Charlotte – Arrival, Part 01

[ZeeChromosome]

Author's Notes:
1 - Edited by Avicia, Carl Bradford, and Mr. Smith. Their support has been invaluable and without it, this would not have been possible.
2 - Appreciation to Joe Doe, for inventing this sandbox that we are playing in.

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Charlotte – Arrival, Part 01
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Cassie pulled up to Charlotte’s house and watched in alarm as Charlotte carried two large cardboard boxes out to the car and put them in the back seat. Cassie didn’t know what was in them, but she was pretty sure she saw Mr. Monkey’s arm sticking out of the top box. Mr. Monkey was a plushie toy and probably the only thing in Charlotte’s life that was more enduring than her friendship with Cassie. Mr. Monkey had been a fixture in every sleepover that Cassie had ever had with her… and that was many. The two girls had been besties since third grade.

Charlotte jumped into Cassie’s car, looked around nervously, and urgently told her to “Go-go, drive-drive, we need to go now before she comes back!”

In spite of her friend’s urgency, Cassie turned on her blinkers and looked both ways before pulling sedately out of the driveway. A girl couldn’t be too careful these days. Too many driving tickets could lead to penal slavery. And the police loved pulling over attractive young women. Any valid excuse would do, and any excuse to search their cars for contraband – planted or otherwise – would also do. The North Dallas police department was very professional, but some of the smaller towns had extremely shady practices. So, Cassie was always careful. She couldn’t make the possibility of unjust enslavement disappear, but she could minimize it to the best of her ability.

Apparently dissatisfied with Cassie’s failure to peal out of the driveway like a jet-powered race car in a spy novel, Charlotte ducked out of view and laid her head down on Cassie’s lap.

Cassie was not in the least bit displeased with this turn of events, even though she found Charlotte’s behavior extremely dramatic and puzzling. Although both girls preferred boys as romantic partners, they had each had their first kiss together on one of their sleepovers and had even experimented further. Cassie gently stroked her friend’s golden-brown ponytail as she drove, thinking furiously.

“Charlotte,” she began hesitantly, “you’re acting like an escaped slave, you know that, right? What’s going on? I know things have been difficult with your mom lately, but running away isn’t going to solve anything.”

Charlotte didn’t speak right away. But she did put up a finger to let Cassie know that she was thinking about her response. They had been friends for so long that the two girls had their own unspoken language of gestures and signs.

Lying in Cassie’s lap, Charlotte was silent for some time. As Cassie was easing into the on-ramp for I-695, Charlotte finally sighed and sat up, continuing to hold one finger in the air to indicate that it was still her turn to talk, and only her turn to talk. Then it all began to spill out in a rush.

“Cassie,” she said, “my mother is trying to enslave me. My 18th birthday was three weeks ago and she started pressuring me to get slave-graded right away. I thought it was odd, I thought it was suspicious. You know how she is. She has some kind of selfish ulterior motive for everything she does. I have another month and a half to get the slave grade I need in order to qualify for my student loans, so there’s no need to rush.

I asked her why she was pushing it and she gave me some lame excuse about how she wanted to get me graded so she could brag to her friends about my grade. That’s actually kinda-sorta believable because everything I do, she takes credit for. That’s just how she is, and you know that. I’m pretty sure that she told about 700 people how smart and beautiful I was and how I was class valedictorian and got accepted to Harvard. Taking all the credit herself, of course. It was all those late night study sessions and academic coaching classes she paid for and whatnot. Nothing to do with my own efforts of course.”

Charlotte put her finger down, inviting comment.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I would have noticed if any of that had actually taken place,” Cassie commented drily.

“Exactly,” Charlotte agreed, putting her finger back up. “Everything is arranged. I can start at Harvard this fall. The grants are approved, the loans are approved, the family financial contribution level has been calculated. All I need to do is get any halfway-acceptable slave grade sometime in the next five weeks. I’ve even picked out my first semester of classes. Any slave grade at all and I’m home free. But she’s been pestering me for months about working hard on my slave yoga routine. Now THAT she was willing to spend money on for extracurricular lessons. So why pressure me to have my grading take place literally days after my 18th birthday when I still had three weeks of high school left and finals and graduation were coming up? Why would she do that? It made me suspicious.”

Charlotte stopped her rant and sighed deeply, seeming to deflate in her seat. The sweet, bubbly girl that Cassie had known and loved for fifteen years seemed to fade away, leaving only a cold husk.

“So I snooped,” she continued in a soft voice. “I snooped on her computer and discovered that my mother, my own mother, is planning on enslaving me and pocketing the money for herself.”

“What?” Cassie screamed, turning to look at her friend and inadvertently swerving halfway into the next lane.

“Watch the road, honey, watch the road,” Charlotte told her calmly, putting her hand on the wheel to stabilize it. “I’m already over it, I’ve been planning my getaway for two weeks now and today is the day.”

“Okay,” Cassie started calmly, “you DO know that you can’t be enslaved involuntarily unless you commit a crime or run up huge debts, right? As far as I know, and I know you well, you’re not a criminal or a spendthrift with huge credit card bills. Heck, you can’t even get a credit card without a slave grade.”

“I know, watch the road,” Charlotte said with a resigned sigh. “But there are things that can be done. The first one, obviously, is some kind of skullduggery at the auction house during your slave grading. I know, forewarned is forearmed, so I think she would have difficulty pulling that off now that I know about her wicked plan. But there are other things that can be done. It’s not just urban legends, you know. There really are shadowy groups of unethical slavers that can enslave almost anyone if they have inside help. Husband, sister, lover, wife… mom.”

Charlotte sighed agonizingly while Cassie’s ‘basic transportation’ Hyundai buzzed down the highway, then continued, “They just need someone on the inside, someone trusted, to give them the inside info and they can set the whole thing up. It’s a real thing. Mom had a link to a website called "How to Enslave Your Daughter and Pocket the Money". It pretends to be a joke website so the feds don’t go after them, but the strategies and techniques are real. I researched the heck out of it on the school library computer. I don’t trust my own laptop anymore. I don’t even trust my phone. It’s turned off, by the way, and sitting on my bed. Don’t worry, all the pictures we’ve taken over the years have all been uploaded to cloud storage, so nothing is lost.”

“Anyway, I came up with a plan to defeat her… and her allies… it just means that my college plans have to go on hold for a few years. I’ve signed a voluntary indenture contract for the next two years.”

“What!” Cassie shrieked, again swerving a bit as she turned to her friend. This time, Charlotte was ready for her, and she put her hand out to keep her friend’s car in the correct lane. “How does that make any sense at all? ‘Oh gee, I’m worried about being sold into slavery, so I went ahead and sold myself into slavery!’ That makes zero fucking sense!”

“It makes perfect sense,” Charlotte replied calmly while looking around to ensure that their wobbling trajectory hadn’t attracted the attention of law enforcement.

“You see, if I sell myself, that ensures that I get the money myself and Angela is cut out. ‘Angela’ is my mother’s name by the way, I refuse to call her ‘mother’ ever again. The sales price goes into my peculium, which is a sort of a trust fund for slaves to use when they get out. It’s standard slavery practice, so it’s not risky at all. On the day of my manumission, two years from now, I become a person again and I gain control of my money. Then I can go to college. The ranch will even negotiate with the school in order to make sure that my admission is put on hold and not cancelled. The ranch I sold myself to has a reputation for fair dealing and they even give the slaves a percentage of revenues and tips.”

“Ranch?” Cassie asked, trying to maintain her attention on the road. Her very best friend was sitting next to her and calmly explaining that she had sold herself into slavery. The road was calming, it was predictable, the white lines ahead of her formed a clear path. Her safe and happy suburban world was being torn apart by her best friend’s calm, sweet voice and she needed to get them both safely to their destination. She focused on the road.

“Yeah, ‘ranch’,” replied Charlotte. “It’s a human pony ranch called the HH Ranch. They’re the ones that provided the pony carts for prom, remember that?”

Cassie did remember that. It was so much fun. The North Dallas School District contracted with local human pony businesses to provide transportation from the parking lots to the prom venue. It was really classy. Cassie remembered sitting in her cart watching the athletic pony girls pulling her cart with a mixture of sorrow, revulsion… and envy. They were so sexy in their tights and leather harnesses! Due to the fact that it was a school function and some of the participants (like Charlotte at the time) were underage, the pony girls (and boys) had worn tights while they were working. But Cassie also knew that human ponies were almost always naked while serving. And by “serving”, she knew that meant that they also provided sexual services, not just draft-animal services. Her very best friend in all the world had just calmly informed her that she was going to be a draft animal and sex slave, traded to the highest bidder for the next two years. It was awful. Tears started rolling down her cheeks. She loved Charlotte so much and this was too much to bear. Charlotte shouldn’t be forced into this… no one should!

Charlotte looked at her friend with concern. She placed her small, warm hand on Cassie’s denim-clad thigh. “It’s okay, honey,” she said. “This is my choice, this is the path that I have chosen. Yeah, Angela forced me into it, but it is what it is. This is my path and I’ve chosen it of my own free will. I’m going to be a human pony for two years, and then I’m going to carry on with my career path. It’s already set up. The Ranch has an arrangement with the National Association for the Advancement of Collared Persons. The NAACP will smooth everything over. As long as I come out of my two years of slavery mentally intact, they’ll make sure that Harvard honors its enrollment offer. Just like that, it’s done. It will happen. It will be fine. Two years later than I originally planned, but it will still happen. Plus, there will be a lot less college debt than I would have had otherwise. So it’s really a win/win for me. I just have to serve for two years in a collar. That’s all.”

Cassie sighed a sad, heartbroken sigh. She took off her glasses and put them on the dashboard. She wiped her eyes. She kept her now slightly blurry vision on the road. Charlotte’s safety was her responsibility and Cassie was going to get her to her destination safe and sound. What happened to her next was… worrisome.

They were approaching the interchange where Interstate-35E merged with I-35W and became I-35 South. In a few more miles they would pass through Hillsboro and reach the rest area they were heading toward. The two girls continued for a while in silence.

“Who are you going to meet at the rest area?” Cassie asked.

“Boss Monica,” Charlotte replied, “she’s the head recruiter for the Ranch. She’s on her way to Waco and she’ll give me a lift the rest of the way there, so you won’t need to drive me the full distance. The Southwest Regional Pony Association is having their quarterly auction in Waco and that’s where I need to be to surrender myself. It’s in the contract. This is their biggest event for each year because the high school students are graduating and available for sale.”

She said it so matter-of-factly, Cassie thought. “The high school students are graduating and available for sale.” Just thinking those words hurt her brain and her heart. Graduating high school students were supposed to be enjoying a golden summer between high school and college, living life, enjoying themselves drinking and partying. They weren’t supposed to be handing themselves over to the cruel and callous lusts of old men. And that’s who was going to be buying these girls. Old… men. Old men who had worked hard and earned enough money to buy or rent sex slaves. Sure, the Hallmark slave romances were heavily populated with sexy young dot.com millionaires and European aristocrats who inherited their money. But the real truth of the matter was that men worked hard for years and eventually earned enough money to buy a sex slave. That’s who Charlotte was selling herself to. Sure, her owner was going to be some so-called “ranch”, but her real users were going to be a faceless, nameless horde of random businessmen, executives, oil barons, politicians, and so on. They were going to pollute and poison her youth and innocence with their own sexual greed. It was unfathomable that society would allow this, it was…

“You okay, Cass?” asked Charlotte.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she answered as she wiped away another veil of unsummoned tears. “I’m just so upset that it has to come to this. You haven’t done anything wrong. You’ve always been a good girl. You’re not a criminal or a druggie or a… I dunno… a profligate spender or anything. None of this is your fault.”

“I know,” Charlotte replied quietly. “I’m none of those things. What I am is a talented girl with lots of potential who doesn’t have the family support to attend the top school in the nation. Without Angela’s financial help, I just don’t have the money for it. It is what it is. That’s my dad’s saying, by the way. He was a strong man. A hard-working man. That’s what he used to say before he died in that oil rig blowout. He said you need to take what you have and make it work. I have what I have and I’m going to make it work. I’m young, I’m sexy, I’m athletic, and I’m going to use that while I can and get the money I need to go forward. Angela wants to spend it on herself and I’m not going to let her. I’m going to spend it on me and, hopefully, make a better life for myself and my husband and children when they come into my life. I’m going to make it happen, just like Daddy said. He said, ‘Do what you can with what you got.’ That’s what I’m going to do.”

They were driving through Hillsboro now and both girls were silent, lost in their own thoughts and emotional turmoil. Cassie was very impressed with her friend right now. Cassie had always been the leader of their friend group. Charlotte had always been the sweet, gentle, emotionally supportive one. Everyone loved that about her. She didn’t deserve this fate. If anyone deserved slavery, Charlotte wasn’t even at the bottom of the list. She was nowhere on the list. It was not fair.

“What can I do to help?” asked Cassie with a tear running down her cheek. “Anything at all, you name it, I’m your girl. I’ll do anything at all to make this better.”

“Can you keep my boxes safe for me?” Charlotte asked in a very small voice. “I just took some clothes and mementoes of my childhood and my dad, I left almost everything else behind. And umm… please take Mr. Monkey out and put him on your bed with your plushies so he doesn’t get lonely. I’ll come back for him, I promise, just let him know that.”

“Honey, I’m going to cuddle him every night until you come back home. There’s no way that’s not going to happen,” Cassie replied with a sob and a new gush of tears. She could barely see the road now, and passively allowed Charlotte to gently take control of the steering wheel and guide her into the off ramp to the upcoming rest area.

“Left,” Charlotte said in a monotone voice as they approached a blurry sign guarding a fork in the road. Cassie wiped her tears as they approached the rest area’s buildings.

“Keep going,” Charlotte said in the same toneless manner. Apparently, she was all cried out at this point. Now, only her own iron willpower and determination was keeping the two girls going.

“Right there,” Charlotte told her, pointing at a robin’s egg blue dual-cab pickup truck. The side doors had the legend “HH Pony Ranch” on the side of the bed, and the HH brand – an elongated letter “H” with a double crossbar, surrounded by a diamond – on the door. A nylon sports bag sat on a nearby picnic table and a dark-haired woman wearing jeans, boots, and a cowgirl shirt stood on the sidewalk in front of the truck. As they pulled into the parking spot next to the truck, she checked the time on her phone, then walked over to the picnic table as she waited for the two girls to finish parking.

“That’s her. That’s Monica, the lady from the ranch. She was at our prom with the ponies handing out flyers. That’s where I got the idea,” Charlotte continued. “Come on, let’s talk to her and then I need to go tinkle.”

-=-=-=-=-=-
Enslavement
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The two girls exited the vehicle and approached Monica.

“Charlotte Newer, I see you’re right on time, that’s good. Who’s your friend?”

“Oh, umm, this is my friend Cassie? She gave me a ride here and she’s holding my stuff while I’m… umm…” Charlotte’s voice trailed off before she could bring herself to say, “While I’m a slave.”

“Good, nice to meet you, Cassie,” Monica stepped forward and shook Cassie’s hand. Cassie noticed that she had a very firm grip, the grip of someone who frequently worked with their hands.

“Charlotte, did you bring the paperwork?”

“No Ma’am, I got rid of it so my mom wouldn’t find out what I did until too late. I didn’t know what she would do, so I just got rid of it. That’s okay, isn’t it?”

“Sure, honey, it’s fine. The digital copies are already filed with the state, so it doesn’t really matter what happens to the actual paper.”

Then Monica’s demeanor suddenly changed from warm and welcoming to cold and commanding. “Charlotte Newer, who is known to me by sight, by meeting me here as a legal representative of the HH Ranch, you have surrendered yourself into slavery. Since you have not yet been slave graded, you do not have a SIN number, so you will be addressed as “slave” until you receive a number or a name. You will be given a slave name that you will use until your two year indenture is complete. You will not use or respond to your former human name for those two years, do you understand me, slave? Kneel!”

The slave formerly known as Charlotte immediately dropped to her knees. It had all happened so fast that her mind had no chance to catch up to what had just happened to her. But her body, conditioned by two years of the State of Texas’ mandatory slave yoga classes, responded without conscious volition. She dropped to her knees in the dry grass on the side of I-35, bowed her head, and raised her ponytail up so that she could be collared. If anyone from the Texas Board of Education’s Future Livestock Conditioning Program had been present, they would have been very pleased.

Cassie stood rooted to the spot, her mouth opened in an “O” of surprise. She, too, was in shock at what had just happened. Her best friend Charlotte had just legally ceased to exist. Right in front of her. On this stranger’s say-so. She shook her head and took two tottering steps back, then a third.

Monica reached behind her back and pulled a brown leather collar from the bag on the table behind her and fixed it around the kneeling slave’s slender neck. It was heavy leather and apparently didn’t need to be locked, as it clicked shut with a loud metallic ring that was even audible to Cassie several paces away.

Cassie didn’t know if she should scream, run away, or jump in her car and peal rubber the hell out of there. She looked around for support. She was barely eighteen, barely an adult, and her reflexive instinct was to seek out an authority figure for guidance. But there was no one. The only authority figure nearby was the slaver calmly attaching a leash to her best friend’s collar. Even if a state trooper’s car pulled up right at that instant, they wouldn’t interfere. If anything, they would assist the slaver in taking the new slave girl into custody.

There was an eye-bolt in the concrete slab under the picnic table. Monica attached the slave’s leash to it and began cuffing her wrists and ankles. At no point did she stop watching Cassie. Cassie was too scared to move, she stood rooted to the spot. She just stared as, with practiced ease, Monica attached the slave girl’s hobble rope to the eye-bolt and detached the leash, letting it drop to the ground.

“Stand, slave.”

The slave stood easily. Once again, years of slave yoga made itself useful as the girl easily rose from her knees to a standing position in spite of having her wrists bound behind her back and her ankles bound by a short rope attached to a concrete block. Then, with the newly-minted slave facing the roadway, Monica took a pair of shears out of her bag and cut the girl’s clothes off with practiced efficiency. She didn’t bother with doing things separately, she just cut through the slave’s t-shirt and bra in one piece, then did the same thing with her denim shorts and panties. In mere moments, Charlotte the clothed teenager had become a naked nameless slave on the side of the road.

Still in shock, Cassie stared at her friend’s naked body, then glanced at her face. Charlotte’s expression was a mixture of embarrassment and, surprisingly, determination. Charlotte had sold herself into slavery and, even if she hadn’t been expecting it to happen so suddenly - here and now - she knew it was going to happen and she was determined to see it through.

Cassie was jolted back from her thoughts by a question from the slaver. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked if I was going to have any trouble from you?”

“Umm, no, umm, what kind of trouble?”

“I dunno, something stupid like trying to snatch this slave up and running off with her.”

“No, umm, I don’t think we’d get far, anyway. That would be stupid.”

“People do stupid things sometimes, honey.” The older woman explained to her patiently.

“Especially when they see someone they know and love getting taken into slavery. Believe me, shit happens. I actually had a slave meet me here once, who suddenly ran off after I cuffed and collared her. She got as far as that fence over there and toppled right over it. I honestly wasn’t going to tell anybody about it because I was so embarrassed. She seemed so meek and willing to submit, and the moment I turned my back – boom - she was off like a rocket! It’s why I always get the hobble chain on right away now. Live and learn. Anyway, it’s a bob wire fence and she ended up with a couple of gashes on her stomach from the wire. So, for the next two years, her slave name was ‘Stitches’.”

While they were talking, Monica shifted the bag over her shoulder. “Toss that stuff in the trash. Always check the pockets first, though, you might find something you like. This slave needs to piss before she gets in the truck.”

Cassie stared at the scraps of cloth lying in the grass. It had all happened so fast, she… she… bent over and picked up Charlotte’s discarded clothing and tossed it in the trash.

Monica led the new slave girl across the grass, away from the car parking lot and toward the truck parking lot on the opposite side of the rest area. A pair of truckers sitting at a picnic table watched them approach.

“Escaped slave?” one asked.

“No, she’s starting a voluntary indenture today, I’m just taking her to Waco Auction House to get her graded and priced.”

“That’s a nice piece of ass you got there,” the man continued appreciatively over his taco. “I wish I could afford something like that. Taking her over to the slave yard for a piss?”

“Yup, then we’re off.”

“You got time for a blowjob? I got $10 for ya if you do.”

“No thanks, she’ll get plenty of cock over the next couple of years and we’re on a time schedule.”

“What about this one, is she for sale, too?”

Monica turned and looked behind her to see that Cassie was hustling to catch up. She had tossed the other clothing items in the trash, but she still had the remains of Charlotte’s red t-shirt in her hands. Monica frowned at the girl, assessing the risk. She decided that Cassie wasn’t a threat, then turned and continued toward the hygiene corral.

The two women, one a slave, and one free, proceeded across the truck parking area. Cassie, who was still a few yards behind them, was glad that Charlotte was still wearing her shoes as it was a really hot summer day.

-=-=-=-=-=-
Sanitation Corral
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On the other side of the parking lot was a fenced in area with a six foot high chain link fence topped with coils of razor wire. Inside the fence, the ground was dirt and gravel with a long metal grate down the center. Cassie had known that these places existed, but she had only seen them from a distance. Slavery had some ugly aspects and that’s the way most people preferred to see them… from a distance. Slaves needed to pee and poop periodically, but they weren’t allowed inside the rest area’s buildings. That was for humans, and slaves were no longer human. Her friend Charlotte was legally an animal now and would be for the next two years. She had to go potty outside.

Monica led the cuffed girl through the narrow gate and into the enclosure. Cassie watched and then, when she decided she wasn’t going to get yelled at, followed. The slaver stopped the slave girl over the grate running down the middle of the rectangular enclosure. “Squat, piss,” said Boss Monica. “Do you need to poop?”

Cassie watched as the slave girl shook her head and squatted over the grate. At first, her bladder refused to cooperate. There were at least twenty trucks in sight and probably an equal number of cars on the other side. Boss Monica and Cassie were standing over her and watching her as well. Finally, a little trickle opened up and she was able to relieve herself. While she was doing that, the two free women began to talk over her head. That seemed right somehow. She was the slave now, she was beneath their notice. There was no reason why the presence of a slave should prevent free women from conversing. It wasn’t like her opinions were going to be listened to. Charlotte decided right then and there to speak only when spoken to and always obey every command. This was her life for the next two years and she needed to settle into it as quickly as she could.

While they were waiting for the slave girl to obey, Monica told Cassie that she had been very helpful and asked if she had found a summer job yet.

“Yeah, I’m working as a lifeguard at the pool. It’s an okay job and I get a free slice of pizza for lunch.”

“Well, the ranch is always looking for female grooms. We have a number of clients who are free women who want to play weekend pony. We’re starting a new program to ensure that their handlers are free women. We’ve had some issues before if we use slaves or free men for that role. The slave grooms don’t have the authority needed to protect their charges while they’re helpless and the male grooms can’t seem to get it through their thick heads that a weekend pony on a FINO contract requires different handling and to keep their nasty little pricks in their pants.

“Really? Cassie asked in surprise. “People actually do that? They want to be treated like pony slaves for fun? Aren’t ponies…” she glanced down at the slave squatting between them. She didn’t want to hurt her best friend’s feelings, but some things needed to be said. “Aren’t ponies considered the lowest of the low as slaves? I mean, they’re just draft animals and cum dumps, they’re not even allowed to talk. It’s why I’m shocked that Charlotte would even consider this. With her looks and personality, she could have been some rich guy’s pampered bedslave. Or at worst, she would have ended up at one of those high-end bordellos.”

Monica looked thoughtful for a moment. “You have a point, slavery has very few legal safeguards other than the slaves have to be manumitted at the end of their contracts without permanent physical damage. In the meantime, anything goes and conditions will vary wildly. One pampered bedslave might live a life of kindness, wearing fabulous clothes to fancy parties and five-star resorts. Another might spend most of her time locked in a closet except for when her Master wants to slap her around and then fuck her while she’s sobbing. Or he might be a BDSM afficionado, who knows? Your ‘pampered bedslave’ might spend her entire indenture being “pampered” with whips and chains. It happens.”

“That being said,” she continued, “the HH Ranch takes good care of its ponies. We want them to finish their indentures with money in the bank and go off to lead fulfilling lives. We even have former ponies who will help recruit for us. We give them a finder’s fee, of course, but that’s not even necessary for some of them. Oftentimes, if a former pony has a friend who’s in some sort of legal or financial trouble, they may guide her to us. It happens more than you might think. We probably refuse more girls than we take on because they don’t have the right qualities we’re looking for.”

“Take this one here, for example,” she said, patting the slave on the head. “Hold on, Cassie.”

Monica the turned her attention to the squatting slave, “You done pissing? Do you need to shit?” When the slave shook her head, Monica tugged the leash upward. “Up, up, then,” she said, using the same baby-talk tone of voice that people used for the pet dogs.

“Anyway, Cassie, here’s what I think. I think you’ve got the right qualities we’re looking for in a FINO groom. Let’s try a few things, I’ll give you my contact info, and you can go home and think it over. Does that sound all right? No commitment on your part, you just let me show you a few things about caring for pony slaves and then we can both be on our way in opposite directions. You think it over for a few days and give me a call if you’re still interested, got it?”

“All right, what do you want me to do?”

“Here, hold this leash. Firmly, just like you would for a big dog that might bolt after a squirrel.”

Cassie stared at her in shock. “You want me to hold my best friend Charlotte on a leash like she’s a dog?”

“No,” Monica replied in a non-nonsense instructor tone of voice. “I want you to hold this slave on a leash. Your friend Charlotte isn’t here. Legally, Charlotte ceased to exist the moment she shook my hand. She will continue to not exist until this date two years from now. Charlotte is a nonperson.” Monica’s voice softened as she continued, “But this slave is still here. Who better to hold her leash, a stranger like me, or a friend like you? Remember, a leash doesn’t just control the slave, it also protects the slave. Nobody will interfere with a leashed slave. It’s illegal. Remember those truckers we passed? They were polite and kept their hands to themselves because I had this girl on a leash, So, do you want to be this slave girl’s temporary protector?”

Cassie nodded slowly. Monica had just given her a lot to think about. But “temporary protector” was loud and clear. While she was holding Charlotte’s leash, Charlotte was safe. Cassie could protect her.

“All right then, hold the leash,” Monica said as she handed it to her. “Remember, a firm grip in case she falls or bolts. Just like that, good job. Now, we’re going to walk her over to that spigot, the one with a hose on it, and we’re going to wash her butt. Animals don’t use toilet paper and neither do slaves. She just peed and I don’t want that on my truck seats. She can’t do it herself, because she can’t use her hands right now, got it?”

Cassie nodded and gave a tentative tug on the leash to get Charlotte – she couldn’t think of her as “nameless slave girl”, this was still her best friend Charlotte - moving. Then she walked ahead of her, keeping pace with the girl’s hobbled steps. The rope between her ankles gave her just enough length to walk almost normally, but not enough to run.

"Now,” Monica continued in a coaching tone of voice, “remember that when they are tacked up, ponies are completely helpless. They might be helpless for hours at a time and working in the hot sun that whole time. Normally that’s not the case, of course, but its best to always set the standard for the most severe conditions. So, this here slave is helpless. She can’t speak. She can’t tell us what her needs are. That means we need to figure it out.”

“Have her bend over at the waist. Use the hose to clean her off. That's right, spray it down good. No, don’t use that rag on her butt, let it dry naturally. Its already clean, you washed it.”

“Excellent. Since we’re already here, we’ll do an inspection of our pony. Always start with the feet because that’s the most important part of a working pony. We finish with the head, because that’s the least important.”

“To check the feet, just press various places, here watch me do it, and ask her if anything is sore. We're not pampering this slave, we're just making sure she's fit to continue her service. Pony boots can be hard on the ankles and shins since the design of the boot hyper-extends the lower leg and that can stress the joints and ligaments. If they start having serious issues, we can rotate them through pool duty or golf duty, neither of which requires pony boots. So, if this slave girl was on pool duty, she would be wearing flip flops. On the golf course, running shoes like she's wearing here, okay?"

Cassie nodded, fascinated. This was so interesting. Monica's calm, matter of fact teaching style had completely taken her mind off her own emotional trauma at losing her best friend. Although she didn't realize it yet, her former best friend was already slipping into the role of a passive teaching tool, rather than a person.

“So, slave, did you experience any discomfort when I applied pressure to any of those spots?

The slave had also been caught up in the lesson. The difference was that she was learning it from the inside, rather than the outside. So it’s understandable that she forgot that pony slaves don't talk.

"No, Ma'am," she said. Or at least that's what she thought she said. Instead, the sound she made was a purely equine nickering sound, which provoked a delighted grin from Boss Monica. Astonished, the slave looked at an equally surprised Cassie.

Monica stood up chuckling. "I do so love it when they first figure it out. Cassie, these collars have an electronic voice modulator that automatically cancels out any accidental human speech the pony might make. Then it covers it up with horse sounds. Pretty clever, huh? Ever year they come out with better and better versions it seems like. When I first started at the ranch, the sounds were annoyingly artificial, but that right there sounded just like the real thing, didn't it?

“I'm not real familiar with horses, but yeah. I almost looked around for a horse.”

"Well, here's your pony right here, " Monica told her grinning as she patted the slave on the flank. "Here, watch this, it gets even better. Slave, say "Hook 'em Horns!".

The slave tried to say "Hook 'em Horns?" but instead made a confused whicker.

"Good, good, now say it like you're really angry."

The slave obeyed and managed to make a very convincing angry equine animal snort.

Monica laughed again, "I love that so much. All right, enough play time, back to work. Let's finish the inspection."

She crouched back down in front of the slave. "See this here?" she said pointing at the slave’s knee. There was a single sand burr embedded in the smooth skin. Anyone growing up in Texas knew that the grass could always be hiding these tiny menaces. Given the option, Charlotte probably wouldn't have gone down on her unprotected knees in the grass, but her body had obeyed Boss Monica's slave command automatically.

Cassie was immediately concerned. "Oh no! Charlie, you hurt yourself!" she exclaimed.

“Charlotte's not here, Cassie. I already explained that to you.” Monica told her patiently. She carefully plucked the burr from the slave's knee, revealing a few tiny spots of blood.

“The slave didn’t injure herself. I'm the one who injured her, because I ordered her to kneel on that spot. She was just obeying orders. I checked there for stickers earlier and I guess I just missed one. It's a perfect example of a pony being injured because the person in charge of them made a mistake. On the other hand, I forgive myself because it's a very small injury. It's still an injury, though, and we need to put some ointment on it.”

Monica reached into her bag and pulled out a small med kit. “Here,” she said, handing Cassie a small tube. “Remember, ponies are helpless animals who rely on us for everything. In this case, first aid so this tiny wound doesn't become infected and get to be a bigger problem. That also includes things like chafing and blisters from their harnesses. Caring for ponies is an important job. That's why we pay a lot more than minimum wage. Ponies are valuable investments, and we don’t want them to be unable to perform their duties.”

“Now, we already checked her feet and knees. Pony boots have built-in knee pads, which is helpful because they spend a lot of time on their knees either resting or servicing guests. Now, as an experienced lifeguard, what's next?”

“Umm...” Cassie thought for a bit. “Suntan lotion?”

“Correct, although we'll be using sunblock. Ponies get plenty of sun, they don't need tanning lotion. Now, this pony is a fair-skinned blonde, so we need to take strong precautions. Also, she has only recently been enslaved, so there are a lot of areas to cover that have never been exposed to the sun. Some of those areas are extremely delicate and sensitive, so we need to cover them really well.”

“Do you think you can handle that?" Monica continued as she handed Cassie a plain lotion bottle marked “Sun Pony Sunblock” in big block lettering. It wasn’t the sort of brightly-colored packaging Cassie might see in the grocery aisle. It was a plain white bottle that the ranch probably purchased by the case.

Cassie took the bottle hesitantly. She had been trying hard not to stare at the slave's formerly-private parts. And now this woman, who she had just met, and who had just enslaved her beloved childhood friend, was asking her to rub lotion over bit of her exposed. Which was to say, all of her, including her naughty bits.

Seeing Cassie hesitate, Monica decided to turn the guilt screws. “If we don't do it, she could get burnt pretty bad. And if you won't do it, I will. I don't mind, I do it all the time. But wouldn't it be better for her if someone she cares about puts their hands all over her rather than a total stranger? She'll be getting more than enough of that very soon.”

Seeing that the girl was still hesitating, Monica decided to throw her a bone. “Tell you what, we'll share the job, you start on that leg and I'll start on this one. Deal?”

Cassie agreed and soon the two women were running their hands up and down the slave's legs. Just as they were reaching the apex of the pony's thighs, Monica smiled at Cassie encouragingly, stood up, and stepped behind the slave girl. “Go ahead and get her front, I'll do the back.” she said as she smiled a clever hidden smile once Cassie's view of her face was occluded by the slave's body.

Cassie was flummoxed. She really didn't want to fondle her friend here, outdoors, in public. But Monica was right, she needed to protect Charlotte from harm, and that's what she was going to do. She looked up at Charlotte's face to see how she felt about the situation, but the stiff leather collar didn't permit the slave to look down and see what was going on below. Hesitantly, Cassie splooged some lotion on her palm and began applying it with quick, choppy strokes to the slave’s exposed mons. It was completely and utterly devoid of hair, obviously waxed. Cassie remembered Charlotte telling her that her mom had insisted on a full-on, total waxing before her slave grading, but this was the first time she had seen visual proof of it. It was stunning, degrading, and intensely sexualized her vagina by completely exposing it the view of… absolutely everyone.

Monica peeked to see what was happening in the front of the slave. She giggled, it was so deliciously awkward for both girls. She was having so much fun playing with these two. The slave was standing obediently with her hands bound behind her back and her feet shoulder width apart. The position of her arms forced her perky B-cup breasts straight out and her nipples were clearly crinkling with arousal while her face and chest blushed furiously with a combination of excitement and embarrassment. Monica knew that these two girls had a history of sexual experimentation, although Monica doubted that wither of them was solely attracted to women. Which was good, because actual lesbians generally made for terrible ponies unless they were working at a ranch that catered exclusively to lesbians. Monica knew of only one such establishment. During her recruiting interview with the Charlotte, Monica made sure to ask detailed questions about her sexual history. She knew that the girl had experimented with her “best friend” when she was younger, before they discovered how to date boys. And lo and behold – her best friend had driven her here. It was time to rekindle someone’s interest is sapphic pleasure. Perhaps even two someone’s. The thought made her smile. Although Monica was herself mostly heterosexual and happily married, she understood that the only true aphrodisiac was power. And when she had power over a free woman, she used it. Usually that meant maneuvering weekend ponies into servicing her before giving them their clothes back. It usually worked, and she had seen the faces of many attractive free women who would never normally consider servicing another woman between her thighs. Now she had a slave AND a free woman to play with at the same time, and she planned to make use of the opportunity.

“Cassie,” she said in her best mentoring-instructor tone of voice, “that’s not how to do it, you look like you’re punished her by slapping her kitty. Here, let me show you. Watch what I do.”

She then slipped around to the slave’s side and leaned up against her, placing her feet on either side of the pony’s left foot. She leaned in and made fully body contact, with the girl’s shoulder firmly lodged between her own generous breasts. She then put her right arm around the furiously-blushing girl’s waist, locking her in place.

“See this, Cassie?” she continued, “This is how you hold a girl in place for her reward. You see, ponies work hard to pleasure humans all day long, and they need to be rewarded for being good girls. This slave has been a very good girl today, and she deserves a reward. She delivered herself to me right on time. The easiest and best way to reward good ponies is to do it while lotioning them. It doesn’t take any extra time at all because you have to lotion them anyway, so we might as well do two things at once. It’s easier when they have a harness on, but this will do just fine. Now, you take up the same position on the other side… yes, exactly like that. You’ll see why we’re holding her in place like this in a bit. Good, now start tweaking her nipples, I know that you know how to do that, you have your own nipples to play with, so you have to know how to do it right.”

“Perfect,” Monica crooned, “now watch what I do next, it’s time for this pony’s reward.”

With that, she ran her left hand down the slave’s flat stomach, through the puddle of inexpertly applied lotion on her mons, and smoothly slid her three longest and strongest fingers into her vagina. One finger on the left, one on the right… and one straight down the middle. The pony’s hips immediately pushed forward as if she had been poked in the rear with an electric prod. But this electricity wasn’t coming from behind her, and she wasn’t trying to escape from it. It was coming from her clit, and she was pushing into it, seeking more of what her Boss was giving her. Monica slowly began to move her slippery fingers up and down, left and right, applying pressure just so. She was an expert. She had pleasured hundreds of pony girls over the years, and she had her own vagina. She knew exactly how pussies worked and she knew exactly what she was doing. She wasn’t an untrained teenage girl fumbling in the dark while giggling madly and stifling her moans so she wouldn’t be caught. She was an expert, she was a professional, and by the seventh or eighth time her middle finger popped across the slave’s throbbing and erect clit… the girl exploded.

First her hips went from slow and sensual pulsing to violent, hammering thrusts. Her breath went from deep passionate breathing to hard gasps, and her quiet moans exploded into a wild whinnying scream as she violently bucked her hips and completely lost control of her legs, which turned to jelly and began to collapse. But instead of letting her fall to the ground, the women on either side of her pressed together and kept the spasming girl upright as she thrashed her way through the first of many orgasms of her slavery adventure.

-=-=-=-=-=-
Earning Gas Money
-=-=-=-=-=-

Charlotte couldn't believe that she had just done that. There was no romance, there were no flowers, there was no privacy. Everything that she had been taught that she needed for sexual pleasure was utterly missing. Was she wrong? Had she been wrong all along? Was it true that there really were some girls who had a "calling for the collar"? Was she one of them?

As Charlotte was struggling to catch her breath and regain her physical and emotional equilibrium, Cassie was in shock herself. She had just pleasured her freshly-enslaved best friend right here out in the open. Cars were whizzing past, trucks were idling in the parking lot behind them, it was all so surreal. Cassie and Charlotte had always been best friends, almost as long as they could remember. Other girls joined and left their friend group, but the two of them were always the inseparable core. Cassie had always been the leader and protector, Charlotte had always been the supportive, empathic creamy filling who propped up everyone on their best and worst days. And now, on the most vulnerable and traumatic day of Charlotte's life, Cassie had betrayed her by masturbating her in public.

Monica watched the storm of guilt cross the younger woman's face and decided to head it off at the pass. “See that, Cassie?” she told her, “she liked it, she needed that. Slaves don't have choices in regard to sexual contact, so when someone is kind to them and gives them an orgasm for good behavior, it really helps them. This slave is having a tough time right now, she was a free woman just a bit ago and now she's a slave. But you just made things better, you helped her by giving her an orgasm. That's helpful, that's good, that's the act of a true friend, don't you think?”

Cassie really didn't know what to think and she couldn't ask her friend Charlotte. Charlotte couldn't speak right now, and not just because of the collar. Cassie gazed deeply into her friend's face, noting the rapid breathing, the hooded and unfocused eyes, the distant expression. She certainly didn't look traumatized. Maybe what Cassie had done wasn't such a terrible thing after all?

“Good, look at her face, you can see that we haven't harmed her at all. We've helped her. Now it's your turn,” Monica told her as she slipped her fingers over Cassie's and pressed them back down over the pony's mons. “There you go,” she crooned, “that's it, slide in from the top, just like you're doing... you have a vagina, too, you know how it works, you know how to pleasure it.”

Together, the two women working in unison soon had the panting girl thrashing her way through a second orgasm. “That's a good sign,” Monica told Cassie. “She's multi-orgasmic. She'll make an excellent pony. She's going to be having a lot of sex over the next two years, and the more she enjoys it, the better off she'll be. Can you see that? We're helping her adjust to her enslavement and helping her see that everything is going to be okay. It's not just the physical release that she needed but the release from mental stress and worries. Slave ponies have responsibilities, that's true, but the vast majority of the responsibilities and stressors that YOU will be facing over the next two years will be completely absent from her life. We like to keep our ponies happy at the Double H, and I have a feeling that this will soon be a very happy and well-adjusted pony girl.”

“Now,” she continued, “Let's see if we can continue with the sunblock. Slave, can you stand on your own now, or do you need more time to recover?”

The slave shook her head 'yes', then 'no' and straightened up a bit. She was still a little wobbly from the forced double-orgasm, but had to admit to herself that it was without a doubt the most sexually explosive event in her young life. If pony life was like this every day, then maybe the next two years wouldn't be so bad after all?

Monica and Cassie returned to their task. While Cassie was carefully and gently lotioning Charlotte's face, she whispered, “Are you sure you're going to be okay, honey?”

The slave nodded tentatively, then gave her a wan smile and nodded more vigorously. She still wasn't sure how it was going to work out, but she didn't want her friend worrying about her. She was going to be all right. She was going to see it through and come out the other side stronger and richer than before.

[ZeeChromosome]

Thanks, Avicia!

No plans to enslave Cassie. I'm thinking of developing her into a recurring character, but on the free side. One of the last things I had Boss Monica say to her in Part 2 was that Monica thought that Cassie had the right stuff - she empathized with the slave girl but was still willing to treat her like a slave. Monica thinks that Cassie has the right stuff to be a good wrangler and so do I.

[openmouth-tongueflat]

I am again impressed by how you play with every part of this world and its implications. You build a great sandbox!

[ZeeChromosome]

I am again impressed by how you play with every part of this world and its implications. You build a great sandbox!

Joe Doe built the sandbox, I'm just playing in it! Thanks, Joe!