the absolute best she had at this moment. "Hi!" she greeted him cheerily, "I'm Gabriela Chavez and I'm looking for work!"

"I see," he said, chuckling drily while taking her proffered hand and making a show of staring about the empty booth in confusion, "have you seen my HR manager? She seems to have gone missing."

Gabriela glanced down at the assorted business cards in her other hand. This was clearly an important man and he wanted something. If Gabbie had the answer, he would be grateful! She pulled up one of the business cards she collected and asked brightly, “Mary Winters?”

“That's her,” he answered with a smile, “have you seen her?”

“No sir, I have not,” she told him honestly. “I was just about to call her and leave a message.”

“Hmm...” he frowned and started scrolling through his phone. “Well, that's not good. Give me a moment, will you? There's a chair right over there.”

Gabriela turned and, spotting the indicated chair, quickly smoothed her skirt and sat down. She still wasn't sure who she was talking to, but he seemed nice, and he had that indefinable air of command. He was clearly someone who expected to be obeyed and she did so without thinking. It felt good. Finally, someone was in charge around here.

“Hello Mary, is everything all right?... No, no, I'm at the job fair. I didn't get your email until just now. No, that's fine, one second.”

He turned to Gabriela and pointed at her binder. “Resume.”

Gabbie had paid extra at the campus printing shop to have twenty resumes printed on expensive cloth paper. She also had another 40 printed on regular printer paper just in case she needed them. After an entire day of at the job fair, she still had 18 of the expensive versions left. She swiftly placed one in his hand. He glanced at it, reading quickly. Somehow, she knew that this quick review contained more interest and comprehension than she had received all day.

“Yeah,” he said, “I just interviewed a great candidate, and she looks good on paper. Yes, ‘she’, is that a problem? Fine, see you tomorrow. Give Jobie kisses for me and I hope he feels better soon.”

Gabriela waited while he scrolled through a few more messages on his phone before turning it off and slipping it into his breast pocket. He looked up at her. He was practically the first man to bother to look her in the eyes all day. “So,” he began, “what did you have for lunch?”

“Oh, umm...” she was a bit nonplussed at the unexpected question and began to gather her things to give herself time to collect her thoughts. He was so considerate and courtly! “I had tater-tots.”

“Really?” he asked. “Did they charge you for ten tots, and then toss five tots and a pile of greasy potato fragments at you?”

She scowled up at him. “Most certainly not! I received SIX entire tots and a pile of assorted half-tots, thank you very much! They were delicious.”

He threw back his head and laughed, obviously delighted by her quick and clever response. “All right,” he said, still grinning. Gabbie loved the way his previously stern visage lit up. She felt a sudden urge to make it happen again. “All right then, I missed lunch myself, too much rushing around today,” he continued. “Suppose we...” he waved her resume at her, “...continue this interview somewhere else. Someplace with food. I'm famished and expect that you are, too.”

Gabriela reached for her purse. She might have enough cash if she ordered something inexpensive. She didn’t dare own a credit card. Or maybe they could go to that place with unlimited bread sticks and she could...

He noticed her furtive fumbling and cut it off right quick. “My treat, it's a business lunch. We need to continue your interview and I don't want to do it hungry.”

“Oh, umm,” she quickly re-stowed her things and looked up. He was standing over her holding out an elbow like a fine gentleman in a play.

Although her heart leaped upward at the sight, Gabbie frowned at him instead. “I do not believe we have been introduced,” she said in her most ladylike tone of voice. She was trying hard not to be coquettish, but some of it must have bled through. It was terribly embarrassing, but there was no help for it. He just had that aura.

“Justin Bellefleur,” he replied with a slight smile and a bow, “just like it says on the tin.”

Oh! Well then! His name was on the company banner, surely this was a man of influence! And he had already told "his" HR manager that she was hired. Having a late lunch with him seemed like a great idea to Gabbie right now. Plus, she was really hungry. Tater-tot fragments in ketchup soup really didn't make for a very appetizing meal. Nor was the dinner of instant noodles and diced bologna that she was expecting to dine on at her apartment tonight.

She gave him her very best smile again and hooked her arm into his, letting him help her out of the chair. Her smile was now far brighter and more hopeful than the strained "very best" smile that she had given him a few minutes ago. Things were looking up!

"Hmm..." he spoke thoughtfully while carefully removing the heavy bag from her shoulder and placing it over his own. She hadn't asked him to, and he certainly hadn't requested permission, he simply acted as a matter of course. It was pure old-fashioned chivalry. "I suppose we'll have to go to Maria's Steakhouse. It's close and they have a superb variety."

They walked arm in arm toward the entrance hall. Justin seemed to know a lot of people and he smiled and nodded as he greeted them. Gabriela looked up at his face as he did so, though, and noticed that he was giving his fellow slavers an entirely different smile than the one he had directed at her. On the surface, it was entirely correct. But it never quite reached his eyes. She also noticed that they treated him with great deference and respect... and that deference seemed to extend to her now. No longer feeling like a brave mouse sneaking into a hawk convention, she felt quite safe on his arm.

Gabbie was pondering her sudden change in status as they approached the exhibition hall entrance, where he slipped her hand off his elbow so that he could open the door for her. She smiled up at him in gratitude and then there it was again - that genuine smile that made his previously-cold grey eyes twinkle a bit.

"We'll take my car," he informed her, "I'm in the parking garage. It's this way."

[ZeeChromosome]

-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Fire and Pain
-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Gabriela's reminiscing was cut short by a hand on her back. Slacks and a pair of men's dress shoes walked into her limited range of vision. She knew those shoes very well. When he first hired her as an intern last summer, Mr. Bellefleur had given her a clothing allowance and instructed her to use it to upgrade her wardrobe. Instead, she spent some of it on a pair of shoes for him. These shoes right here. In spite of her current predicament, the memory made her smile. He looked so good in them even as he scolded her for spending her own clothing allowance on a gift for him. She remembered feeling like he was about to put her over his knee and spank her. The memory made her wiggle a bit. She had even fantasized about that exact thing happening in some of her masturbatory slave yoga sessions. Of course, a gentleman like Justin Bellefleur would never do that to one of his young female employees. But Master Bellefleur just might do it to his sex slave. She wiggled some more.

Obviously able to discern something of what was going through her mind right now, he chuckled as he leaned over her ear. With all the noise and hubbub in the room, there was no chance of him being overheard. "You've caused me a lot of trouble today, Gabbie. You created a very serious security breach at my company. You got yourself enslaved and I had to come down here and buy you. I had other things I was planning on doing today and I'm not happy about this. If you think I'm going to go easy on you, you're wrong. I'm going to send you away from here for a while. Someplace safe where they can teach you a few things about how a woman is supposed to behave. When you return, you will serve me. You are mine now, slave 5993, and you always will be."

Gabriela shivered as she felt him trail his fingertips lightly down her helplessly bound body. "Seems you like that idea, don't you?" he asked her as his fingertips found the wet folds of her vagina and parted them. He stood and began running his fingertips up and down her inner lips. It felt so good! It was way better than any of her fantasies of him tying her up and ravishing her... except for the noise, bright lights, smells, and people staring at her as she was pleasured. Gabbie bowed her head in shame. She didn't want all those gawkers to see how much she was enjoying this.

"Head up, girl!" Justin snapped. "The cameras need to get a good look at you. You're slave 5993 now and you better get used to it because you're going to be slave 5993 for a very long time!"

"What do you think, Jake, did I get a good price?"

"Yeehaw, buddy,” came a voice from directly behind Gabbie. She didn’t need to see behind her, everyone knew the voice of Jake Henry. “I'm glad my humble establishment was able to provide you with that service. I like this one, too, maybe I'll buy her myself and take her home with me."

Gabriela glanced over and saw that Mr. Do was on the other side of Bethany the influencer girl, mirroring Master Bellefleur’s pose and actions. Bethany didn't look very interested in being purchased, but she was definitely enjoying the physical sensations. Mr. Do had pleasured a lot of slave girls over the years and he knew exactly what he was doing.

Justin eyed the slender influencer's pink grading collar. "Any chance auction?"

"Nope, and yep, and kinda-sorta,” Jake responded cheerfully as the two men watched Mr. Do diddle the helpless college student. “This fine young gentleman here is Josh, he's on my social media team. It was his idea. Find an influencer and set up a charity auction. This girl is passionate about sea turtles. I like that, she reminds me of my niece the biologist. Anyway, we grade her and auction her off here, posting the entire thing on her InstaTok feed. If her followers donate more money to the Sea Turtle Rescue Fund than her auction price, she goes home free in about.... how much longer, Josh?"

"About 20 minutes, sir."

"About 20 minutes then, plenty of time. BUT, if someone bids higher before then, she gets sold and we trade this pink collar for a real one. We'll have a dramatic revelation scene in 20 minutes. It will be fun to see her face then. The great thing about it is that all the money goes to her favorite charity, win or lose. So it's good PR for the slavery business in general. People can see that slavery is good and it makes the world a better place. What do you think?"

Part of Gabriela, the part empathizing with the unfortunate InstaToker, thought it was a horrible idea. The part of Gabriela that was a professional slaver thought it was extremely clever. She could see that Mr. Do was pleasuring the other girl at the same speed that Justin was stroking her. Judging by her face, Bethany was approaching an orgasm and the videographer was lining up his shot. So was Gabriela. She glanced at her own camera. This upcumming moment was going to be recorded for posterity. She desperately wanted to turn her head away from the camera's unfeeling gaze, but Master Bellefleur had ordered her to look straight at it when she climaxed.

The excited gawkers could see what was happening and they were loving it. A large number of cell phones had appeared in their hands and she knew that she could never live this down. The humiliation was going to be utter and complete. Even if Master Bellefleur took her home tonight and manumitted her immediately, she would have nowhere to go to escape from her disgrace. It was going to shatter her life. What was she thinking? Her pre-slavery life was already destroyed, she would have to build something new. So it shouldn't really matter to her, anyway. And yet she was still having difficulty setting herself free from an entire lifetime of societal conditioning. She couldn’t do it. She kept resisting; she couldn’t orgasm in front of all these people. Doing it on the auction floor was different, she was desperate to make a sale.

“Tell you what, Joe, five grand says my girls shoots off first," said Master Do, grinning at his old friend. “If my girl goes first, I put five grand on #savebethany. If your girl pops first, you put it on #sellbethany. Deal?”

“Deal!”

Oh no, Justin had made a bet on her! His prestige was on the line and he needed her. She looked over at her rival. Bethany was bound and panting and resisting just as hard as she was. But then her expression changed and her eyes narrowed. They went from desperate but futile resistance to determination. Unlike Gabbie, she was an attention whore, all eyes must be on her! She was determined to cum first. Gabbie couldn’t let that happen. Her Master was the best! Gabbie’s excitement began to peak and… she realized that if she won, then that five thousand dollars might seal Bethany’s fate. She froze, she couldn’t do it. She watched helplessly as Bethany began to climax while staring at the camera, giving it her best attention-whore smile.

Gabriele lost! She failed Master yet again today! Whimpering, she tried to recapture the moment, squirming and wriggling under his touch. She regained the lost ground, peaked, and vibrated through her second orgasm of the day, this one driven not by her own fingers, but by the fingers of the man she loved. She did it, and she did it for him! Master had ordered her to look straight at the camera. She did that, too! Gabriela Chavez’s inhibitions had been put aside and slave 5993 reveled in the afterglow of success.

Endorphins rushed through her body and everything tingled as the two girls came down from their shared orgasm. Master Bellefleur stepped back, but retained a firm hand on her shoulder, comforting her as… she screamed. Bethany screamed in concert. While the two panting girls were distracted in a post-orgasmic haze, Merle and his assistant simply walked up behind them and pressed white-hot branding irons into their bottoms, held them for a few seconds, and then backed away. Neither girl was expecting it. They should have, but they weren’t. Orgasms have that effect.

Slave 5993 was in agony. It hurt so much. The smithy’s fans tried valiantly to remove the stench of burnt flesh, but some of the smoke still reached her nose. It was her own burnt skin and the flesh beneath that she was smelling. A first-degree burn only damages the uppermost layer of skin, the epidermis. A sunburn is a first-degree burn. A second-degree burn also damages the second layer of skin, the living dermis. A blister is a second-degree burn. A third-degree burn cuts through the epidermis, the dermis, and burns the flesh beneath. Slave 5993 had just suffered a third-degree burn. When it healed, she would carry a scar in the precise shape of the Bid D Auction House’s logo with a letter “P” for “Prime” in the center of it. She was now marked forever with a corporate logo. The mark of a high-quality woman enslaved and auctioned here on these premises.

If the slave formerly known as Gabriele Chavez had been capable of coherent thought right now. And if she hadn’t been bound to the steel framework of the badging bench, she would have seen Jake Henry, Justin Bellefleur and Joseph Do take the still-smoking brands from the smiths, salute one another, and then light their cigars on the still white hot shoulders of the brands. The face of the brand was of course darkened by losing its heat in the slave girls’ rumps. Not to mention lingering traces of still smoking burnt skin and flesh. She would become familiar with the scene later. The Big D’s self-published magazine made sure of it. In the insert, the three businessmen stood shoulder to shoulder, lighting their cigars while gazing at the camera through the combined tendrils of tobacco and slave girl smoke through slitted eyes, daring their enemies to make the next move. No moves were made. Nobody dared. Years later, Gabriele and Bethany would be proud that their combined sacrifice helped make that moment happen.

But right now, it just hurt. Slave 5993 barely noticed when the mother-daughter duo next to them received their “Prime Minus” and “Prime MOM” brands simultaneously. She was only focused on the excruciating pain in her own ass… and partially about the poor Bethany. She had probably been tricked or misled into being here. Gabriela had no excuse. She had lied to her Master and gotten enslaved for her own mistake.

Finally, somebody or someone or something sprayed a healing balm on her tormented ass and slave 5993 was released. Cici, the wrangler supervisor from before, was there to unbind her and lead her away.

“I gotchu, honey,” she said, "you can do this, you’re strong, you’re beautiful, you can walk. It’s just a little sting, follow me now.”

Slave 5993 followed her on tentative feet over to where Master and his friends were enjoying their cigars. They had retreated from the bustle around the badging benches and were quietly chatting in a corner. Cici gently guided the still-in-shock slave girl to her knees in front of her Master, who placed his hand firmly on top of her head and pulled her teary cheek into his thigh while otherwise ignoring her.

It wasn't much different from a man treats a dog he was especially fond of, she thought, “I'm a pet now.” It was oddly comforting. She was safe now. Master was in charge. He would protect her.

“Yeah,” Master said, “that bill’s not gonna pass. The freaking 7-year limit is Biblical, it’s ironclad. They’ll get some campaign funds out of it from the special interests – that’s us, of course – but it ain’t going nowhere. Treat it like it is, a bunch of stupid pandering.”

The slave knelt contentedly at Master's feet. She didn’t know what would happen next. Perhaps he would take her home now? She didn’t even know where “home” was anymore, except that it was wherever Master wanted it to be. She may have been fantasizing about being his for the past year, but she hadn't expected it to involve an actual sale. Gabriele’s fall from grace hadn’t stopped her from being a bright, intelligent, and inquisitive woman, but she was mentally and emotionally exhausted from the most traumatic day of her young life. Now she was currently safe, though, so she let her mind drift and enjoyed being Master's beloved pet…

“All right,” Master said, as he tugged her to her feet with the leash on her collar.

“When did that get there?” the girl wondered, looking at it in confusion.

And what was all right?

It was so easy not to think and just obey. Master was always right. Slave 5993 followed her Master as he walked with his friend through various hallways and up some stairs. Everyone they met gave way. That was the natural order of things. Master went places, people and slaves got out of his way, slave 5993 followed. She was safe and secure. She had a leash.

The trio of slavers walked through yet another door and entered a long enclosed room. It was dark and cool in there and the right side was a window with a long desk beneath it. They were above the stands in the VIP seating area of the auction hall. Slave 5993 shook her head. She had been here before… when she was “Gabriela”.

Gabriela blinked her eyes as Master led her along through the darkness, wafting tobacco smoke, the coal of his cigar glowing in the subdued light. Wow, she really drifted away for a bit, she thought. That wasn’t good. And her butt hurt. A lot.

Master’s friend, Master Jake, led them toward a small group of technicians hunkered over a few laptops as they gazed intently at the screens or out into the auction house arena.

“Status?” he demanded.

“All cool, sir,” one of the techs replied, barely looking around. He was focused on his work. Gabriela decided that his lack of deference was acceptable since he was doing Master Jake’s bidding. She really didn’t like it when Master’s friends weren’t treated with the deference that they deserved.

She looked down at the auction stage and saw Bethany being led in chains into the spotlight. She knew Bethany! Bethany was her friend!

Bethany was wearing an extravagant array of ridiculously-shiny chains as she was led across the stage by three of the Big D’s burliest slave wranglers. The had enough chains on her to secure a giant-ass buffalo or something, not a 115-pound slave girl. It was blatant theatrics of an obvious and ridiculous sort.

Above her on the wall were three giant screens. One was the familiar bidding screen that had destroyed Gabriela’s life just an hour or two prior. Gabbie felt a sudden urge to check the clock on her phone, but she didn’t need to see what time it was. Time no longer had any meaning to her. She was a slave now, and slaves did what they were told when they were told to do it. Timekeeping was for suckers…. I mean Masters.

Gabbie smirked in the darkness, then looked around guiltily to see if anyone was looking. She had made a joke, if only to herself. She didn’t want anyone to know, she might be punished. Her bottom already hurt. It couldn’t get worse than that, could it?

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tonight's big reveal. We are here to BUY... or SELL... or SAVE Bethany! Here, say hello to the crowd, sweetie. Look how brave she is. Bethany has put her freedom on the line to save the sea turtles, we can all respect and admire that. ..."

"So, if "Save Bethany" gets the most votes, she goes home tonight?" Master asked.

"Basically, yeah. Seems like a pretty close race, though, it could go either way. Honestly, I thought that this idea would almost always end up with the girl not being sold, but it's really a 50-50 proposition. The reason is that the fans can also vote against her. Josh did some research and the university did a study and they found that's the most common result. It has something to do with psychological something or other. People are competitive. I guarantee there's just as many "Sell Bethany" supporters as there are "Save Bethany" voters. It really is a game of chance."

This seemed interesting to Gabriele, but in her exhausted state, she wasn't able to think very clearly. What she did understand was that one screen had a big blue letters that said "Save Bethany" on it. Beneath the lettering was a dollar figure. As long as that number stayed higher than the leading bid to buy her, Bethany would be set free. The auction price currently stood at $120K for a three year indenture. That wasn't unreasonable for a Prime pleasure slave. The thing that worried Gabriela about the auction board was that ALL of the top bidders' icons were known to her. They were high-volume whore houses that bought large numbers of attractive girls, used them up, and tossed them aside. The stakes were even higher than Gabbie realized! Bethany almost certainly had no clue about who wanted to buy her. As an attractive minor celebrity, she would almost certainly be in high demand and be required to sexually service multiple men all day, every day. It wasn't looking good.

If Gabriela DID still have her phone, she knew she would be reaching for it to vote right now. Bethany seemed to be a sweet girl in spite of her selfie obsession.

The big blue "Save Bethany" total was currently at about $127K, but it fluctuated up and down as the time limit approached the cutoff point and the online voters battled over Bethany's freedom. Over time, though, Team Save Bethany was slowly losing ground. All it would take is a single large donation to the Sea Turtle Foundation for her to lose the vote.

Looking down into the arena seating, Gabriela could see the glow of hundreds of cell phones in the dim light. She wondered how many of them were entertaining themselves by joining Team Sell Bethany? Bethany wasn't going to make it. She was leaving this room branded AND collared. Her bright future was looking increasingly dim.

Gabriela's heart went out to the girl, still smiling bravely as her chance at freedom rapidly melted away. Gabbie wanted to shout, stamp her feet, to do something. But she was powerless, collared, and leashed. Maybe Master could save Bethany, too? "Master..." she began tentatively, "isn't there..."

"Hush, pet," he whispered, "it's already taken care of."

Bethany's online defenders struggled mightily. She really did have a strong online following who loved her. But they were steadily losing ground as time ran out... "Bing!"

The bidding board on the left, which had remained static for some time, suddenly updated. Bidder A9 had appeared and bid $160K. The crowd below erupted in cheers as Mr. Do leaned back from his laptop and blew a self-satisfied cloud of cigar smoke at the ceiling.

"Nice timing, Joe," Master Jake congratulated him.

Master Do chuckled, he was obviously very pleased with himself. "I decided not to leave it to chance. With some of these influencer girls, I don't really care. But I LIKE this one. I think she would be perfect for my son. Did you notice that she's half-Vietnamese? So is my son, so that's a start. I'll send her to the same school as your girl, it'll be fun. Oo! I have to tell my wife, she'll be excited."

Gabriela watched with tears in her eyes as down on the stage, the timer went to all zeroes and Bethany's brave façade finally crumbled. She started sobbing and would have fallen if the two burly slave handlers on either side hadn't grabbed her arms. They lowered her to her knees on the stage, and she bowed her head in either submission or grief. This was her fate; she had gambled and lost. At least the sea turtles would be safer now. The third wrangler came up behind her and removed her pink grading collar, replacing it with a black slave collar. Bethany the minor celebrity no longer existed. Only slave 4513 remained.

The announcer approached the kneeling girl and held out his mic. "So, a very successful auction!" he exclaimed. "You raised almost five hundred thousand dollars for the sea turtle rescue fund. How do you feel about that?"

Bethany raised her tear-stained face, choking back a sob. "Umm..." she said plaintively. "I'm happy for the sea turtles. I just want them to be happy and safe. And I want to thank my fans for supporting me, you were really nice. I'll be back some day, and we'll have... I don't know, stuff to do?"

Master Justin turned away from the tragic scene and led slave 5993 away. "I'll meet you down by the docks," he called over his shoulder.

Master Do waved at him in acknowledgement as he spoke animatedly on the phone, presumably with his wife.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Shipping: FOB Destination
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

As Master led Gabriela into the shipping department, they were approached by Otis Keller, the shipping supervisor.

"Mr. Bellefleur, it's been a long time, good to see you," he greeted him. He seemed genuinely happy to see him, but his eyes shifted uncomfortably back and forth between the man and his slave, searching their faces for a cue on how to react. Otis had always been kind and helpful to Gabriela when she came down here on business, and she could see that he was having a difficult time seeing her in under these circumstances. In his line of work, he did occasionally come across people he knew who had been enslaved, so it couldn't be a new experience for him. Nevertheless, some folks never got used to it, especially if it was someone they knew well and really liked.

One of the things that Gabriele had finally had to come to accept about the slavery profession was that being an attractive young woman wasn't a benefit, it was a liability. In every other walk of life, pretty girls got positive reactions and special treatment. But not here. Not in the slavery business.

Otis was an exception to the rule, though. He was unfailingly friendly, respectful, and he always had a supply of icy cold water bottles. He treated her like a fond uncle, and he was clearly embarrassed at seeing her slave naked, collared, and leashed.

He finally decided to treat Gabriela like she was invisible. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"My slave needs food and water, let's get her settled in. Joe bought a new slave, too, and we're shipping them out together. He told me you have a new two-girl flatpack you're testing out and Jake wants to see it in action."

Gabriela soon found herself on a slave mat with her ankle chained to the floor. Her hands had been re-cuffed in front of her and she had a bottle of water. It wasn't an icy-cold bottle of fresh spring water like Otis had always given her. It was a lukewarm bottle of tap water, reflecting her new station in life. But, it was still water, for which she was grateful. She hadn't had anything to drink since before her trip to the smithy, and she was parched.

She knelt quietly among a number of other slaves who were also being shipped soon. Although she hadn't been ordered not to talk, she knew she didn't need to be told that. "Slaves will speak only when spoken to" was a default rule of slavery. But she hadn't been told not to look around, so she did that. It was a very different perspective of the shipping department than she remembered. Previously when she came down here, the long row of slave mats was something on the edges of her awareness. She only came over to this area if she needed to check on a particular inventory item. Other than that, she ignored the rows of kneeling slaves.

Now SHE was one of the kneeling slaves.

Activities that had once seemed banal took on a whole new meaning for her. "Clack!" a worker dropped wooden pallet and began assembling a folding wire "dog crate" on top of it. Most slaves being transported locally were shipped out via "poodle express", which meant in the back of a truck or van, crammed into a too-small wire crate. A standard shipping pallet was 48”x40” inches and could hold two crates, four if you stacked them to save space. That's usually how it was done. Often, the last that Gabriela saw of shipped slaves was a quartet of gagged faces looking out from behind the wire mesh of their cages as the truck doors were closed.

Now SHE was going to be one of those anguished faces.

"Ahhahah!"

Startled, she looked up. She needed to be more alert. Slaves always needed to pay attention to the free people in the room. A skinny slave wrangler with long blonde hair was standing over her. Working in a warehouse wasn't the cleanest of jobs, but his grungy work uniform made his coworkers look like corporate executives. Gabbie didn't know his name, but didn't think it would matter to her now. "Yes, Boss" and "No, Boss" were really the only things she would be allowed to say to him now.

"Lookit, lookit, lookit. Hey Mike, lookit here! It's Miss Pencil Skirt! Remember how she used to come down here and sashay all around like she owned the place? Heh, well now she found a place all right, on her knees. Hey, Miss Smarty-pants! Or should I say hello… he peered at the numbers stenciled on her chest… slave 5993. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. When's break time? I've got dibs!"

It was common practice for the loading dock workers to pull a few slaves from the queue on their breaks and reward themselves for being such great guys. Fortunately, that activity was normally confined to the break room. That's where Otis kept his stash of cold water bottles and she suspected that he brought them out to her so that she wouldn't have to see slaves being used by relaxing dockworkers. Gabriela looked around the room to see if Master was returning.

The man's arm lashed out like a striking snake and painfully grabbed her chin. Much like her previous assailant, Gus, he seemed to revel in his position of authority over her and wanted to enjoy seeing the fear in her eyes. "Ain't nobody comin' to help you, slave bitch. You stay right there until I'm ready for ya. I'm gonna fuck yer ass before I put ya in that crate!"

"C'mon Jack, help me get these crates up," said the other worker. He clearly didn't care about Jack's actions, he just wanted help setting up the cages.

In her previous role as a slavery professional "sashaying all around the place", she had seen such behavior before. She hadn't interfered either, reasoning that it was just the way things were. Which it was. None of the other workers bustling about paid any attention to the interaction. She had noticed long ago that everyone had a pretty hands-off attitude toward the mistreatment of slaves as long as the merchandise wasn't being damaged more than normal wear and tear. But now that she was the object potentially being worn and torn, she had a whole new perspective on things. After her humiliating public downfall, she knew that she could never work here again. But even if she WAS able to return, she wouldn't want to. Her brief career as a slaver was over. She would need to find a new role in life five years from now.

She could do nothing at all right now except wait. Oftentimes, slavery is boring. She watched with trepidation as the two men finished building and securing the 4-crate pallet and then crammed four of her fellow slaves inside. Jack kept looking up at her as the project approached completion. He was practically rubbing his hands with glee. She wished Master would return.

A forklift arrived and lifted the pallet up. The last she saw of it was four gagged faces staring back at her. Some things didn’t change. Actually, she had changed. She now had far more empathy for the slave girls being shipped off into the unknown. Before her downfall, she empathized intellectually. But now she empathized viscerally. They were shipping Gabbie off soon, and she had no idea where, other than that it had been described as a “school”. In the slavery industry, “School” could mean a lot of very different things. Some of those things were pretty frightening. She silently wished the four women good luck.

"Mr. Henry!"

Jake Henry and Joe Do crossed the shipping room floor, followed closely by slave 4513, formerly known as Bethany. Gabriela was pleased to see that she had stopped crying and appeared more composed and resigned to her fate. Gabbie had no doubt that the girl didn't think that her followers would let her down, but she had to have known that it was a possibility. Maybe that helped a little bit?

"Congrats on your purchase sir, nice one!"

"Thanks, guys," Master Do replied, obviously still in a very good mood. He handed the leash to one of the men as Jake issued a rapid-fire series of commands. Gabriela was impressed by Master Jake, as always. He reminded her so much of her own Master. "Put her over here with this other one. We're shipping them both out together. I want to see the new flat-packs in action, so set one up, just one layer for now. You and you, make sure these two slaves are fed and watered, I don't guess either of them has eaten since breakfast. Has anyone seen Otis?"

Some of the men began executing the boss's orders while he clapped his arm around Mr. Do and the two men headed off in the direction of Otis's office, trailing celebratory cigar smoke.

Gabbie didn't see Jack anywhere. Apparently, the appearance of Mr. Henry had scared him off... for now. Her cheek curled upward in a brief smile. There were benefits to being owned by a powerful man. Her original sales strategy was working and she had more protection than most of these other girls. She could have felt guilty about it, but with her ass literally on the line, she didn't. It was every girl for herself at the bottom of the social ladder. She was learning. If she could protect herself, she would.

"Dinner" was slave chow and water. The less said about that, the better. As they ate the flavorless crunchy bits, the two girls watched several workers set up a new pallet. This one appeared to be a more-or less flat box about two feet high with triangular-shaped styrofoam inserts.

Master, Jake, and Mr. Do returned just as the men finished the box. They walked around it, examining the set up.

Otis explained what they were looking at. “Okay, this is a new product. The idea is to pack more slaves into the same amount of space for longer distance shipping. Poodle cages have a lot of wasted space. So this configuration will ship six slaves in the same space as four regular crates. Also, it places less stress on the slaves because the girls are lying down. At least that's the theory. I have some reservations, though. Guys, pack 'em in so they can see it in action."

Gabriela and Bethany were unchained and helped into the crate. In order to fit into the cramped space, they were placed on their sides face to face with their legs bent at the knees and waist. The two girls' gagged faces were inches away from one another. Then they were strapped in with their arms bound behind their backs, ankles and knees bound together. Additional straps were used to ensure that they couldn't shift around during transport. Gabriela was grateful that the men were very careful not to disturb the fresh brands. Most Masters preferred that their slaves' brands heal without excessive scarring so that they were clear and easy to read. Others intentionally irritated the brands in various ways so that they formed prominent, discolored ridges. Gabriela was just glad that they weren't hurting her.

When they were done, another worker strapped an electronic device to each girl's upper arm.

Mr. Henry inspected the bindings, tugging here and there and grunting a bit. "Hmm... so then we stack two more on top of them?"

“Yessir, that's the design. Frankly, I don't like it. I mean, in theory, on paper, it looks fine. Also, there's the nice visual effect, which looked really good in the brochures.”

"I hear a lot of reservations here. What don't you like about it?”

“Well sir, first of all, it doesn't really save us a lot of time. Shipping costs, yeah, so there's that. But what I really don't like about it is the lack of breathing room and ventilation. Also, it's hard to pack and unpack. You have to start packing from the bottom and unpacking from the top. That can be planned for, but it's just more headaches for us. There's better ways to do this. However, I really do like these nifty health monitoring devices. So that's something."

"Hmm... all right, here's what we're going to do. We've already got these two packaged and we're sending them out tonight, so go ahead and do that. Then I want you to grab some more guys and try doing a full pallet with three stacked crates. Pick a few girls from the line up and package them, see how that works. I have one further concern, which is panic attacks. If you get a claustrophobic slave and she freaks out, you've got a real mess on your hands. It creates a medical emergency and there's no telling what might happen. If she's near the bottom, you gotta unstack the whole pallet to get her out. That's a mess if it happens here, what if it happens on the road and it's just the one driver with no helper? Anyway, ship these two and get started on the full stack. I want an assessment in the morning. Justin, Joe, how about that glass of scotch I promised you? I've got a new bottle in my office."

Gabriela tried to roll her eyes enough to watch Master go, but was unable to see him from her tightly bound position. Her heart sank as he left without saying a word to her.

Soon, she felt the pallet jacked up and could see the overhead lights rolling by as they were placed in the back of a van. Apparently, she and Bethany were being sent to the same place. Mr. Do had mentioned some sort of "school". She hoped it wasn't one of those sex training schools that took in women and churned out mindless sex dolls. Master wouldn't do that to her, he loved her. She had confidence in him!

Inches in front of her face, she saw Bethany give up trying to hold back her tears and watched them roll down her face as the van's doors were slammed and they headed off. Gabriela tried to smile reassuringly, but was overwhelmed by her own tears.

Speeding through the night, the two young women mourned together.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

[Carl Bradford]

Well done--this fulfills the promise of the segments you shared with me ahead of time.
Carl

[ZeeChromosome]

Thanks, Carl.

I posted this only 10 days after I first started clickety-clacking on it at the keyboard in a fit of madness. Without the support from you, Avicia, and Smith, it never would have happened.

I'm grateful for that and very happy to be writing again.

Zee!

PS - I hope you had a great vacation!

[imreadonly2]

This was a wonderful story, and I really enjoyed it. Highlights for me were the mercantile nature of the auction and the cool, dispassionate discussion of the packing methods. I also loved the employees getting revenge on a girl who had looked down on them before. I love the idea of a woman in a smart business suit looking disdainfully at the blue collar warehouse workers, only to meet them under reduced circumstances later.

"Aren't you smelling all fresh and purty today," Fat Willy said.

"Dream on, monger monkey," Gwen said disdainfully. "And watch your mouth, or I'll have you driving a truck with no air conditioning in July all the way down to Mexico. That won't smell pretty, and neither will you."

Very nicely done, and a nice expansion on The Big D lore!!

[jeepster]

When I "heard" flat packing I instantly thought of Sarah's method of 2 girls 69'ing!

[ZeeChromosome]

Very nicely done, and a nice expansion on The Big D lore!!

Thank you, sir! I was hoping you'd like it. I was a bit worried about using your intellectual property, but Carl and Smith kept me straight, so I did it right. I can't thank them enough for all the help they've given me.

I was originally going to start this chapter with Gabriela's actual enslavement at work, describe her being stripped of her sharp (and expensive) red skirt suit, and then marched out of the building by the slave catchers, mail girl style. Instead, I started with the block routine because I felt like I needed the added intensity. So, since the ACTUAL red skirt suit didn't appear in the chapter, I had to add it in through memories and dialogue. I'm glad you like it, I felt like it was an important theme.

I'll probably end up doing a prequel that covers her actual enslavement, though. It's too good to pass up. Alternatively, I was thinking that maybe Gabbie and Bethany are sent on a very long road trip to their new "conditioning" school, which will give me plenty of time to cover that as a dream sequence while she's napping in her flatpack. Basically, the same way I did the "meeting Justin" scene.

When I "heard" flat packing I instantly thought of Sarah's method of 2 girls 69'ing!

Oh! Well, that's an idea! I got this method from a CGI pic I saw on the Internet of two girls bound in that position on a bare pallet, presumably for shipping. There was another by the same artist showing cloned sex slaves being packed in boxes four high. So, I sort of combined the two concepts.

We’ll done, you struck a perfect balance of love, frustration, and her owner’s self-protection in the branding scene. That really came together after the drafts.

Thanks, Avicia. Your advice was crucial in getting that part right. I'm really pleased with the way it all flowed together once I pieced together the various scenes. It was my first time writing a block auction scene, a branding scene, AND a packaging scene, so I was hoping to do it right.

Zee!

[JustBob]

I thoroughly enjoyed the story. I would love to see a follow-on story that takes up with getting their graduation brands from Broadstone, (I love a good branding scene!), and continue through Gabriella and Justin's marriage. I am curious to see how Justin steers her around slave mind.

[ZeeChromosome]

Bob, thanks for the kind words.

I wrote this story because I'm working on the next segment of "Seduction of Tamsin" and Mistress Bellefleur is coaching Gwen and Tamsin in "Dual Slave Yoga", which is a version of slave yoga block moves to be used by women who are being sold as a matched pair - maybe because they're mother and daughter, twins, sisters, or just look-alikes. The moves are performed in unison, are often intertwined, and the mantras are different. Regardless, the buyer needs to see that the two women are able to act as a team AND are willing to touch each other sexually, so there will be some of that involved, too.

First, Gabriela does the moves with Gwen, then has Gwen and Tamsin practice the moves together while Gabriela supervises (with her riding crop). Gwen already knows the moves, but Tamsin needs to be taught. Several of the positions require the use of a double-ended dildo. THAT will be fun to write. I hope you like it.

Eventually, I hope to add Tamsin's roommate Poonam to the mix and have Mistress Gwen supervise THEM. It's what I'm working toward.

Anyway, I decided that I needed to be able to SHOW the reader how and why Gabriela is an expert at performing a dynamite block routine. That's why I started with Gabriela's auction scene. I hope I succeeded there, as well.

I ended "Gabriela's Enslavement" where I did because I'm not sure what comes next. I'll need to consult with Mr. Smith on it, because he's the guy who invented the consort academy concept.

Thanks again for your support, it keeps me pounding the keyboard!

Zee