Gabriela 02 - Road Trip

[ZeeChromosome]

As always: Kudos and gratitude to Joe Doe for inventing this universe. Also, many thanks to Carl Bradford, Mr. Smith, Eroticstoryspinner, and Avicia for their edits, comments, and encouragement.

Trigger Warning: Almost no actual sex in this segment of our tale. We're following Gabriela and Bethany as they travel deeper into the world of modern slavery. Sometimes, sometimes, our heroines need to pass through the belly of the beast. We need to follow them there so that we understand them better when they come out on the other side.

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Road Trip
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The white, unmarked van purred down a Texas highway late at night, heading East. It was an ordinary utility van without rear windows, indistinguishable from millions of others on the road. It might have belonged to a plumber or an electrician or any other completely innocent small businessman. But this was NOT an innocent van, it was a slave transport, a small link in the world-spanning trading network dealing in human flesh and suffering.

Inside the van, bound together on a wooden shipping pallet, were two naked slave girls who woke up this morning as free women with no idea that slavery was in their near future. But that was this morning. Now they were powerless slaves, not even legally human. Both of them had been abruptly enslaved, stripped of their clothing and dignity, and then sold on the Big D Slave Market slave block this very afternoon.

Before leaving the Big D’s shipping dock, the two girls were tied together facing each other, then secured inside a two foot tall box with a sturdy plexiglass roof. Their packaging was reminiscent of a pair of dolls that one might purchase for Christmas. Except this package didn’t contain wholesome plastic toys for children. It contained two living, breathing, FEELING human beings who had just been reduced to the legal status of objects. Both women WERE toys now, very expensive toys, sexual playthings for the rich men who bought them.

Neither girl knew where they were going. Neither knew if she was going to be treated with kindness or cruelty. “At least I have hope,” Gabriela thought as she gazed into Bethany’s gagged and tear-stained face. Given the tightness of their bindings, there wasn’t really anything else she could do as she struggled to picture her own future.

This morning, Gabriela was one of Justin Bellefleur’s favored employees. It was inevitable, of course. She was one of the very few attractive young women working at Bellefleur Financial. Factoring in her chipper, always-positive personality, it was inevitable that she would become the boss’s favorite subordinate. Now she was Master Bellefleur’s property. “Mister Bellefleur” was now “MASTER Bellefleur”.

As Mr. Bellefleur’s employee, Gabriela had always been treated with courtesy and decorum. In fact, perhaps a bit more decorum than she might have liked. He was the man she desired most, but he never made his move. And when she made HER move, he, in a disturbingly fatherly way, gently turned her aside.

But he owned her now. She was no longer an employee. She was no longer a person, she was property. That changes things.

She still held hope that, now that he owned her, he would continue to be kind. That wasn’t guaranteed, though. Gabriela knew from her “Psychology of Slavery” classes that the power differential between master and slave was so vast that it could warp the perspective - and the actions - of even the most morally upright slave owner. Gabriela didn’t think that could happen with HER master, but it was always a possibility. She herself had seen people who would never speak an unkind word to a free person... instantly and without provocation treat a slave with indifference or even cruelty. At the very least, any undesired action by any slave was likely to receive swift and harsh punishment.

It was one of the many things that had soured her perspective on her chosen profession. Gabriela initially started taking college level slavery classes in order to learn the tricks of the trade... so that she could avoid them. Four years later, here she was, a naked sex toy with a Baccalaureate in Slavery Studies. It was probably a good plan, but it didn’t work. The odds were stacked against her. Wealthy men are willing to spend a lot of money to acquire ownership of a Prime-graded sex slave. And money... money talks. And when money talks, there’s always someone willing to listen.

The other slave girl sharing Gabriela’s crate was named Bethany. This morning, she had been a college sophomore with a passion for sea turtle conservation and 20,000 followers on InstaTok. The Big D’s social media marketing team lured her to the auction house under the guise of a “mock” auction to raise money for sea turtle conservation. In effect, her followers would donate money for conservation to offset the value she raised at auction, with the final figures determining whether she was freed or enslaved. With the naïve over-confidence borne of youth and popularity, Bethany thought that she could easily beat the odds. After all, her devoted followers would never let her down. And, truthfully, they hadn’t. Bethany’s legion of supporters waged a FIERCE online battle for her freedom… they failed. They failed bravely, but they still failed.

Gabriela saw it take place. In ordinary life, being a pretty girl is a benefit. People are glad to see you. They smile and open doors, both literally and figuratively. But that’s ordinary life. The world of legal slavery is different. When a slaver sees a pretty girl, he imagines her naked and under his power, submissive to his will. Where a normal human being with a soul sees a person, the slaver sees profit.

This afternoon, while Bethany stood naked and trembling on the auction block watching the online voting numbers rise and fall, far too many onlookers didn’t view her as a “damsel in distress” who needed to be saved. They saw her as a piece of prime pussy, fodder for the cruel business of converting human beings into servile sex toys. While the final minutes and seconds of Bethany’s freedom played out, Gabriela – leashed and collared - was with her new owner in the VIP box far above the auction floor. Below in the viewing stands, she could see that dozens of slavers and audience members had their cell phones out. They were voting, too, and they almost certainly weren’t voting to #SaveBethany.

It was only by the last-minute intervention of Master Bellefleur’s friend, Joseph Do, Bethany was saved from a cruel fate. All of the other top bidders were high-volume slave brothels that used their human chattel relentlessly. After three years as a slave whore... the results would not have been pretty. Bethany didn’t know it yet, but one of the most ruthless and powerful slavers in the State of Texas owned her now. But he wasn’t planning on whoring her out. Master Do bought Bethany as a gift for his son, and she was being sent to the same destination as Gabbie.

Gabbie didn’t know what that destination was, but she believed that it was probably one of the many consort academies that had sprung up recently. The slavery business is cruel and destructive. Attractive, high-quality women who would have made excellent wives and daughters-in-law were being relentlessly destroyed every day by the uncaring machinery of modern capitalism. Various efforts sprang up to find these diamonds in the rough, polish them, and deliver them to a better fate. A consort is a special type of slave, she is more than a collection of attractive body parts and holes to use. A well-trained consort is a companion, a lover, and a friend. She understands home décor, current events, conversational skills, and presents an elegant appearance at social functions. If Gabbie and Bethany were fortunate, then that’s where they were headed now.

Gabbie wanted to comfort Bethany with this information, but they were both gagged before they left. All she COULD do was silently empathize with her eyes.

After some unknowable period of time in the semi-darkness, both girls fell asleep. In spite of everything that happened that day - or perhaps because of it - their exhausted bodies were lulled to sleep by the rumbling hum of the engine as they were shipped deeper into slavery.

- - - - - - - - -

When Gabriela and Mr. Bellefleur first entered the restaurant to continue her initial job interview, she noticed that most of the diners had a slave kneeling beside their tables. Despite being a slavery studies major, Gabriela hadn’t really been exposed to this side of things before. Most of her studies took place in the dry academic environment, far removed from the reality of how slavery was actually practiced. The only occasions that she had been around genuine slaves was seeing them out in public or in the industrial surroundings of one of the major auction houses. But now, she was seeing the master/slave relationship in a much more relaxed, intimate setting. She also noticed that she was one of the VERY few clothed women in the room. The vast majority of the diners were older men - like Justin Bellefleur - and the vast majority of the slaves were young women... like Gabriela Chavez. There were a few other clothed women in the room, but they were all older than Gabriela, and clearly connected to one of the powerful men who patronized this establishment.

Once they were seated, Gabbie realized that she was very out of place. She was a clothed young woman seated in a chair. Unlike the other young women in the room, she was sitting ACROSS from Mr. Bellefleur, not kneeling at his feet. She also noticed there was a slave mat next to Justin’s chair, but not hers. She had a disturbing thought, one that had never crossed her mind before. “That’s the spot where a girl like me belongs, on that slave mat, kneeling at Sir’s feet. I should not sit at the table with him as though we are equals. Everyone will get the wrong impression and think ill of me.”

Gabriela certainly didn’t want to make the wrong impression. After all, this was an important job interview. She needed Mr. Bellefleur to be impressed with her. She removed her red suit jacket and, when Justin reached out a hand without saying a word, she handed it to him. He placed it out of her reach. No longer wearing a jacket, she was sure that he could now see the faint outline of her lacy demi-cup bra beneath the thin silk of her cream-colored sleeveless blouse.

“That’s better,” she thought, no longer feeling quite so out of place. After all, the other young women in the room also had their sexual attributes on display. It was only right that Gabriela should, as well.

It still wasn’t enough, though. As Mr. Bellefleur began asking her probing questions about her resume and what her career goals were, she opened the buttons of her blouse one at a time and carefully arranged it to expose a deep “V” of tanned skin right down to the waistband of her sophisticated pencil skirt.

This satisfied her for a minute or two, and she was gratified to see his appreciative eyes drift downward from time to time. But then his eyebrows would quirk together in a tiny frown of annoyance before returning to her face. Gabriela didn’t want him annoyed with her; she wanted him to be pleased with her appearance. She glanced down to see what was wrong and immediately realized that she was still inappropriately dressed for this important business meeting. The lacy cups of her bra were more than half-exposed, lifting her breasts and putting them on display. Tiny half-moons of her dark brown areolae were plainly visible. Gabriela glanced around the room and confirmed that none of the other free women were wearing bras. Flushing with embarrassment at her wardrobe mistake, Gabbie quickly unsnapped the cups and handed the unnecessary garment to the sexy gentleman that she hoped would hire her. Then she rearranged her blouse to fully expose her breasts. That’s the way an attractive young woman presents herself when having an intimate dinner meeting with a powerful man.

Master Bellefleur accepted the garment with a twinkle in his eye and tossed it into a conveniently placed trash can, where it burst into flames and vanished. Gabriela would never wear THAT bra again. In fact, she realized as she attempted to hike up her skirt to slip out of her panties, she would probably never wear ANY undergarments again unless Master wanted her to. The skirt was too tight, though. When she went shopping for an interview suit, she hadn’t intended to buy something quite so sexy. But when she saw it in the shop window, she had to try it on. And, once she saw how great it made her butt and thighs look, she knew she had to have it whatever the price. Now it was in the way, though. It was keeping her from removing her panties for Justin. Without pausing the conversation or breaking eye contact, she rose in her seat, unzipped her skirt, and scooched out of both garments at once.

That was better. As Gabbie sat back down, she could feel the chair’s smooth wooden seat on her bare bottom and now-fully-exposed vagina. It felt right to her. Mr. Bellefleur needed to see what her was buying.

Once again, the handsome older man received Gabriela’s garments with a smile. He set the skirt off to one side after extracting Gabbie’s red satin panties. He smiled at her as he rubbed them between his fingers. Gabriela was horrified to notice a distinctly-darker section of her panties directly on the crotch. He was going to think she was a slut! Master Bellefleur didn’t seem upset by that, though. In fact, he gave her a VERY approving smile as he folded the panties thoughtfully and placed them in his breast pocket like a gentleman’s pocket square.

Gabbie glanced nervously around and realized that all these other girls were sluts, too. And THEY had clearly passed THEIR “job interviews”. In fact, several of them were obviously onto the next phase of their job qualification training, as they were busy servicing their Masters on their knees. In fact, there were no other clothed women in the room at all! Even the free women were busily servicing either another patron or one of the male slaves. Gabbie was the only woman still wearing clothing and sitting on a chair! She slid off the chair and onto the mat in front of her handsome and commanding Master, shedding her blouse as she did so, and reached for his...

“Bang!”

Gabriela was startled awake by the sound of a slamming van door. She hadn’t even realized that she had fallen asleep. The box was extracted from the back of the van by a forklift, which whisked it into a large, open warehouse and placed it next to a wall.

Gabbie tried to give Bethany a reassuring smile. She was only two years older than Bethany, but she was already feeling a strong big-sisterly vibe toward the frightened girl. The age gap between them was three years, but Gabbie had worked in the slavery business as either an employee or a college intern for over a year now. She probably knew far more about what was happening to them and what to expect next. Unfortunately, they were both still gagged, and Gabbie still couldn’t speak to her.

Gabbie couldn’t really see much from her tightly-bound position inside the shipping crate, but she COULD hear two men talking as they maneuvered it into the warehouse. Gabriela Chavez came from an old Tejano family whose roots delved deep into the history of the State of Texas. Even deeper than that, they proceeded right THROUGH the Republic of Texas into the Mexican frontier province of Tejas. As far as she knew, she had at least three relatives at the Battle of San Jacinto. [If you don’t know what that means, then look it up... infidel!]

Many people think of slaves as two-dimensional cartoon figures, either as slave meat to be used, or as hapless victims who need to be saved. Either way, regardless of ideology, most people don’t really understand that enslavement doesn’t turn off the brain or remove free will. Most people are idiots. Gabriela’s mind worked just fine. As a native Texan, she immediately intuited from the men’s accents that she was somewhere in East Texas. As a professional slaver, she deduced that they were at a wholesale transshipment warehouse, almost certainly in Texarkana. Beaumont was also possible, but there she would have expected to hear more sugar and less twang.

“Dang, boy, this is one of them new flat-packs, ain’t it?” said the first voice. “It looks like a Christmas present, don’t it? Two pretty dolls all packaged and ready to use. I bought my daughter a Barbie dolly last year, but I never thought I’d see a couple o’ slave ho’s boxed up like this. Whattaya say we hang ‘em on the wall so we can look at ‘em like a pitcher?”

“Yup, I bet they’re anatomically correct, too,” replied another man, snickering cruelly at his own joke.

“I feel like it’s gonna be an early Christmas this year, let’s open it up!”

“Settle down and get that prybar,” the second man commanded calmly. Whoever he was, he was clearly in charge of his comrade. Gabriela experienced an immediate desire to please him in any way possible. Intellectually, as one who had studied the ancient art of slavery in academia, Gabbie knew that desire was an artifact of her enslavement. It didn’t make it any less real, though. She really, honestly, and truly wanted to please this man. He was in charge. He was powerful. He could protect her.

After some initial confusion about how to open their “Christmas present”, the two men figured it out and Gabriela and Bethany soon found themselves shivering in the cool night air in the “inspection” position, which was standing with the feet shoulder-width apart and the hands clasped on the backs of their heads. It exposed absolutely all of their everything to anyone nearby, which was the point. Speaking of “points”, Gabbie could feel that her nipples were rock hard and aimed at the far wall. Either due to the temperature or her arousal, it didn’t matter which. She was presenting the appearance of the “ready-to-use slut” that these men probably imagined her as.

Back at the Big D, before the cover was placed on their packaging, a plastic bag containing their ownership papers and shipping documents was taped to their thighs. It was done with the same impersonal efficiency as a shipping clerk labelling a cardboard box before delivering it to the post office. The girls flinched as the supervisor pulled the document pouches off and tossed them on a nearby desk.

Gabriela strove to stare straight ahead as she stood unmoving on the cold concrete and not at the two men who prowled around her like a pair of predatory lions examining a fresh kill. Her skin twitched and shivered involuntarily as surprisingly gentle, calloused fingertips slid along her flanks.

“Jordon, put this in the receiving report,” said the supervisor, “slave 5993 has a rectangular mark on her lower right ribcage with two dots in the middle. Looks like a taser burn or maybe she was just punched with it. Doesn’t matter, just make sure it’s recorded in case anyone complains about it later. Bend over, slut. Ankles.”

Oddly, Gabriela didn’t feel insulted at all by his use of the word “slut”. It was an accepted term for a slave in the human livestock business, an acknowledgement of the fact that every slave was expected to be completely available for sexual use at all times. But there was more to it than that. Gabbie could hear it in his voice. This man wasn’t judging Gabbie. He wasn’t communicating that he thought less of her for being sexually available to anyone who wanted it. He just wanted her to bend over.

Gabriela bent at the waist and grabbed her ankles. Her thick ponytail of luxurious, dark hair fell to the dirty warehouse floor. Hopefully, she would have a chance to wash it before Master Justin saw her again. She really was in love with Justin and desperately wanted to please him. She had been in love with him for months now, but the conditions were never right for her to tell him that. She assumed he didn’t want to be seen as a powerful man preying on one of his young female employees. Conversely, she didn’t want to be viewed as a gold digger pursuing a wealthy CEO. That was the only thing that kept them apart for the past year. But Gabriela was a slave now. Master Bellefleur owned her. She could give in to her desires to be his submissive fucktoy. She wanted it, and she hoped the HE wanted her in the same way.

In the meantime, though, she was under the power of a lesser man. Whatever he commanded, Gabriela would provide.

“Jordon,” continued the supervisor in his bored-but-authoritative tone, “have yours do the same thing. Ease the butt plug out gently, just like this, and inspect her for anal tears. That’s a big issue, because they can get infected and owners get pissy about it.”

“Then,” he continued, slicking a gloved finger through Gabriela’s exposed vagina, “check her vaj for the same thing... bruising or skin tears. I don’t wanna get blamed for that shit. Who knows what happens at the auction house? Either way, none of our concern as long as we don’t get blamed for it. This here is, between the two of ‘em, prolly a half mill in slave pussy.”

Finally, after an in depth inspection, he was satisfied that neither slave had been damaged during shipment.

“All right, Jordan,” the overseer said, “have ‘em do some yoga moves to stretch out and warm up a bit. Feed and water ‘em, then cage ‘em. I’ll do the paperwork. Let’s see if I have everything... Certificate of Veterinary Inspection, Title, five years and some change for debt, SIN number matches, Certificate of Insurance, Permission to Import Human Chattel to the Commonwealth of Virginia.. nice sales price, three hunnert and forty grand. Not a bad price at all. Let’s look at the other one... nice, a half million dollar shipment total. See? I was right.”

After a few brief stretching exercises, Jordan decided that Gabbie and Beth needed to jog in place while he supervised their bouncing breasts closely. It was obvious that this was a man who truly loved his job.

While the younger slave wrangler exercised the two girls, the supervisor sat at a nearby desk with the driver reviewing their shipping documents. Finally, he seemed satisfied that their papers were in order and signed off on the driver’s copies. While she jogged for Boss Jordan’s amusement, Gabriela noted that the driver pointed at the two slaves and asked the supervisor a question. He clearly didn’t like the answer he received, as he scowled and turned away angrily, adjusting the front of his pants. Apparently, he had asked for a “slave tip”, which is a normal perk of his job. Slaves, of course, have no money, so the expected “tip” usually involved oral sex.

Gabbie thought it was odd to see the man turned away like that. One of the unspoken rules in the slavery business was that slavers don’t interfere with one another’s fun. The jobs usually didn’t pay very much, so the perks were an important part of their compensation. In this case, the driver clearly expected to be able to force a beautiful, Prime-graded slave girl to suck his dick. Gabriela’s confusion was quickly cleared up.

“Wait up, Jordan, I need to red tag both of them,” the supervisor said as he approached with a fastener gun and two red plastic tags. One of the many misconceptions about slavery is that all slaves are always available for sexual use by ANY free person. While this WAS theoretically true, in actual practice it was not. All slaves are freely available to their OWNERS at any time. But some owners don’t want to share. Master Bellefleur and Master Do clearly didn’t want anyone else playing with their new toys.

After attaching the red tags to their collars, he also affixed a pair of white tags with red crosses in the center. Those were “medical exemption” tags, probably due to the painful, third-degree burns on their butts.

Soon the two girls were lying down together on a foam mattress on the floor a wire mesh cage. The warehouse was chilly, so at Gabbie’s suggestion they combined their body heat by huddling together under both blankets. Now they were finally able to talk. If they were free women on a road trip together, they probably would have extracted each other’s entire life history by now. Placing two normally-chatty girls in close proximity for such a long time and not allowing them to talk to one another should constitute a form of torture, thought Gabbie.

“Are you okay, Bethany?” Gabriela whispered. They hadn’t been ordered not to talk, but they were surrounded by sleeping blanket lumps and Gabriela assumed that talking wasn’t permitted anyway.

Bethany gave a sad, rueful chuckle in the semi-darkness. “Yeah, my day is going great. How has your day been?”

Gabriela smiled. If Bethany could laugh about their predicament, then she was probably going to be okay. “My day was pretty awful,” she said. “I didn’t expect slave catchers to barge into my office, strip me, and march me out naked in front of my coworkers. Other than that, things have been great.”

Her sassy response drew another snicker from the younger girl. “Do you have any idea where we’re being sent?”

“I have some ideas. Did Master Do tell you anything at all?”

“Umm, no. If he had, I’m not sure I would have heard him or remembered it. I was pretty messed up mentally after getting a brand burned in my butt and then losing the auction. I really thought my followers would come through for me, you know?” she finished with a sob.

“I know, I understand, don’t cry. We’re both in the same boat, so we need to stick together and support one another as long as we can, okay? Your followers tried hard, I saw the whole thing. They didn’t let you down, they just weren’t strong enough, you got that? They love you and they fought hard for your freedom, so never doubt that for a minute.”

“Thanks,” sniffled Bethany

“All right, here’s what I know,” Gabriela continued. “Master Bellefleur, who bought me, is old friends with Master Do. We were up in the VIP seating area above the stands during the final minutes of the auction. Master Do said he was buying you as a present for his son and that he was sending you to the same school I’m being sent to. We also heard a few minutes ago that we’re being sent to Virginia. I’m not as familiar with Virginia slave schools as I am with the ones in Texas, but I DO know that we’ve sent a few prime-graded girls to a consort school in Virginia called White Brier Finishing School. I suspect that’s where we’re headed. I don’t want to get your hopes up too much, but White Brier trains high-end consorts, not generic sex slaves. We’ll find out when we get there. But for now, there’s hope, you understand? Master Bellefleur knows me, he was my boss before I was... well, he was my boss this morning. Now he’s my owner. I know that he has no intention of selling me, he told me that in the smithy, so I’m pretty sure he wants me as his consort.”

“What’s a consort?”

“A consort IS still a sex slave, but of a very special type. There are even specific laws written into the Federal Uniform Slave Code that separate them from regular slaves. Most people think that “a slave is a slave”, but that’s not true at all. Not all slaves are equal. For example, there are “Extraordinary Talent” slaves who have some sort of skill that makes them far more valuable than a regular slave. Something like microbiologist, doctor, concert violinist, etc. They have certain protections and privileges, like being able to go out in public wearing clothing without a collar. Another category is nannies and wet nurses. Think about it, their primary responsibility is caring for babies and small children. Because they must be able to keep the kids safe, they also have a protected status and certain privileges like being able to drive, confront authority figures, and so on.”

“Now,” Gabbie said, “the whole purpose of the consort program is, to be blunt... slave brides.”

“Slave brides, what’s that supposed to mean?” Bethany queried.

“For now, it means that as long as you play along and follow the rules, you will have special protections and privileges. For example, if an ordinary slave like a housekeeper is shopping at the store and some random guy comes up and starts groping them, they have no right to object as long as he doesn’t interfere with her duties. But a consort can’t be treated that way. Her owner has exclusive access to her body. He can share it with someone else if he wants to, but in everyday life, the consort has almost the same level of protection from sexual harassment as a free woman. That’s a huge benefit right there. Did you notice that our driver didn’t get a slave tip?”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Usually, the driver of a slave transport will order a freshly delivered slave to give them a blowjob after arrival. It’s one of the perks of the job. He didn’t get one. You are Master Do’s property now, and you are under his protection. Believe me, Master Do is NOT someone that anyone in the slavery business wants to piss off.”

“Anyway, that’s what these red tags on our collars are for, it lets everyone know that we’re off limits. Think of it this way, you’re a wealthy man who just spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on a sports car, do you want anyone else driving it? Of course not. Do you think you might get upset if you had it valet parked and when you came out to get it, some stranger had shot his splooge all over the leather seats? Absolutely. We’re valuable properties, and our owners don’t want to share. So things aren’t nearly as bad as you think. I saw who else was bidding on you, and you do NOT want to know who they are.”

Bethany giggled. “Who were they?”

“Honey, I just said you don’t want to know.”

“You can’t just say that and then not tell me, silly.”

Gabbie sighed and gave in. “High volume slave brothels. If one of them had purchased you this afternoon, you would already be chained to a bed somewhere and be servicing your tenth customer by now.”

Bethany gasped in horror.

“Exactly, you didn’t want to know that. It may not feel like it, but on the worst day of both of our lives, we both got very, VERY lucky. I was purchased by my boss, who I suspect has been in love with me for some time now. You were purchased by Master Do as a gift for his son, who I assume is unmarried. If Master Do wants you to be his daughter in law - don’t get your hopes up too high, we don’t KNOW that yet - then I’m certain that he will want you to be well-treated. So, whatever happens, we need to toe the line. We need to be the best consort trainees that ever existed. Just because we’re slaves doesn’t mean we’re powerless to affect our fate. In theory, under the law, the master has 100% of the power. But that’s not true and it has NEVER been true. You still have free will and that can never be taken away from you. I honestly and truly think that things are going to work out for both of us. We just need to keep our wits about us and have faith. Can you do that?”

Instead of replying, the younger girl just nodded. “Umm, Gabbie,” she asked in a very small, sleepy voice, “can I take the first turn at being the little spoon tonight? I need a hug.”

They rearranged themselves under the two blankets, and Gabriela listened quietly as the teenager in her arms slowed her breathing and went to sleep. Bethany whimpered a few times and then her body jolted as she finally succumbed.

A tear ran a tricking path down Gabbie’s cheek. Why was the world so cruel? And why did this have to happen to her? There were no answers, only questions.

Gabriela lay awake for some time listening to the sounds of the warehouse. Although she was terribly sleepy, every tiny sound hit her ears like an electric prod, jolting her back into consciousness. A night watchman padded past, wearing shoes. In the olden days, the happy and haze time when she had been a free woman - meaning this morning - the fact that someone was wearing shoes would be taken as a given. Not anymore. Most slaves were naked and barefoot most of the time. The sound of pacing heels was now the Sound of Authority, and Gabriela feared it.

In a distant cage, there was a sudden outburst of broken-hearted sobbing that only gradually faded away. Another slave tried to sooth the distraught woman, and when that didn’t work, there was a slapping sound and a sharp cry of pain. Gabbie listened, nerves stuttering with adrenaline, clutching her sleeping slave-sister for some time. There was a sound of rushing (booted) footsteps, then a loud banging noise and an angry male voice. Eventually the commotion subsided.

“THIS is slavery,” she thought to herself. “THIS is what I was afraid of, and for good reason. If I get out of here - no, WHEN I get out of here - things are going to be different.”

Gabbie held on to her hope, she reached for it and clung to it as a lifeline for her soul. Justin - no, “Master Justin” - would come for her. He would save her. He would protect her. Here in the darkness, here in the wilderness, she needed that. She needed to place her faith in someone or something, and she hadn’t been to church in far too long. In her moment of crisis on the auction block, Master Justin’s icon appeared on the wall. In her moment of fear and pain on the branding bench, Master Justin was there, soothing her. He wasn’t here in this place, but she hoped that the aegis of his power would continue to protect her.

In the next cage over, someone periodically unleashed a hacking, gurgling cough. Whoever it was, Gabriela couldn’t help her. She COULD comfort the sleeping girl in her arms, though, so she focused on that as she drifted off to sleep for the second time tonight.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Rise and Shine, Sluts!
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Cla-kla-kla-kla-kla!”

In the morning, the two girls were awakened by the sound of a wooden paddle being rattled along the row of cages.

Several slave handlers were walking back and forth in the walkway between the cages. Gabbie glanced up at the windows and saw that it was still dark out.

“Rise and shine, rise and shine, my sleepy little sluts!” one of the men shouted at them. “We got things to do and then YOU got places to BE! So, get up, fold your blankies, roll up your mats, and hand ‘em through the slot. You’re going for a little ride today and you don’t want to be late!”

“Do as you’re told, and you won’t get swats,” he finished up, while slapping a hard wooden paddle on his thigh.

It was the sort of paddle that Texas school teachers had been using to discipline students for generations. Gabriela had never, in all her years, been struck by one. But she knew a lot of others who had, and those things hurt! Her recently branded bottom was already transmitting a deep, throbbing pain. Gabbie had no intention of annoying this man even the slightest.

Two burly female wranglers were outside Gabriela and Bethany’s cage, chatting and watching the two girls intently as they quickly folded their blankets and passed them through the narrow slot in the door. They also started rolling up the mattress, but one of the slave handlers said in a surprisingly-kind tone, “Not that one, honey, leave it there, it don’t fit.”

Gabriela looked into the neighboring cage and saw that there were several significant differences that she hadn’t noticed the night before in the dim light. Not only did the other cages have about ten occupants each, but those women had been sleeping on what were clearly nothing more than thin yoga mats. They were just thick enough to provide some insulation from a cold concrete floor, but not enough padding to be comfortable. In contrast, Gabbie and Bethany’s mattress, although still pretty uncomfortable, was an inch thick slab of foam.

“That’s right, princess, we don’t want you finding no peas under your bed,” one of the handlers told her with a snicker. “Red tags, too. Someone’s getting special treatment.”

From the resentful glances that the girls in the other cages were throwing at them, Gabriela could see that the special treatment had been noted amongst the other slaves, as well. One of the things that Gabriela learned in Slave Psych 101 was that the less people have, the harder they are willing to fight for it. There is an old saying that, “Nothing is more precious and more fiercely contested than virtue among whores, and status among slaves.” Gabbie and Bethany’s “mattress” might have been something that a free person would reject scornfully, but it represented status... among slaves.

Gabbie hoped that their protected status wouldn’t cause them any trouble, but it was worrisome none the less.

It was also obvious to Gabbie that the others were an eclectic mix of what were known as “utility slaves”. The slave-grading system, which was pioneered in Texas by Master Do himself, was now the standard slave grading system nationwide. It weighted an enslaved person’s, especially a female slave’s, worth heavily on her visual appeal and sexual responsiveness. Brains, education and personality were mere afterthoughts... if they were thought of at all. Gabriela was an experienced slaver, and she could tell at a glance that some of the others may have graded Select while others were Cutter, but there were definitely no Choice- or Prime-graded girls among them. No, THEIR value wasn’t based on their looks, it was based on the amount of work they could do, 60-80 hours per week. In other words, their UTILITY was their value, not their looks or sexuality. That didn’t mean that they weren’t used for sex, it just meant that their guaranteed sexual availability was an added feature that didn’t determine their sales value.

In contrast, Bethany and Gabriela both graded in the Prime range. That’s why the Big D Auction House branded their butts with its corporate logo. It was a mark of status and quality, recognizable everywhere. It was also clearly visible to anyone nearby, due to the fact that both of them were entirely naked with the exception of their collars.

Bethany and Gabriela really WERE a different class of slave. And whenever different classes of people coexist, status differences do, too. And so does class resentment. They had clearly been segregated from the others for that reason. The shipping company didn’t care about its charges’ happiness one way or the other. What it DID care about was that the property entrusted to its care arrived undamaged. Master Do and Master Bellefleur may or may not have requested this special handling for them. It didn’t matter. It was clear that they were going to get it. Both men were significant players in the slavery business, and neither of them was known for forgiveness. What successful slaver ever was?

Even if their owners hadn’t requested special treatment for them, the dock supervisor from last night certainly took note of the owners’ names on their titles and registration. When Gabbie was being sold yesterday, her goal was to become the valued property of a powerful man. She was successful. It was a bitter victory, as the price she paid was her freedom and her humanity. But she was going to pay that price anyway, so it was for the best that she received a good return on her investment.

One of the more-blatantly hostile slaves in the adjoining cage hung on the fence from her fingers and stared at them. There was zero warmth in her bright blue eyes. She was a skinny - not “slender” - redhead with a startlingly large forehead, kinky hair, hideous tatts, and a vicious scowl. “Lookit, lookit, lookit,” she sneered. “A couple a’ nasty little princesses. Someone call Mr. Disney and tell him there’s two lost princesses in here. Hey, hey, girls, come check this out... tan lines!”

“Red” spit that last phrase out with such ferocity that Gabbie nearly checked the floor to see the splatter. Slave girls generally don’t have tan lines unless they’re being used as human ponies. Gabbie was a modest women – “was” being the operative term now – and generally wore a swimsuit with a full bottom at the pool. As a result, her butt and recently-shorn pubic mound were startlingly light in direct contrast to her evenly-tanned limbs and torso. She glanced over at Bethany. Bethany clearly had a preference for revealing halter tops and short-shorts. Even though they were all naked now, Gabriela felt a sudden sense of shame, knowing that her recent enslavement was inscribed on her body. Everyone who saw her would know for a fact that she had recently been a free woman. Being slut-shamed by an equally-naked slave girl was a new experience for her, and she hated it.

Gabbie saw Bethany try to cover her enormous, pale breasts with her hands, and that made her angry. Bethany was her friend, Bethany was her slave-sister, and THIS cunt was hurting her feelings! Gabriela glanced at the two slave handlers and saw that they were just enjoying the show. Every girl loves a bit of drama. Gabbie scowled fiercely at the mean girl and tried to come up with a response that would hurt the other girl’s feelings, but not draw the anger of the watching free women.

Most of Red’s cage-mates, apparently accustomed to such rantings, ignored her. But two others came over to see what was so interesting. One was an older, ebony-skinned woman. She was slender - not “skinny” - and also had a startlingly prominent forehead. But whereas the redhead made it look like a deformity, she made it look like the crown of a queen. “Knock it off, Red, they’re just tryin’ ta get through their day, same as us.”

“Red” turned on her furiously, then looked around for support. Bullies are like that. They like having an audience. She didn’t find any. The majority of the veteran slaves might not empathize overmuch with two freshly-enslaved girls, but they weren’t going to support unnecessary bullying.

“A’right, SHUT UP!” shouted the man with the wooden paddle. “Listen up! Anyone crosses me gets swats! Listen to what I gotta say! You are not wearing shock collars, and you are not wearing hobbles. I ain’t got time for that shit. I need you hoppin’ and poppin’ when I say so. We got a few things to do and then I’m-a toss you on a bus and I don’t gotta think about you no more! I like it that way, don’t make me think different!”

“There ain’t no way outta here that’s NOT the Slutbus!” he continued. “We got a ten-foot fence all around this property. The top three feet o’ that is razor wire. It’s called “razor wire” for a reason, ‘cuz it will SLICE YOU UP! There ain’t enough band-aids in the world to fix that shit, so don’t do it.”

When he started shouting again, Gabriela was unsure what to do, but decided that the “present” position was appropriate. Bethany stepped beside her and copied it. Surely, they couldn’t get punished for that, right?

Red sneered at them, muttering, “Slave positions, really?”

She was probably right, thought Gabbie. The two of them were literally the only slaves acting like they were under slave discipline. The rest just milled about as they listened to their orders.

“First off, sick call. Raise your hand if you think you need to see the nurse.” The head boss looked around, noting the three hands raised.

“Okay, I got two newbies with fresh brands not raising their hands,” he drawled humorously. “Raise your damn hands, sluts. As for the rest of you, if Nurse Eri says you wasted her time, I’m-a give you ten swats. Put your hand down if you don’t want ten swats.”

Two of the women did so, and the two wranglers outside of Gabbie and Beth’s cage slammed the door open, cuffed their arms behind their backs, and pulled them into the passageway. They were soon joined by a middle-aged Hispanic woman who appeared to be very sickly indeed. Gabriela suspected that she was the source of the gurgling cough she heard the night before, and her heart went out to her. Slavers weren’t renowned for providing quality health care.

As the three women were coffled together on a length of ballistic nylon, Gabriela heard the boss continue to shout instructions at the bulk of the utility slaves.

“A’right, that’s outta the way. Next, we’re gonna open the doggie door. Then yer gonna crawl out one at a time. We’re gonna coffle ya in groups of ten and march ya ta the piss grate, where yer gonna piss. That’s why we call it that. ‘Cuz you piss on it. Then yer gonna git yer slutty asses hosed out so ya don’t make a mess on the bus. The Slutbus does not stop nowhere for nothin’...”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Belly of The Beast
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Guided by the two slave handlers, the three-slave coffle made its way through the warehouse’s maze of slave cages. The slavery business is based on cheap labor, and that labor needs to be moved from place to place. Since time immemorial, most slave labor has worked in the agriculture business. Picking seasons vary by crop, time of year, and latitude. The five women passed a number of cages filled with sun-burnt men wearing overalls and straw hats.

When most free people think about slaves, the first thing that comes to mind is female sex slaves - beautiful, naked women without the freedom to refuse sex. In other words, they are slavery’s “rock stars”. But that’s not the truth of the matter. Most slaves are men, they wear orange denim, and they work for a living. They work hard, mostly in the hot, unforgiving sun, and they are lonely. So, when two actual, female sex slaves were paraded in front of them, they acted accordingly.

Each man, alerted by the movement of his neighbor, stood and moved toward the fence in a wave that preceded their approach. The mass of silent men moving like a single organism was eerie and a bit frightening. Every cage in the male section of the warehouse became an unbroken wall of grinning, leering male faces. They were still completely silent, though. There was no catcalling, only staring. Gabriela had almost gotten accustomed to her own nudity, but the wall of staring eyes triggered a surge of fear and shame and she stumbled and began to hyperventilate.

“Don’t look at ‘em, honey,” the slave handler holding the guide rod advised her. “Look down. Watch your feet, one step in front of the other. They can’t get out, and you’re not going in there with them.”

“Hands off the wire, you!” she snapped angrily, striking it with her quirt. “Take a step back or I’m fetching the hose! These ‘uns ain’t for the likes of you!”

Gabriela appreciated the women’s fierce protectiveness, and she hoped that Bethany was all right. She wasn’t about to turn and look, though. That probably wasn’t a good idea. She didn’t want to stumble, and she didn’t want to face those eyes again.

The five women finally entered an office area. Gabbie shuddered and felt an immediate easing of the anxiety-induced tightness in her chest. She was still nude, she was still cuffed, but the “monster” was gone now. It had been a frightening experience.

Nothing in Gabriela’s young life had been able to prepare her for that. As a free woman, of course, she wore clothing, and men were expected to treat her with decorum. But now, she was literally a naked sex slave. She had no protection other than the goodwill of her owner, who wasn’t here. She realized that she was now really and truly passing through the belly of the beast that is modern slavery, and it contained a monster with 10,000 staring eyes.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Nurse Erimipe
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

In direct contrast to the warehouse, the office area was... an office area. Instead of cold, grubby concrete, Gabbie’s unshod feet luxuriated in the relatively comforting feel of carpeting. Sure, it was the type of hard, thin carpet that one might expect in an old office building, but it had an immediate positive effect on her mood. Things were looking up!

As they headed down the hallway, the trailing slave wrangler spoke up, loud enough for all three slaves to hear. “We call it the “eyeball canyon effect,” it can be a bit scary if you ain’t used to it. They know not to say anything if they don’t want to get a whoopin’, but there ain’t no way to stop ‘em from looking. You two are finer than most of the slave meat we ship through here, so it’s a special treat for them. I’da expected ya’ll to be shipped air freight, but we do get a few cuties like ya’ll. Not that it matters much. The only slave hoes they have in the work camps are pretty worn out and busted up. So any gal with all her teeth is a big hit with them.”

Gabriela appreciated the woman’s tone. It was perfect. Just enough compassion to comfort a distraught slave, but not enough to give the slave an idea that she might be manipulable. Slave handlers had to walk a very fine line with their treatment of slaves. If they were too harsh, the slave might resist. If they were too kind, the slave would try to take advantage. It was one of the things that Gabriela meant to convey to Bethany when she comforted her the previous night. Slavery isn’t just a legal condition, it’s a type of relationship between human beings. Slaves DO have free will, and they use it to their advantage when they are able. This particular slave boss’s tone was just right; firm but fair.

When they entered the building’s small, sparsely-equipped clinic, Bethany and Gabriela were secured facing the wall, while the slave nurse took charge of the older woman and began to examine her. The nurse was a thickly-built African woman with a very precise British accent. Gabriela surmised that she was an immigrant under the “Four Years to Freedom” immigration program. The program allowed applicants with necessary skills to serve a four-year indenture in exchange for legal residency afterwards. One of the in-demand categories was veterinary medicine. Many medical professionals were unwilling to work with slaves, so it was always an area in constant need. It didn’t surprise Gabby at all that the warehouse had a slave nurse.

When the nurse finished her examination, she reported to the slave wrangler. “This slave is too ill to travel today. She must be given medicine and kept here for observation overnight.”

“Ain’t happening,” the handler replied. “She’s part of a 17-slave shipment for a food processing plant and needs to go out today.”

“She is too sick to travel,” the nurse replied, her tone unwavering. “You can beat me for it, but she stays here. Also, if you put her on a bus with others, she will keep coughing. They will become ill, too. Then they will go to a barracks and make everyone there sick. The food processing plant will not be able to work, and they will be fined. She will stay here until I say she is better.”

Gabbie had been obediently staring at the wall, but she turned her head to see the astonishing scene. The slave nurse had her chin up in defiance, but her expression was one of serenity. This woman really WAS ready to be beaten in order to protect a sick slave!

Amazingly, after a brief stare-down, the slave handler simply nodded and replied, “Fine, I’ll let them know. Finish up with the other two and have them ready when I get back.”

After she locked the door and left, the nurse sat on a stool behind Gabriela and began tending her burn wound. “Hello,” she said, “my name is Nurse Erimipe, but you can call me Eri. How did a pretty girl like you get enslaved, bought too many pretty things?”

“No, umm, I actually bought a tire shop for my uncle and brother. I wasn’t a cosigner on the loan, I was just the collateral,” Gabriela responded bitterly.

“Ah, and it went under?”

“Burned down, but yes.” Gabbie replied.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Nurse Erimipe responded empathetically while she cleansed Gabriela’s brand. “I always ask people how they ended up here and I hear so many things. Sometimes when you are thinking about something else, you aren’t thinking about how much this hurts. Did my distraction work?”

“It did, thank you. May I ask you a question? Where did you find the courage to stand up to a slave boss like that?”

“It is very simple. I became a nurse to help people. This woman needs help, so I will do it, even if I get beaten for it. It is my calling. I place my faith in God. If He wants me to be beaten today, then so be it.”

The woman spoke with such confidence. Gabriela hadn’t been to Mass in years, but she was raised in the Church, and she knew without question that sometimes, faith was more precious than gold. This woman had faith, and she was therefore - while entirely naked - wealthier than an heiress clad in diamonds.

Gabriela was impressed with Erimipe, and she learned something. Even in degradation, there is courage. Even when one is no longer legally human, one is still Human. Even a slave, the least among us, can exemplify the very best of us.

Next, the Nurse Eri tended to Bethany’s wound and asked her the same question. Bethany told her, finishing up with “You must think I’m a foolish girl for doing something so stupid.”

“No, you are a good girl,” Erimipe replied. “You saw a good thing that wanted to be done, and you sacrificed yourself on that altar. As you said, perhaps the sea turtles will be safer now. You will be rewarded someday. So be confident, have faith, and follow your path. When you leave here, I want you to walk with your heads held high, because you are both among the best of us.”

Finished now, the nurse smiled at them. “You see, I don’t just tend wounds, I also tend to my patients’ hearts. That is actually the most important treatment of all. You needed to hear these things even more than you needed my medicines. I’m sorry that I can only give you aspirin and that the topical anesthetic won’t last very long. You will be in great pain before you arrive at your destination. I am sorry for that, but there are others who need it more than you do. So, every time it hurts, remember that you are suffering for a reason. You are suffering so that I may preserve what supplies I have for those slaves who need it more.”

[ZeeChromosome]

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The Slutbus
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

After the trip to the clinic, the girls were given enemas, washed (hosed down, really), and then to their surprise, diapered. “The Slutbus doesn’t stop,” they were told, “that means it’s not stopping for you to piss. You have two drivers and 32 slaves on that bus. It’s not enough people to control all 32 of you at rest areas, since we don’t use shock collars here. So, diapers it is.”

Gabriela and Bethany had the last four digits of their Slave ID numbers re-stenciled on their chests and were then led back through the maze of cages. This time, faced with the wall of staring eyes, Gabbie kept her head held high and walked with confidence. Nurse Eri was right. She had nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to fear. She had finally regained the confidence that she had the day before on the auction block.

Gabriela’s enslavement wasn’t voluntary, and it wasn’t entirely her fault. But it WAS her destiny, and she needed to accept that and make it her own. It was only five years. She would be 28 years old when she became a free woman again. She would still be young and have plenty of time to start a new life. She just needed to get through the next five years with her mind, body, and spirit intact. She could do this!

The bus was an old, converted prison bus, that much was clear. Someone painted over “Alabama Dept. of Corrections” on the side - poorly - and repainted it with “Danger - Slave Transport - Danger”. Waiting in line, Gabriela thought it was obvious to anyone with two brain cells to rub together that a busload of naked, frightened women with cuffed hands wearing diapers wasn’t a threat to anyone. And yet this WAS a very dangerous bus. Slavery had only been back for a few years, and there were plenty of people who refused to accept it. “Interference with slavery operations” was a federal felony in all 51 states and all Native tribal lands.

The more enthusiastic states even tacked on additional penalties. In Gabriela’s native state of Texas, a conviction for “interference with slavery operations” meant an automatic branding with the “Circle A” abolitionist felon brand and a quick trip to the auction block. Although Bellefleur Financial was in the debt slavery business, not the criminal slavery business, Gabriela had seen quite a few “abolitionists” processed for the crime of trying to prevent the legal enslavement of one of their relatives. Only the month before, in an event that seemed like an entire lifetime ago, Gabbie had seen a father and his three sons enslaved for trying to protect a female family member from being enslaved. The saddest part was that, if the four men had simply pooled their financial resources, they should have been able to clear the girl’s debt or at least buy her back at auction. They didn’t even need to go anywhere else. Bellefleur Financial offered a “guaranteed buyback” plan, which allowed the family to pay 110% of the debt without ever putting the repossessed slave up for auction in order to free them immediately. Instead, after a chaotic fistfight with slave catchers in their front yard, that family sent five members into slavery at once.

Thirty-one women stood in two rows facing the bus. Dawn was just over the horizon, and the morning was still chilly. The girls were provided with cheap plastic flip flops, but nothing else. Like all the others, Gabriela and Bethany were entirely nude with the exception of their collars, diapers, and flip-flops. She shivered, and it wasn’t just from the cold. The confidence she felt while braving the wall of eyes for the second time went away as soon as she was led out into the parking lot.

The head slave wrangler paced back and forth, holding a clipboard. He was clearly anxious to get rid of them and start processing the next shipment. Gabriela and Bethany’s documents were checked against the SIN number tattooed on the inside of their lower lips, and then re-taped to their thighs.

Two new men that Gabriela didn’t recognize were leaning against the bus. They watched the girls closely, obviously conferring about something important, something that made them happy. Eighteen hours driving across country with a busload naked women would probably make any man happy, she thought.

Finally, the warehouse boss seemed satisfied. He turned to the two drivers, “All yours, Slim, tell us when and how to load ‘em.”

The older driver, apparently named “Slim”, nodded and stepped forward. He was a big man, big and tall. He might have been slim in his youth, but that was probably thirty years ago. He wasn’t obese or anything, he had just traded the slender build of his youth for the thickness of a mature adult male. Slim paused for a moment and scratched his beard, creating a bit of tension. It was always nerve-wracking for a slave to meet a new boss. One never knew how they were going to behave, and a slave doesn’t have the right to protest ill treatment.

Suddenly the man burst into a cheerful smile that made him appear - slightly - less menacing. “All right, listen up!” he spoke in a voice loud enough for thirty shivering women to hear in a parking lot containing several idling diesel engines.

“This here’s the Slutbus. Technically, it’s “Slave Transport B29”, but we call it the Slutbus because we’re gonna pack it full of sluts. That’s you, by the way. Then we’re gonna drive to Richmond, Virginia. I got rules and yer gonna follow ‘em. I don’t take no bull from nobody, especially not from you. So, we follow the rules, have a stress-free trip, and everyone’s happy, got it?”

“The bus has seats, you will sit in the seats. The seats have seat belts, you will wear the seatbelts. The seatbelts are not locked, they’re latched. You will not unlatch them without permission or unless there’s an emergency. Every latch has a sensor and I got a lot of little green lights on the dash that tells me if you do. Do not test me, you got no reason for getting up without my say-so.”

He held up one meaty hand with the palm toward the group. “Somebody tests me every trip, and when that happens, I deliver a spanking. Believe me when I say this, you do NOT want me spanking you! If you do it again, I have a nice wooden paddle, just like this fella here, and I DO know how to use it. After that, you’ve earned actual chains and you get to spend the rest of the trip hog-tied and on the floor. Technically, that’s a safety violation, but so is an unruly slave. Don’t be unruly, it creates more work.”

“Every seatback has a bag of kibble and two water bottles. This is your food and water for the entire trip. If you drink all the water, we will give you more. If you eat all the food, then that’s too bad.”

“I’m a good guy, though. I’m-a let you talk quietly. Sittin’ two girls side-by-side and not letting ‘em gossip is unnatural. But you need to keep it down and if I tell you to shut it, you shut it, got that?”

“Another rule, no fighting. No shouting, no name-calling, hair-pulling, or spitting. If you break THAT rule, it’s straight into chains for you and you get to spend the rest of the trip on the floor. You will be unloaded last, and every OTHER girl gets a chance to step on you on the way out. If you’ve been a bitch, they will do that. No fighting.”

“Me and Jimmy take turns driving,” he said, waving a hand toward the younger man standing next to him. Unlike Slim, this man retained the lean, muscular form of youth. He was also very handsome, despite the patchy beard. “The one that ain’t driving has a bunk behind the driver’s seat. He can sleep on it when he’s tired, or he can FUCK on it when he ain’t. For that, I need two volunteers. Raise your hands if you want to get fucked.”

Fully half of the women raised their cuffed hands. Gabriela was unsurprised. Utility slaves worked long hours and most owners didn’t provide much in the way of recreation. And sex is fun!

One of the utility slaves with her hands in the air was the skinny redhead that had been trying to bully them earlier. Jimmy, the younger driver, immediately grabbed her and led her off to one side. The slave handlers and the older driver all laughed. Apparently, this was a man with a preference for gingers and everyone knew it.

Slim smirked at Jimmy, then walked up and down the two rows of nude women, checking each one carefully. It was probably an unnecessary step, since he had already inspected each of them before signing off on the paperwork. When he came to Gabriela, he did the same thing, even though she didn’t have her hand up. He gently stroked each of her breasts as he tried to gaze into her eyes, which she kept averted out of fear and shame. Gabbie was starting to get worried, but he flicked her red “no sex” tag and moved on.

One of the documents strapped to Gabriela’s thigh was a Bill of Lading, which is a legal contract between the owner of merchandise and a shipper. Gabriela being the “merchandise”, of course. Gabriela had personally filled out dozens of them herself. She knew that it included detailed information regarding the shipping destination, the goods, and how they should be handled. Someone, somewhere, had specified that Gabriela was not to have sex while being shipped. That was the only protection she had. Apparently, it was good enough. She suspected that if those instructions hadn’t been there, Boss Slim would have chosen her. Her suspicion was confirmed when he chose a woman who was similar in appearance, although older and less attractive.

As usual, Master Bellefleur’s protection held up. She was slowly gaining confidence that it would continue to do so. Even here. It was one thing to believe that something is (hopefully) true, and yet another to see it demonstrated.

The two volunteers were moved to the back of the line to stand with Bethany and Gabriela and the bosses began loading the bus.

Red sniggered cruelly. “Hey Cassie,” she said, “we’re princesses now, too. I hope we don’t find any peas under our beds.”

When the group of four privileged slaves entered the bus, they saw that the interior was divided into three compartments. The main compartment in the back held the majority of the slaves. The middle compartment held a cot and a couple of benches. The driver, of course, had his own locked compartment in the front. Any attempted uprising from the rear would require the rebellious slaves to break through two sets of locked gates in order to reach the driver and the door.

After sitting Gabriela and Bethany down and securing their harnesses, Slim told them, “Just so you two understand, you are not special in any way. You are no better than these other tramps. You are not getting better treatment than them. But I pay insurance. And the two of you cost more to insure than all the rest of these critters put together. So, I’m putting you two up front to keep an eye on you.”

Then he turned to the two volunteers. “And you two, you’re no better than anyone, either. But we like enthusiasm, which is why we ask for volunteers. If you’re extra cooperative and enthusiastic, good things will happen, do you understand that?”

Both women nodded enthusiastically, and he seated them in the two front seats of the main compartment. Gabriela tried to smile at them through the wire in a friendly way but received only evil scowls in return. It appeared that her protected status might mean preferential treatment from the bosses, but it alienated and angered her fellow slave girls.

Instead, Gabbie turned to Bethany, who gave her a sympathetic smile and squeezed her hand. It made her feel supported, but still bereft. It was Gabriela and Bethany against the world now, and Bethany had no more power than she did. But... they were still together, and they could still support one another. Gabbie gave her slave-sister a supportive smile in return. They were allowed to talk right now, but no words needed to be exchanged. The two of them had been unexpectedly thrown together by unkind fate. That didn’t mean that the world contained no kindness. It just meant that they needed to seek it out and cherish it when and where they found it.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Gabriela Reflects on the Warehouse Experience
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

After her second effort at friendliness was rejected by the utility slaves, Gabriela sighed and stared at the floor instead. It was dirty. The rubber matting was worn, and it smelled vaguely of urine and vomit. Gabriela had never been a fan of slave romance novels, but she read a few. What girl hasn’t? They never depicted slavery like this. Dirty, dangerous, and abusive places were always kept offscreen as a hazy, ill-defined menace. The main characters were always swept immediately into a world of luxury, glamour, and passionate sex... lots and LOTS of passionate sex.

When she was being in-processed the day before, she was too focused on her immediate environment to reflect on her expectations. She realized now that she really didn’t have any. Throughout the entire ordeal, Gabriela held out hope that Master Bellefleur would come to her rescue. He had. But she hadn’t really given any thought to what happened next. She still had no information to work with here. She didn’t know what Master’s plans were. She didn’t know where he was sending her... and she didn’t know why he was shipping her there via ground transport instead of air express. The normal practice for high-value slaves was to ship them as air cargo. Gabriela knew that for a fact, as she had personally shipped quite a few.

Back when Gabriela was a Slavery Studies student, she had the opportunity to go on a field trip to a transshipment warehouse like this one but took a pass on it. She had already had a successful internship at Bellefleur Financial and Mr. Bellefleur offered her an opportunity to attend a weekend slavery finance retreat instead. It was a great networking opportunity for a mere college student, and Gabriela gladly accepted. At that point, she had already decided that the finance side of the business was what she was interested in, rather than the nuts and bolts of actual, hands-on slavery operations. Gabriela was growing uncomfortable with the fact that she was participating in the dehumanization and degradation of fellow human beings, but at least the financial aspect was relatively sanitized. The world of spreadsheets and contracts allowed her to keep an emotional distance from the suffering of those caught up in the system.

There was no hiding from it now, though. She was in it; she was part of it... she was the object of it. Gabriela was a slave now, and there was nothing she could do about it. Slaves obeyed or they suffered. There was no in-between state.

Thinking back to the slavery finance retreat, she had learned so much. All of her dry, boring classes became so real to her. It was so satisfying to sit next to Mr. Bellefleur at one of the conference tables. While the presenters droned on about the various details of current case law and regulatory changes, Justin would occasionally turn and smile at her as they conferred about the presentation. He knew so much!

Gabriela, who was wearing a new suit that Mr. Bellefleur purchased for her just for this conference. She was SO grateful for his presence. She would never have dared to attend this conference alone. The lustful and acquisitive gazes of so many slavers had been emotionally draining her all day. But all she had to do was glance at Justin, and it all went away. He would NEVER allow one of those monsters to defile her!

Mr. Bellefleur was an insurance agent before the Re-Institution. Dry contract language and how to work around it were his primary skills. When slavery returned to the world, he saw all the loopholes instantly and quickly moved to profit from them. He freely shared all the details with Gabriela over drinks in the evening and she was so impressed! I mean, how often does a mere college girl get to spend one-on-one time with a wheeler-dealer like him? He saw the world the way it was, not with judgment, but with steely-eyed calculation. And when he judged that the timing was right, he charged ahead boldly, daring the universe to strike him down. It did not. It let him win. The world bent to his will.

This was the first time that Gabriela had been alone with him in a relaxed, social setting since their initial job interview. That job interview had, of course, been far more sedate and professional than the salacious dream she awakened from this morning. Mr. Bellefleur always treated her with the utmost chivalry and respect. It was obvious to her that he was attracted to her, but something held him back. It was that very reticence that, ironically, excited Gabbie the most. He was so unlike that ham-handed college boys that she was familiar with. Those boys thought only with their penises, but this man – “man” being the operative word here – he thought with his big head, not his little one.

Seated across from Mr. Bellefleur, no, “Justin”, Gabbie began to feel warm. Her body was somehow lighter than it had ever been as she said something funny that made him smile and laugh. “Now,” she thought, “now is the time.”

“Justin,” she asked, “can you escort me to my room now. I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed at the moment.”

Justin immediately called for the check and escorted her to her hotel room. Obviously, it would have been terribly inappropriate for him to book one room for the two of them. After all, he had a daughter her age! No, that wouldn’t do at all. Nobody blinked an eye at an older man with a much-younger slave girl on a leash, but Gabriela was a free woman, and her rights, privileges, and boundaries needed to be respected.

When they reached her room, Gabbie impulsively turned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She wanted so much to bury her face in his shirt, but she was wearing make up and didn’t want to stain it. It was a Charvet, one doesn’t do that. The various alcoholic drinks, combined with Mr. Bellefleur’s dominating and protective presence by her side all day long, had seriously lowered her inhibitions and self-control. “Thank you, Sir, for guiding me here. I feel so safe on your arm. You really are the best, you know!”

Her face was aglow. She knew it, she could feel it. She reached for the kiss - and was denied. No, that’s not true. Instead of kissing her on the lips, he laced his hand into her hair, cupped the back of her head, and tipped it forward. Then he kissed her on the forehead. It made her feel safe, it made her feel precious, it sent a shock of lustful desire through her abdomen. It also made her, in her half-tipsy and fully-aroused state… feel rejected.

“Goodnight, Gabriela,” he whispered with gentle finality as his lips withdrew from her heated brow. “I’ve enjoyed this conference immensely. You make everything better just by being here.”

Then he turned away and headed for his own room. Gabriela watched him go, astonished. She was equally astounded by her own utterly inappropriate flirtatiousness and the unexpected rejection. She also couldn’t help but admire how great he looked in that suit now. It wasn’t a new suit at all, it was just better maintained since she came into his life. As his intern, she was determined that he would always look his absolute best, and it was fresh from the dry cleaner. She skipped class yesterday morning in order to pick it up for him. Tonight, it would probably end up on a hangar in his hotel room, rather than crumpled on the floor next to her bed.

Gabbie fished in her purse for the key card, then glanced down the hall to see what Mr. Bellefleur was doing. He was waiting patiently by his door in order to ensure that she entered her own room safely. She obediently did so, waiving goodnight to her benefactor before entering her room, and with a disappointed sigh she locked the door. It clicked shut. She checked the mechanism. Slave rustlers didn’t only target actual slaves. More than one free woman had vanished from a hotel room and then reappeared in a collar sometime later.

That night, as in all nights, Gabriela practiced her slave yoga before bed. But every time she said “Master”, she thought “Justin”. That night, as was becoming common for her, she finished her block routine in what was becoming her signature move; on her back, legs spiraled together and pointed at the ceiling, fingers buried in her honey pot. She never came so hard.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-
End Part Two.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-

[ZeeChromosome]

As originally conceived, "Gabriela 02" started with Gabriela and Bethany being pulled from their crate on the loading dock at White Brier Finishing School. I have that scene fully written, and it should take place at the end of Chapter 03.

But then I took a break from this story to work on other projects and, in the meantime, I started wondering about their journey. As so often happens when I'm having fun, I kept adding stuff. Much of it at the suggestion of my kinkiness advisors, Carl and Smith. That's how I ended up with an entire chapter of bleakness, nudity, and very little sex. So yeah, this ended up being an unsexy filler chapter without a lot of exciting stuff in it.

Chapter 03 will be pretty raunchy, though. Working on that now. See, the bosses lied when they said "The Slutbus doesn't stop". It does stop - at Roger's Rogering Hole. What happens there? Rogering.

[JustBob]

I am really glad you decided to continue with this tale. As usual,, you did a wonderful job of storytelling. I look forward to reading the rest of the story.

[ZeeChromosome]

I am really glad you decided to continue with this tale. As usual, you did a wonderful job of storytelling. I look forward to reading the rest of the story.

Thanks for the upvote Bob, everyone likes feeling appreciated. I was worried that the generally dark tone and lack of explicit sex would put readers off.

I originally created Gabriela as a 2-dimensional bit-player. But then she grew on me, and I realized that I needed to flesh out her back story. So, here we are. I'm having fun with it and I'm glad you are, too. Chapter 03 is partially written, and I suspect there will be at least one or two more.

I have not yet decided how much effort to put into Bethany's story. I kinda like the "fallen social media influencer" theme, though. It's a fun variation of the popular-girl-to-slave downfall tale. - Zee

[JustBob]

The fun part about stories like this is that there are so many branches in the story tree to explore. What the auction does to Bethany is one possibility, but so is her effect on Master Do or his son. Does she bring him out of his shell? Tone down his wildness? Make his father look at him differently because she brings out the best in him?

[ZeeChromosome]

The fun part about stories like this is that there are so many branches in the story tree to explore. What the auction does to Bethany is one possibility, but so is her effect on Master Do or his son. Does she bring him out of his shell? Tone down his wildness? Make his father look at him differently because she brings out the best in him?

Bob, great questions! I'm really not sure how it's going to work out. It's surprising what characters do when you actually start writing them.

Right now, Arthur Do (the son) is estranged from his father. Art went to college where he studied biology and fell in with an extremely bad crowd - academic abolitionist posers. They convinced him that his father was evil. Now he discovers that his parents have some kind of perverted plot to make him a slaver, too! He's furious! How dare they!

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Arthur is so furious that his parents are manipulating him into meeting some randomly-enslaved girl for some sort of perverted “slave marriage” stupidity. It’s just a tennis date, he’s willing to do that. Then he can tell the poor thing “Thanks, but no thanks,” and his father can sell her and have done with it. He hates that aspect of what he’s doing, but he rationalizes it with the thought that his father sells women every day. It’s not Arthur’s fault. HE has nothing to do with it. HIS conscience is clear. He has averted his eyes, and it has nothing to do with him. So there!

He parks his rental car in the parking lot. His father’s friend Justin is already there, apparently inspecting the two slave girls, who are standing on the portico wearing ridiculously-tiny tennis skirts, halter tops, and probably nothing else. Arthur sighs fiercely, staring at his fists. He can do this. All he has to do is walk up to them, refuse to take part in this evil perversion of “romance”, and walk away with his head held high. It’s all he has to do. He can DO this!

Courage gathered, Arthur surges out of the car, slams the door, and storms across the parking lot. He feels a brief surge of guilt about being so fierce, but it’s a rental, a certain amount of abuse is to be expected. As he approaches the trio on the portico, he can see that both women are in the “present” position, with their legs shoulder-width apart and their hands clasped behind their heads. Both girls are brunettes, with glorious manes of dark hair tied up in a ponytail topknot. The slave girl on the left is a light-skinned Hispanic woman. Her dark chocolate nipples are clearly visible through the translucent fabric of her “sports bra”. Arthur briefly wondered if she was the one he was supposed to “court”. Justin is positioned in front of the other girl. He is obviously bouncing one of her ginormous tits in his hand.

“Fucking pervert!” thought Arthur. “You literally buy and sell women every day, and you have to disgrace one like this in public, though? Isn’t that enough for you?”

“Oh, hey, Artie,” Mr. Bellefleur said as he approached. “What do you think about these skimpy outfits? I don’t think that they provide enough support. Gabbie’s only a C-cup, so I suppose it’s fine, but Bethany is at least a triple-D, and that requires a different level of support.”

Arthur stopped his mad charge, completely stunned. If Mr. Bellefleur had spun about and hit him in the head with a club, it would have had the same effect. Before him, revealed when Justin turned his way, was Bethany Turtle… THE Bethany Turtle, who he had been following for months now.

How DARE his father do this! He is FURIOUS! He storms away into the parking lot and calls his father. He is so angry right now. Bethany is a sweet and good girl who has been tricked and trapped into slavery and how DARE his father exploit her like this!

His mother picks up. What in the world is she doing with his father’s cell phone?

“Hi, honey! Have you met Bethany yet, isn’t she lovely?”

Of course she’s lovely! He’s been following her for two years now, how can she possibly know that? “Umm, yeah?”

“I thought so, too! When your father called from the auction house, I had no idea what he was talking about, but I started reviewing her Tokalocka-whatever account and saw that she was such a sweet and lovely girl, and I was SO upset that she ended up in a collar! Is she all right? Does it look like she’s been hurt?”

Well, no, it didn’t look like she had been hurt at all, he thought. “Uhh… no, mom, she seemed okay?”

“Oh!" she gasped. "I’m so relieved. YOUR father never tells me about the bad things that happen to slave girls, but I do know that what can happen. I read the news, you know! There was that incident in Waco that… never mind. I’m just glad she’s safe in your hands now. You’ll protect her, right?”

Arthur stopped his furious pacing and stood still. It was a fairly warm early-November day in Northern Virginia. The mild breeze ruffled his hair and flowed through his tennis outfit. It was a bit light for standing around, but once he warmed up, it would be the perfect clothing for a tennis outing. He turned and looked at the portico. He was looking at it with new eyes now, though. When he first arrived, he was here on a mission to reject his father’s immoral manipulations.

But now, things were different. His perspective had changed. He was no longer a nameless, anonymous, faceless, cruel exploiter of a viciously-enslaved woman. He was now a man. He was now a person. He was Arthur Do, the defender, owner, and protector of this woman before him. She stood bravely with her sister-slave, braced in the “inspection” position. Her satiny, pleated tennis skirt wrapped itself around her hips under the caressing breeze. It was perfect. The snug spandex top provided far more visual appeal than athletic support. That would need to be changed. She was staring straight ahead. Her eyes were not on Arthur, and her face was intentionally expressionless, but he could see from the tension in her limbs that she was utterly terrified. That was unacceptable. He, Arthur Do, was the man who needed to change it.

“Call ya later, mom, got stuff to do,” Arthur said as he cut her off. He had property to claim, and he was never letting her go.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-

How's that?

[Jim927]

I just finished reading parts 1 and 2 of this story and wanted to tell you that you are doing great. Don’t worry about no sex in the second chapter. You filled in a lot of background details and made us feel like we were traveling with them. I hope that you continue this story and tell us more about the future of both girls. There are so many possibilities of what could happen and I can’t wait to read what happens.
Jim

[ZeeChromosome]

Thanks Jim! All feedback is appreciated. I'm glad you liked it.

This story isn't abandoned. I just haven't been able to write recently due to some home life issues, but I hope to be back in the saddle soon.

There are two more chapters planned out. It will be fun to write. I hope you find it just as fun to read.

Zee

[Jim927]

Thanks for the reply, Zee. Home life issues happen to all of us to I certainly understand. I'm just glad that you still intend to finish the story. In the meantime, I am going to start reading one of your other stories. Based on my experience with Gabriela, I am expecting more good reading.
Jim

[ZeeChromosome]

I hope you enjoy them, Jim. That's why I write, to entertain my friends. Any commentary is welcome. I need to know what I'm doing right and what I am doing wrong in order to do my best.

[Danicali299]

I loved reading this, can't wait for more. I'm hoping my work gets to this level someday.

[JustBob]

I like the short section with Arthur. I can't wait for the next part of the story.

[ZeeChromosome]

I like the short section with Arthur. I can't wait for the next part of the story.

Thanks, Bob. I totally forgot I even posted that. I was working on the next installment this weekend. I'm pretty rusty, so it's slow going.

Zee

[reddbunnz]

Great combination of stories. I love them both. I cannot wait to see what's in store for both Gabby and Bethany. Please do not keep us waiting much longer.

[ZeeChromosome]

Great combination of stories. I love them both. I cannot wait to see what's in store for both Gabby and Bethany. Please do not keep us waiting much longer.

After a months-long hiatus from writing, I'm working on Gabriela 3 right now. Thanks for your support.

Zee!

[Lateview]

This story is so good and has so much further potential. I really hope Gabriela 3 is just around the corner as this is now 1 year old. If the story is out somewhere else I'd love to know because I really am interested in this story. So many stories here are so good but never seem to reach their conclusions. This is one I really hope continues. Thank you for this much, I really enjoyed them.