The Cost of My Dreams Ch. 01 - Induction

[LoyalHound]

The Cost of My Dreams Ch. 01 - Induction

By LoyalHound

All characters are fictitious and are adults.

The story below is set in the 34th Amendment universe of Joe Doe et. al.
________________________________________

The package of papers was thick and included an indenture contract, a proposed training schedule, and a limited power of attorney to manage funds received while enslaved. There was a web address to download additional copies of the forms if they were damaged.

I was looking over the indenture contract and contemplating the only path I now had to being one of the first humans on Mars when George Marshall nodded at the guard and entered the classroom. Mister Marshall was the president of the Martian Exploration and Colony Company and a billionaire in his own right. He stood at the front of the mostly empty classroom and looked at us.

There were supposed to be ten of us here, but Shirley hadn't shown up. Nine of us still eager to be the among first humans on Mars. Nine of us were still considering the situation and wanting to hear the real offer.

"Ladies," said George "as you know, Jerry Black, Brad Jefferson, and Linda Gonzales have qualified as the best fit for the three primary mission slots. Since Jerry and Brad are heterosexual males and Linda is a lesbian, all candidates for the fourth slot must be technically qualified, female, have a slave grade of at least Choice Plus, and be willing to indenture themselves for about six months of training and, if chosen for the mission, about 19 additional months to cover the travel times to and from Mars and two months on and around the red planet. You nine meet the first three qualifications and you have a decision to make by Friday next week."

"Study the proposed indenture," he continued "and have a lawyer who's qualified in slave law review it and place your property in trust. This is not a FINO contract; it's full slavery. Review the proposed training schedule. If you show up in conference room 603 by Noon on Friday next week with the signed and notarized contract, you'll be stripped, collared, processed in Jacksonville sent to a slave training school."

"After four and a half weeks," George continued "you will be returned here to complete your training. This will include slave training, technical training, and mission simulation training. Jerry, Brad, and Linda will be instructed in slave handling so you will learn perfect and immediate obedience to your masters and mistress and how to anticipate their needs while also preforming your technical duties.

Your compensation for this will be quite generous. First, you'll receive a fifty thousand dollar signing bonus that will be held in trust for you during your indenture. Next, as your lawyers should explain, when your term of service ends, you will receive lump sum payment equivalent to the average price of a slave of the equivalent rating and sold for the term of service you actually served, said price to be determined for the day you start your indenture and to be adjusted for interest it would have earned over the course of your indenture. Further, you will also collect twice the full pay you would have received as a member of the primary crew for the duration of your actual service, less any payments on outstanding loans or other payments you owe, starting the first day of your indenture. After any payments you owe have been deducted, this money will be held in trust for your manumission. This is how much we value your service, but that doesn't mean we won't shock you or whip you when required."

"Do not underestimate your role in this mission," George concluded. "Having a slave provide intimate service and total submission to the other crew is considered so important that both Linda and Brad will wear special collars and be fitted with special implants for the duration of their training and the voyage. If you die or become incapacitated, Linda's signed indenture will be activated and she will assume your duties. If she also dies or becomes incapacitated. Brad will have his slave contract activated and assume your duties. Do you have any questions?"

"What about the backup crews?" asked Cindy.

"Since Beth Henderson and Diana Bowman are heterosexual females, and Robert Washington is a bisexual male, they'll have a separate group of male candidates for their fourth slot. The second backup crew is Keith Hunter and Jacob Gardner, both heterosexual males, and Elain Whitacre, who is bisexual. You'll also train with them and, if necessary, may become their fourth crew member."

"Will Linda and Brad be joining us for slave yoga?" I asked.

"Yes, though they'll remain clothed for it. Their indentures will not be activated unless the fourth crew member is unable to fulfill their duty."

"Also," George finished "you should get used to calling them Master Jefferson and Mistress Gonzales. We're also signing up some technically qualified candidates with lesser slave grades in case not enough of you accept the indenture but understand, before you sign your indenture, that you'll really be slaves and will be treated as such. When you leave here today, you should refer to me as Master Marshall. Start wrapping your minds around the idea."

"What if my lawyer has a problem with part of the indenture, or wants to include an additional clause?" asked Susan.

"This document has been gone over with a backhoe to ensure it's fair and covers all points of contention. I doubt your attorney will have any legitimate issue, but get any feedback to use by Friday this week and we'll consider it, thought I doubt we'll change anything. The deal is straightforward and generous; don't waste our time attempting to bargain."

"What slave training school will we be sent to?" asked Denise.

"We've made arrangements to send you to The Sharks Slave Training Academy for High Value Slaves. They specialize in training subjects who must be adapted to their new life as obedient, submissive slaves and fucktoys without being allowed to go slave stupid or develop more than a mild case of slave mind."

I asked one last question. "Your wetware company has just received Department of Agriculture approval for a chip that allows a master to enhance a slave's sexual arousal. Are you planning to implant that chip in us?"

"We are currently testing to ensure that those chips will not fail, or will fail safely, in the radiation you might experience. We will not have a final decision on whether to implant them for several months. In the meantime, we'll be using the older drug and hormonal supplements to enhance your libido. These are already quite effective, even if they don't give us the fine control of the chip."

I looked at the other women. At least six months actual slavery if not selected. A decent payout, but at what cost? Used and humiliated multiple times a day while loudly proclaiming your joy in your own debasement. How would you face your coworkers who had also been your masters, especially after you had been begging for their touch and rubbing yourself off in front of them? How to explain that to your family?

I thought about standing collared and slave naked before my father and imagined a disappointed look on his face. It's said a slave has no family and many fathers would look upon their newly enslaved daughters and see a woman who had voluntarily elected to become a fucktoy and treat them as such, but my father would never do that. I was his daughter and he would never forget that. That didn't mean he'd support my choice.

I remembered the last time I had seriously disappointed my dad. I'd been nineteen and still living at home while I attended the University of Maryland. I drank way too much with my friends and we all got busted for drinking on false IDs. My dad had to pick me up from jail in the morning. Lest you wonder, it turns out nineteen is not, in fact, too old to spank. It only ensured I got a big girl spanking and the arrest meant it was a special spanking indeed.

He waited until midafternoon, when I'd be better able to understand and appreciate the punishment. He made me go to his bedroom and fetch the strap from when he'd laid it out on top of the dresser and bring it to him in the living room. He had me hold the strap while he lectured me on how stupid I had been. Not just for drinking, which he might have let slide, but especially for getting caught. For hanging out with friends whose judgement was as bad as mine; for getting drunk while I was committing a crime, and for helping make the kind of scene that attracted the cops when I should have either been trying to calm my friends and extract them before we got arrested for drunk and disorderly or been putting distance between myself and those that could not be saved at that point.

He sat in a straight-backed chair brought in from the kitchen for the purpose and had me lay myself on his lap. He put the strap on the floor, had me slide my skirt down around my ankles and pulled down my panties. He rubbed my rear and reminded me that I had earned this. Then he started to give me a hand spanking. He started slow and held back a little to start with, but then started to spank hard and fast while I cried and promised to be good. I was well and truly sobbing and begging for some other punishment when he stopped and reminded me that the strapping was next.

He helped me stand and then bent me over the back of the chair, with me holding the edge of the seat in my hands. Then he wielded the strap. Damn, that thing was loud and damn, it hurt. After two dozen, he stopped and helped me stand and held me until I stopped crying, telling me that I would always be his daughter and he would always love me, no matter what I did. I had earned this, he said, but I had taken my punishment well and he forgave me. He took me to the mirror in his bedroom and showed me my red and slightly bruised rear end. It took several days before I could sit comfortably.

He also hired an attorney and went with me to court two weeks later. My friends all got judicial canings. My lawyer got me down to a shaming punishment. I reported to the police substation in the local mall that weekend and they had me strip. There were several poles in the display case at the front of the station. I was secured to one with my hands locked to the pole above my head and my feet locked in a short spreader bar which was also secured to the pole. There was a sign above me indicating my name and my crimes. I stood there in fifty-minute shifts with a ten-minute break between them for four hours between 11 AM and 3 PM one Saturday, while people walked by or stood and watched. A few of the watchers were people I knew. Some of them made a point of pointing and smirking at me.

If I was selected, between training and the voyage it would be just over two years in slavery but a career milestone that could never be topped. One of the first humans on Mars. My name in the history books, or would it be my name? Maybe it would be a slave name or the last four digits of my Slave Registration Number. Still, one of the first humans on Mars, when I wasn't being plowed in every orifice or eagerly lapping Linda's pussy.

Eagerly? Where had that come from? I wasn't into women, not that that would matter once I was enslaved, but why eagerly? If I'd been bisexual I might have been a better fit for primary crew.

I considered my student loans. I was keeping up the payments, but if the company decided they no longer needed me, since I hadn't qualified as primary crew and wasn't willing to fill that forth crew spot, I might end up indentured anyway. After all, I'd been hired, in part, for my slave grade. With what they were offering, even the six-month indenture would wipe out my debt and give me a nice nest egg for the future.

Maybe I wouldn't be choosing slavery. Maybe I was only choosing the form and duration of the enslavement.

________________________________________

When I returned to my apartment that night, I stripped and looked at myself in the mirror. I went into "Present" position, standing straight with my legs apart and my hands laced behind my neck. Then I dropped into "Slave Spread", kneeling with my knees spread, my head up, and my hands still laced behind my head. I had to break position briefly to adjust the mirror, but I resumed position and studied myself: Short blond hair, thin and somewhat athletic, small breasts, powerful legs. Not to everyone's taste, but I had never had a problem getting boyfriends. No problem keeping them either. My Prime Minus rating probably helped with that.

When they'd recruited for this mission, it was obvious that they had the fourth mission slot firmly in mind. Except for the candidates for pilots, all applicants had to have a slave grade of "Select Plus" or better to even be considered for training and testing. A number of applicants had to have an official slave grading for the first time. Linda, I recalled, had been sent to the Jacksonville Slave Market to be graded and groped while a representative of Martian Exploration and Colony Company observed her reaction. They'd put her on extended public display, slave naked and bound while she was groped by the public. She'd been graded Choice Plus, though I expect it was her sex, rather than her slave grade, that made her the first backup slave. She was a lesbian, but she'd be slave sexual if her indenture was invoked and the other two primary crew were heterosexual man. That libido chip would be a great help for her in her new duties if the primary slave died.

Except for the pilots, we had all been put thru slave yoga sessions for the past year as we trained and worked on various portions of the mission hardware and software. This had included a number of weeks in orbit aboard the Aries 4 interplanetary transport and its landing craft as field trials continued and its hardware and software were updated and adjusted. They really let us lose to try some stupid stunts to prove the design. We managed to wreck two subsystems rather thoroughly, which made the engineers cringe but that was one of our jobs: finding hidden flaws. Because once we launched, everything had to work.

I thought back to my own slave grading at the Baltimore Slave Market when I was applying to college. It had been my dad, not my mom, who had led me naked with my hands zip tied behind me from the associated parking garage to the grading entrance. He had leashed me in the parking lot to help me get in the right mindset for grading. He'd also specified no anesthetic when they tattooed my SID inside my upper lip for the same reason. He knew what I was getting myself into and he wanted to make sure I knew there was no romance about it. Maybe he could help me make up my mind.

________________________________________

I took a few days off work to visit my family and talk to my dad. I'd already met with a recommended lawyer and had him review the documents. I made an appointment to sign off on everything Tuesday next week, assuming I didn't change my mind. My parents were now living in Florida, so it was only a three-hour drive to their beachfront condo on Thursday morning. I managed to get time alone with my dad Friday afternoon. He knew what I needed to discuss with him and he convinced my mom to go to the pool for a few hours while we talked.

Once my mom left, he joined me in the living room and I asked him "If I do this, will you be disappointed in me?"

"No, you'll always be my daughter and I'll always be proud of what you have achieved."

I looked him straight in the eye as I pulled off my top and then pulled down my skirt and panties. I wasn't wearing a bra.

"Are you sure?" I asked. I dropped to a slave spread, facing him with my knees spread, back straight and my hands behind my neck. "Dad, if I do this will you be disappointed in me? Will you think I'm some slut who doesn't deserve any better?"

"Pumpkin," he said "am I going to have to put you over my knee for lewd behavior?"

"If you do, I've just made it that much easier for you. Nothing to pull down or lift up to expose the target."

"No, you'll always be the daughter I raised, the daughter who wondered why there was water on the outside of her coke glass, the daughter who made us all proud when she got her PhD in Aeronautical Engineering. But if you're determined to have the discussion at this level, let me add a prop to your presentation." He went into his bedroom and returned with what I assumed was a prop slave collar for role play.

He walked over to me and ordered "Collar," and I lifted my hair out of the way with my left hand and rested the right on the top of my right thigh. He snapped the collar in place and moved to a chair. He pointed in front of him and I moved to the position he indicated and assumed a slave spread facing him.

"Pumpkin," he said "I've always tried to protect you, especially from this 34th amendment stuff. From the constant propaganda, the stupid slave romance novels, the predatory lenders, the sleazy politicians who think it's A OK to trick a young woman into slavery as long as it doesn't happen to anyone they know, and the people who financed your company in part to make it seem normal for young women to aspire to be slave girl explorers. I won't be disappointed in your actions or your status; I'll be disappointed in your influence, but you will always be my daughter. You know very well that the B team with the two women on it is just there so that they can claim that heterosexual women ever had a chance as primary crew. It's there so that they can claim to have a crew with a woman pilot, but if someone from the A crew becomes unfit, they'll move someone from the C crew over. You'd have lose matching crew from the A and C crews for the B crew to fly, because B crew won't give them their slave girl hero."

"Slave girl hero? I'm not even sure most of the public will even hear my real name."

"Trust me, they'll be action figures and calling yours Six Seven One Nine will just add to the appeal. They'll be pushing your story to young women. They might even have a contest to pick a slave name for you. If you do this, you'll be setting an example that will lead some young women to ruin. They may be playing this fair with your group, but I wouldn't expect that to continue."

"I think they may already have caught me. I'm well paid but in a specialized field. If they decide they don't need the not a team player who's not as in love with Mars as they thought, it might take me awhile to find work, and none of it would be as well paid as my current job. Then the lenders might deploy their 'well she's not in default *yet* but her value as security on her loan declines every day she's not sold' horse shit and attempt to foreclose even though I've not missed a payment. If they can get one of their judges to sign off on that, they can have a third-party sale before the judge can be reversed and that will be the last you'll see of me for five years."

"I thought with your reduced principle, they term would have been reduced to more like two years by this time."

"It should be reduced to two years, but with my salary history it shouldn't be possible at all. I'm presuming malevolent incompetence."

"That might be a little too blatant even for predatory lenders. Don't assume you're already trapped. Probably a lot of your colleagues won't be accepting this indenture. I doubt they'd want to pull that on all of you and I can probably get enough money together to pay off your remaining debt, if it comes to that."

"Can I break position? My arms are getting tired."

"You can put your hands down but maintain position otherwise. Shouldn't that have been more along the lines of 'Six Seven One Nine begs her master for permission'?"

"Dad, I want to go to Mars. I want to be one of the first people on Mars and they'll have their slave girl hero with or without me. If that means going as a slave, I think I'm willing. I just don't know what I'm really getting into."

"If we'd been able to work on that right along, we might have done something to give you a better idea what you were signing on for. We could have had you regraded with extended display and a reversible auction. We could have maybe set up a FINO indenture or a slavecation, but as long as you had a shot at primary crew, that would have been too great a cost. It's too late now. Now you're just going to have to shut up and try to enjoy the ride."

"It's a small thing," he concluded "but I'd like you to remain naked and collared until your mom gets back. Maybe that will help you focus your mind on what the next two years may actually be like. Put on a practice video and show me all that slave yoga you've been doing."

________________________________________

I showed up in the conference room at 10:30 AM on the day of reckoning. I had the completed notarized contract and other forms with me though that wasn't really necessary; the documents had already been filed and accepted. I wore no jewelry other than simple stainless-steel studs, which had been provided by the company, to keep my ear piercings open. I wore a simple black shift and flats without stockings or underwear. Besides an accordion folder with the forms, I carried only my work ID and my cell phone. I had been assured that my cell phone would be conveyed to my attorney for safe keeping.

I'd spent the last few nights in a hotel at company expense after I'd vacated my apartment. The last of my stuff had been hauled to storage last night. Aside from the company credit card I had had no money; aside from my shift and shoes, I had no remaining clothing. My life was in trust pending my manumission.

In the conference room there were four people waiting: Harold Booth, who was the deputy project chief; Frederick Jones, who was a representative of the Florida Department of Agriculture; and two slave handlers who represented the Jacksonville Slave Market.

The guy from the Department of Agriculture called me over and he and Mister Booth examined my forms and Mister Booth put my cell phone in a prepared envelope. Mister Jones checked my work ID against the form and then scanned my implanted ID chip. He then ordered "Present," and I stood facing him, feet apart and hands behind my neck as he lifted my upper lip and checked my tattooed Slave Identification Number against the paperwork and his scan and the linked ID information from the scan. He then said "You are no longer a free person. Your name is now six seven one nine, from the last four digits of your SID. If asked, you will provide that as your name unless another slave name is provided by your owners or their representatives."

One of the handlers from the Jacksonville Slave Mart said "Six Seven One Nine, you are now subject to all necessary force and correction to assure your compliance with the orders of your owners and their lawful representatives, including trainers, processors, slave handlers, and any other authorized person, which currently includes all representatives of the Jacksonville Slave Market. Remove your clothing now."

I squatted and unbuckled my shoes then stood, used my feet to remove my shoes and pulled my shift over my head. Holding the shift in one hand, I squatted and picked up the shoes and looked toward a bin to my right. The guy who had told me to remove my clothing nodded and I placed my shift and shoes in the bin, then returned and knelt facing him with my knees spread, my head down, my left hand holding my hair up, giving access to my neck; and my right hand on my right thigh.

My handler scanned my implanted ID chip, picked up a red collar, synced the collar with my ID, and fitted it snuggly about my neck before locking it. He then said "You are now wearing a processing collar of the Jacksonville Slave Market. I am legally required to inform you that this collar can deliver a shock that is both painful anddisabling. Any handler can trigger it if needed, as can any policemen and a variety of other public officials. When you are checked in at the market, it will also be set to administerdisabling shocks if you attempt to leave the market."

He walked behind me and I held position silently. Then I thought I felt a slight shock from the collar. Then I felt a sold, but not especially painful shock and jumped a little. It took me a second to decide the appropriate response. Finally, I asked "Master?"

He entered some information on a laptop. "When controlled by a handler, your collar can also administer a lessor shock, like that which you just experienced, to get your attention." He got a pair of handcuffs from the table, walked behind me and ordered "Backhands." I stood and placed my hands behind my back and was duly cuffed.

He got a marker from the table and, holding my left breast steady, wrote the administer disabling number 6719 and a notation I later realized was a reference to this project on my left breast. He grabbed a leash from the table, clipped it to my collar and asked the other handler to kennel me at the loading dock. The other handler took my leash and led me to the service elevator, got me to the ground floor, and took me thru the warehouse to two sets of kennels just inside the building near the loading dock gate.

One of these was a set of nine kennels which were each three feet wide by four feet tall by four feet long, two of which were occupied by two naked and collared women I knew as Angela and Susan from the group of nine women they wanted to be the fourth crew member. All of the nine kennels had shipping documents fixed next to the kennel door. My handler led me to a kennel on which the invoice included my photo and my SID. He unlocked the kennel, unlocked my hands and bid me enter. I dropped to all fours and entered, noticing a deep tray of what seemed to be kitty litter in the back of the cage. Then I turned to face my handler at the kennel door and knelt with my knees spread. He unclipped my leash and closed and locked the kennel door.

My handler then went to the other set of kennels, four of which were occupied by women I recognized we had trained with. Although collared, these women were still clothed. I noticed their collars were color coded; three green and one yellow. He unlocked one of the occupied kennels and bade a small black woman named Naomi, who was locked in a yellow collar, exit.

"Backhands," her ordered and handcuffed her hands behind her back. "You're still enslaved until we get you back to the office and process your manumission," he warned as he clipped a leash to her collar "but your services will not be needed."

She looked relieved as he led her away, back thru the warehouse to wherever she had reported this morning.

"Six seems an excessive amount considering only one of us will become crew," I said looking across to what I thought of as the B list girls. Or had they been the B and C list girls? Were they that worried about medical or training issues? Then I looked closely at a pale redhead among the B list girls. Her name was Erin. People think I'm very good with computers, modeling, and statistical analysis; Erin was better and was at least my equal in zero gravity activities and in knowledge of the machinery. Maybe they were still considering technical merit as opposed to slave rating. Or maybe they thought she could raise her grade after slave training. The condition of slavery itself might improve a girl's grade, if she accepted it was right for her.

A while later, something strange happened. A slave handler I hadn't previously seen brought down another clothed but collared, cuffed, and leashed woman who he kenneled with the other B list girls, but he then unkenneled one of the girls who had been there, cuffed and leashed her and, explaining that her services would not be needed, led her from the warehouse. According to my fellow slaves, the handlers were doing neither first in first out nor fist in last out. Evidently, even within the green collared girls, the B list girls were ranked and it was the top ranked girls, not the first kenneled, who might be sent to training and complete for the fourth mission slot.

Over the next hour or two, Cheryl and Denise from the group of nine women they most wanted were kenneled near me and two more of the B list girls were released, leaving only Erin in that set of kennels. Eventually, the two handlers from room 603 showed up as well as the two who had handled the B list girls. They unlocked Erin's kennel and bade her exit. She crawled slowly from the kennel.

"Backhands," the chief handler (the one who had collared me) ordered. Erin stood shakily and placed her hands behind her back. Once they cuffed her, the chief handler got out a cutting tool and stripped Erin while his partner held her in place. She struggled a little as her clothing was cut away; evidently she hadn't thought it would come to this. She had been wearing a bra and panties beneath her scorts and top. All were cut away and ruined.

The chief handler, checking Erin's paperwork and SID tattoo, got a marker and wrote the last four digits of her SID and a project code on her left breast while his partner continued to hold her in place. By the look on her face, she couldn't quite believe this was happening to her. He leashed her, led her to the kennel to my right, unlocked her wrists and had her enter the kennel before unleashing her and locking her inside. He substituted a shipping form from her paperwork for the one that had previously been on the cage. Then he addressed all of us.

"Slaves," he said "time has expired. This is the final makeup of the group for processing. These will be your companions and your competition for a trip to mars."

He went to Erin's kennel and asked "Nine One Two Five, think carefully before you answer, because if you failed to follow instructions this morning, you did so as a free woman. If you lie to me now, you do so as a slave. Did you follow instructions and give yourself an enema this morning?"

"Yes master," she answered, a little unsurely. "This girl gave herself a two-quart enema per instructions at 6 AM this morning before this girl showered."

He asked us all individually, and everyone except Cheryl said she had. Cheryl admitted she had not and the chief handler detailed the two handlers to take her to a slave bathroom and give her an enema, then clean her up and bring her back. He also directed us, one at a time, to urinate in the kitty litter while he watched. He had to use the shock collar to convince Denise to answer nature's call but eventually the five of us complied. He had us bring the kitty litter bins to the front of the kennels and, when Cheryl returned (excuse me, when Three Five Nine Eight returned) he shackled her feet with 18 inches of chain between her ankles and had her go to each kennel, collect and empty the used bins into a dumpster, collect and empty the unused bins into a barrel secured in the docked livestock trailer, and stack the empty bins in two stacks near the barrel. They then removed her shackles and locked her in her kennel.

The kennels were loaded by warehouse slaves using manual cage lifts as a forklift would have been both overkill and more dangerous. They loaded the empty cages first, securing each kennel to the floor or to the cage below it and then loaded the six of us, not stacked.

I was starting to sweat when they closed the rear gate and started taking us to Jacksonville. The breeze thru the open ventilation grates was a relief. Two of the handlers rode with us in the trailer but made it clear that they didn't care if we talked quietly, as long as we didn't bother them. Both of them sat on chairs that folded out of the side of the trailer near the back and wore seatbelts. One of them worked on a laptop while the other played with his phone.

Partway to Jacksonville, the handler on the phone decided to try other amusements. He got up, drew his remote for the collars (called the "shocker" for obvious reasons) and walked over to my kennel.

"Six Seven One Nine, do you belong in a collar?"

A standard question with a standard answer. "Yes master, this girl belongs in slavery and is properly enslaved."

"Six Seven One Nine, did you go to university?"

"Yes master, this girl attended the University of Maryland and the Georgia Institute of Technology."

"And now you're collared, same as any other slave."

Not quite true, but no point in quibbling. I definitely didn't want to look like the slave who thought she was someone special. They'd beat that attitude right out me. "Yes master, I am now collared the like any other slave." I knew my screwup before I completed the sentence and I was relieved I received only an attention shock. "Sorry master, this girl is now collared like any other slave."

He opened the door of my kennel and pointed at his feet. I knelt at the door and, tentatively, I started to lick his boots.

"You have much to learn, Six Seven One Nine."

"Yes master, Six Seven One Nine is grateful for the opportunity to study and train to please her masters." Yet another standard response.

"Use your mouth for the purpose God intended," he commanded, unzipping his pants and pulling out his dick.

Just one of the many, many things I would have to do whether I wanted to or not. I raised myself from my heals and, steading myself with my left hand on the kennel door, first sniffed, then kissed and licked his penis. Then I took it in my mouth and started the blowjob proper. I'd always enjoyed a good blowjob. His penis was clean and he smelled OK and even seemed like an OK guy, but it wouldn't have mattered if he'd smelled like a skunk. The ride was in progress and I would suck many men and lick many women before it ended. Still, I'd always enjoyed giving head and being ordered to do it actually added a certain spice. I tried to get into the spirit of the thing by rubbing and fingering myself with my right hand. Lathering up, they call it. It had just started to feel really good when he came in my mouth. Remembering protocol, I opened my mouth to show him the cum on my tongue before he directed me to swallow.

"You have much to learn, but finish lathering up. Make sure all your slave sisters know how you're turned on by giving blowjobs," he said, closing and locking the kennel door.

The man was not entirely wrong. I was turned on and it only took a few minutes before I brought myself home.

________________________________________

[Carl Bradford]

Congratulations on coming up with a truly new reason for enslavement--please keep going!

[ElJefe]

This is innovative and well-written, I wish I'd thought of the concept.

As a space professional, I have one nit to pick. Transfer time is around 8-9 months each way, but surface dwell time is much longer, as much as 18 months. That's right, 34 months total.

[jeepster]

As Carl said an interesting way to become a slave! This should be a great story , keep it coming!

[Belinda]

New and inventive idea for enslavement. That this is not a FINO but true enslavement is a thrilling aspect to me for some reason. Please continue this great piece of work.

Yours truly,
Belinda

[LoyalHound]

Firstly, thankyou to everyone for your encouraging comments. I will continue the story, but it will probably be a few weeks before the next chapter.

El Jefe: Thank you for your comments. I remember watching the Gemini missions take off as a small child, but I'm afraid I haven't been keeping up with the current interplanetary concepts as well as I might. I'm going to have to do research before I do that section of the story. The concept just hit me and I had to start writing with what I could come up with quickly. I am a civil engineer by trade. (I refuse to say "by profession" because ASCE was never stupider then when they were pushing concepts to enhance the prestige of "the engineering profession.) I'm not totally ignorant of some of the technical challenges, but I am by no means at the level of a space professional.

[Mr. Smith]

This is a great start to a legal slavery story. 6719 not only gets a chance at the mission to Mars and pay off her loans but she also gets some free slave training that she can use in the future to wow her partners in bed. I assume Horny Juice will be used so she will also need a new wardrobe. Do we have a latent lesbian? What will be the final criteria for picking that fourth crew member and who makes the decision? I really like 6719's father and wonder if there will be any family visits during the training phase? There are so many possibilities here as I look forward to the next installment.

[LoyalHound]

This is a great start to a legal slavery story. 6719 not only gets a chance at the mission to Mars and pay off her loans but she also gets some free slave training that she can use in the future to wow her partners in bed. I assume Horny Juice will be used so she will also need a new wardrobe. Do we have a latent lesbian? What will be the final criteria for picking that fourth crew member and who makes the decision? I really like 6719's father and wonder if there will be any family visits during the training phase? There are so many possibilities here as I look forward to the next installment.

Thank you for you good questions and some nice ideas. Sorry it took me so long to respond.

[Mr. Smith]

Please tell us you are still working on this story. I am waiting with bated breath for the next chapter.

[LoyalHound]

Please tell us you are still working on this story. I am waiting with bated breath for the next chapter.

I am. I'm most of the way thru a second draft of the Chapter 3, which will cover the period at The Sharks. I figure I'm about 1/3 of the way to being ready to post, and I'll be able to work on it more this week. I'm sorry I'm not able to work faster and I do appreciate your interest.