Disclaimer: This story contains forced nudity, enslavement and humiliation. If you find any of this offensive, please don't read this story. But considering that you’re in this forum, I doubt you’re offended by these themes, so forget about the disclaimer.
Summary: Melissa, a young woman, flees the chaos in England with her African boyfriend to his home country. Upon arrival, the border police want to deport her because she has no visa. But her boyfriend has an idea: Slaves don’t require visas, so she should pretend to be his slave to get past the border checkpoint, and the problem would be solved. What sounds like a simple enough idea, quickly becomes all too real and spirals into an avalanche of troubles that will change Melissa’s life forever.
This story follows Melissa’s experiences of degradation as she is stripped naked and transitions into a life of slavery. It provides an intimate look at her feelings of shame and the internal conflicts she faces in her new oppressive reality.
1. Stuck at the Border
“We are next,” Melissa nervously pointed out. Her boyfriend Arbek was obviously aware of their position in the queue but he understood that she was nervous.
Everything had gone so quickly. Tensions in England had been building over the last few weeks but recently the situation seemed to be deteriorating rapidly. Wherever Melissa went she either saw riots or an unstable mass of people seemingly about to riot. The sounds of house alarms and police sirens in the background had recently become an unwelcome fixture of her daily life.
With a recent surge in violence they had decided to get out.
Melissa had wanted to go back to Germany but flights there had been sold out for the foreseeable future as had been any other reasonable place. It appeared that they would not be able to get a flight anywhere but then Arbek discovered that there were seats left on a flight to his home country Grabesh. So they spontaneously decided to go there.
The official at the passport control motioned them to approach.
Arbek and Melissa handed him their passports. The official returned Arbek’s passport but held on to Melissa’s. “Where is your visa?” he asked.
Melissa’s gut clenched. This was the moment she had been afraid of. Grabesh had no visa free agreements with Germany. And she didn’t have one. Arbek had told her he would handle this. “She is with me,” he said and made his heart warming smile to the official.
“That doesn’t matter. Rules are rules,” was the stern reply.
“It was an emergency and we didn’t have time. Could you not make an exception?”
The official stared unmoved at the two.
“I can make it worth your while. Arbek finally said and pulled out a few banknotes.
Beads of sweat were forming on Melissa’s forehead. “Please, please, please take the money” she thought. “Let this uncertainty be over.”
Upon seeing a sufficiently large amount of cash on the table the official’s face relaxed and he smiled. “Well I guess I can make an exception here.” He reached for the cash and smiled. “You are a beautiful couple and nothing should separate true love.” He winked at Melissa.
“What is going on here?” A stern voice came from behind the booth. Unnoticed by the group another uniformed man had approached. By the timid look of the border guard this was likely his supervisor, Melissa surmised.
“Nothing,” the startled border guard replied. His hand that had been reaching for the money abruptly pulled back. “The lady here has insufficient documentation to permit entry.”
The supervisor, looking at his minion, then the banknotes on the counter and finally Melissa clearly knew what he had walked in on. He could sense these shenanigans from miles away and he was tired of them. He took Melissa’s passport from the border guard and thumbed through the pages. “Miss Maurer, please follow me,” he finally told Melissa.
2. A Plan is Made
Arbek joined the group and the three entered an office through a sturdy door. The supervisor settled behind a desk while Melissa and Arbek sat opposite. The door clicked shut metallically behind them, revealing no handle on the inside, only a knob, suggesting they were locked in. Melissa's anxiety spiked, her forehead beading with sweat.
"I'll keep this brief," the supervisor started, his gaze fixed on Melissa. "Without a valid visa, you can’t enter Grabesh. You'll be on the next flight back to England. Until then, you'll be held in immigration detention."
Melissa's eyes brimmed with tears. "But England is unsafe for me now. Please, I can't go back," she implored, meeting a stony expression.
"There are no flights heading to England right now; they've all been canceled because of the unrest," Arbek interjected. "Just allow her to stay with me. We are together, and I'll take full responsibility for her. She won't cause any issues. I vouch for her."
"Illegal migrants must be sent back. We can't simply accept people based on mere assurances," the official stated firmly. "Miss Maurer will remain detained until her deportation. She'll board the next available flight. Typically, there's a weekly service to London, but with those flights suspended, she'll remain in custody until service resumes, however long that takes."
Melissa was in disbelief, the situation far grimmer than she had feared. She had never ventured outside Europe, where her German passport had always sufficed without the need for a visa. She had thought she could sort out the paperwork upon arrival, especially under emergency circumstances. She'd never had a run-in with the law, and now she was facing detention in what felt like an airport jail. Tears began to fill her eyes.
Arbek saw her, feeling a pang of sorrow. He wished desperately for a way to stop the way this was going...
The official rose to his feet and instructed, "Stand against the wall and place your hands behind your back." Melissa, feeling detached, numbly complied. Behind her, there was the sound of clinking chains, followed by the cold touch of handcuffs snapping shut around her wrists, each click echoing her entrapment. He then opened a different door, not the entrance they used, but one leading to a corridor. Upon opening it, a guard in uniform was revealed, standing ready. "Please follow the sergeant," the official directed, gently steering her toward the door by her arm.
“Wait!” Melissa heard Arbek’s voice behind her. “Don’t take her. Melissa is my slave.” Melissa couldn’t process what she was hearing. Her mind was racing, the feel of the handcuffs was fanning a panic in her and the prospect of detention was spreading a sense of dread in her.
She vaguely remembered that Arbek had told her once that slavery was still a thing in his country. The way he said it showed her that he considered slavery as a practice from backward cultures and sounded like he was embarrassed that his own people were actually still doing that. Arbek was glad that his parents had left Grabesh when he was still an infant and that he had grown up in England where he could live in the modern world.
The supervisor looked at him incredulously. “Don’t play games Mr Gurtan. What are you trying to do here? Miss Maurer is not your slave. And making false statements will only get you into trouble.”
“Please give us five minutes alone. I’ll talk to her and this will be cleared up.”
The supervisor gave him a look showing he wouldn’t have any of it. His hand was still holding Melissa’s arm who felt gut wrenchingly helpless from having her arms restrained behind her back.
“Just five minutes, Sir,” Arbek tried. ”Then the situation will be resolved. Please. Think about the paperwork it will save you if we can resolve this.”
The mention of the paperwork did seem to hold some sway in the man’s mind. Gruesome thoughts flashed in the supervisor’s imagination involving endless forms and files. This was no ordinary case; it involved a white girl, and her situation could attract significant attention. He envisioned the deluge of forms he'd need to complete, the statements he'd have to draft, and the ongoing communication with his higher-ups. Handling this could stretch over weeks, possibly months. In the worst case the press could hear of a pretty white girl being detained and her picture would be all over the news garnering her sympathy and making his beloved border police unit look like a gang of brutes on a power trip.
“Fine”, he conceded at last. “You have five minutes.”
The supervisor let go of her arm, left the room and closed the door.
Melissa couldn’t hold her tears back any longer and began to sob hysterically. “Arbek, this is a disaster. What are we going to do? I’m so afraid!”
He stood up and held her in his strong arms in a hug. “Listen to me,” he said. “I know how we can get out of here. It will sound crazy, but I have an idea.”
Melissa reflexively wanted to return the hug but the handcuffs held her arms firmly behind her back. She looked up at him questioningly.
“Remember I told you how slavery is still a thing around here? This place is so backward, but in this case it may help us. We’ll just tell them that you are my slave. Just play along. As my slave you don’t need any papers like a visa.”
“What? Huh?” Melissa gave a confused look. “Arbek, this is serious, they are about to lock me up because I don’t have a visa…”
“And slaves don’t need visas,” Arbek repeated. “I know it is counterintuitive but these people - or, well - ‘my’ people don’t see slaves as people but as property. And for property no visa is needed. Problem solved. You’ll come with me. We will be out here in no time.”
“This is absurd,” Melissa countered. “What is this supposed to mean? I’m not a slave. I can’t be a slave.”
“Look. I think it is absurd as well. But it is this culture that is absurd. We’ll just tell these guys that you are my slave and then we get out of here. Once we are out, nobody will care. We will just go back to normal. It is just to dodge the paperwork problems. Then we’ll get out of here and forget this ever happened.”
“No way!” - is what Melissa wanted to say. She wanted to gesture her refusal with her hands and once again felt the restricting tug against her movement from her handcuffs holding her hands in place. She swallowed what she was about to say. In a few moments the supervisor would return and take her into some kind of detention cell. That was where she was about to go, she remembered. She felt despair and her gut clenched again. She would be locked in a cell in an African country, separated from Arbek, the only person she knew here. She would be locked up for who knows how long in some third world prison. Stressed and conflicted she quietly whispered “fine” while she felt a wave of cold sweat beading all over her body. They’d put on a show for the supervisor, they’d say that she was Arbek’s slave. Then, they’d walk out of the airport and forget about this incident.
“Great,” Arbek said and smiled. “We’ll be out of here in no time. I’m hungry. There is great food in town. I can’t wait to take you out and show you authentic Grabesh cuisine.” Melissa calmed down a bit. Mentioning food reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since this morning. There had been no food on the flight. She hadn’t noticed her hunger because of her apprehension and stress. But now that the prospect of this being soon resolved was dangling in front of her, she could feel her stomach rumbling.
The door opened and the supervisor came in. “Did you two manage to get your stories straight?” He looked at both of them.
“I want to declare that Melissa is my slave. Therefore she no longer requires any paperwork,” Arbek declared, trying to make his voice sound official.
“So you are really going with this?” the supervisor said. Melissa wasn’t sure but it looked like the supervisor was rolling his eyes. How unprofessional, she thought. The sentiment was definitely in his tone. He turned to Melissa, “So you, Miss Maurer, confirm that you are a slave and Mr Gurtan here is…”, he sighed like an old man who has seen it all and is tired of the transparent fibs children make up to get out of trouble and then continued, “...your ‘master’?” The supervisor said the word ‘master’ in a sarcastic tone.
Melissa felt his gaze on her. Here she was, handcuffed with a uniformed border guard waiting for an answer. Depending on what she said next, she could either be locked into a cell in an African detention facility for an open ended amount of time or she could walk out of the airport with Arbek, get some food and forget about all of this. Yes, it would be a lie, but who cared? The officer could not disprove them and it would get them out of here. They would never see this guy again. She saw the baton on his belt and all she knew was that she wanted to get away from this man. She took a breath and said in a tone as if she had rehearsed the words: “Yes, I am a slave and Arbek is my master.”
The supervisor stared at her. “This is absurd. You are a German citizen. Do you even know what being a slave means here in Grabesh?”
Melissa, yearning to be rid of the handcuffs and getting some food into her mouth, declared: “Yes, I understand what being a slave means. Arbek… I mean Mr Gurtan… I mean Master Gurtan has explained it to me.” She hoped that “Master Gurtan” was the correct title. She had never looked into Grabesh and its culture. She really knew nothing about this country, she realized.
The supervisor was still staring at her. Finally, he mumbled something that sounded like “ridiculous”. He turned to Arbek, “Where is her collar then?”
Arbek looked startled. “Um, I don’t have one… I mean, I don’t have one right now, um, she is a new acquisition, um…”
The supervisor interrupted in a condescending tone, “Of course you don’t have one. You are Grabesian Mr Gurtan. Surely you know that keeping a slave without a collar is a regulatory offense?”
“Um, of course, Sir, um… I’ll get one for her as soon as possible…”
The supervisor gave him a stern look and Arbek went quiet. “Quit the pretenses Mr Gurtan. I’m not a fool. I see what is going on here. You talked this fine free lady into declaring herself your slave. And as much as I would like to, I can't stop you from pulling this stunt. Ok, fine, she is your slave. But then, I can’t allow Miss Maurer to walk out of the transit zone without a collar, masquerading as a free woman. Then I would be allowing a regulatory offense to be committed. And I won’t do that. I can’t stop your stupid slave scam, Mr Gurtan, but if Miss Maurer is a slave then she will have to be in compliance with the regulatory code.”
“Of course, Sir,” Arbek said nervously.
He paused and looked at them both. First at Arbek, then at Melissa and finally he asked: “For the last time: Is this the story you are going with? You, Miss Maurer, are Mr Gurtan’s slave?”
Melissa gulped and looked at the supervisor. His eyes were looking into hers. She lowered her gaze to the floor and nodded. This better be over soon, she thought to herself and whispered, “Yes, Sir.”
“This is the dumbest thing I’ve heard all week,” the supervisor said.
3. Making it Official
Melissa sat at the desk of the legal officer of the airport police. Her hands were still cuffed behind her back. The supervisor was sitting next to her and scrolling through his phone. The legal officer, a smartly dressed young man perhaps five years older than her, was filling out paperwork. On his desk was her passport from which he was reading her details and writing them into a form. The legal officer was wearing a name badge. Melissa read “Mr Mengistu”. A large fan in the corner was humming while creating a gentle breeze.
Arbek had been dismissed from the supervisor’s office. He was a citizen of Grabesh after all and his papers had been in order. The supervisor had unlocked the office door and let him out. Arbek had told her he would be waiting for her once the airport police were done processing her.
Then, the supervisor had brought her here. On their way through the corridors she had seen naked men with collars cleaning the furniture and mopping the floors. She was shocked at the sight of them. “Slaves” she thought to herself and shuddered. Despicable how they were being kept by the airport police, she thought.
They then waited outside the legal officer's office, seated in a line of chairs along the corridor. After a brief wait, a nude black woman wearing only a collar came up to them and inquired if the supervisor wanted coffee. He nodded yes, and she soon brought him a cup. She didn't engage with Melissa, likely due to Melissa's hands being cuffed.
Melissa had been shocked to see a woman treated like this. Surely this must be a violation of human rights! Even if these people were slaves there was no reason to deny them clothes. The police department was run by a gang of filthy perverts, she concluded.
Once in the legal officer’s office the supervisor briefed him on the matter. She didn’t understand what they were saying because they conferred in Grabesian. During the briefing the legal officer looked at her a few times with a surprised look on his face.
Finally the supervisor asked her to repeat her declaration as a slave in front of the legal officer, which she did.
The legal officer took his seat and started on the paperwork, methodically filling out and stamping documents. His work was briefly paused when the same enslaved woman from before entered to deliver what looked like a mug of iced tea. Melissa was again taken aback by the sight of the bare, collared Black woman in the office, while the officials carried on as if this were perfectly normal.
Melissa looked up at the legal officer as he rose from his seat and went to a cabinet to take out a collar. He put it on his desk, read a series of numbers inscribed on it and then wrote them into the form.
After thoroughly reviewing the document, he concluded, "Everything seems in order." He slid the form along with a pen across the desk. With her hands bound, Melissa could only inspect the form visually. She noted her name and personal information at the beginning, followed by a "collar id number," and her boyfriend's full name. The document was dotted with legal jargon which she glossed over. At the end, there was a signature under "Witness 1" already filled in by the legal officer, and an empty line for "Witness 2". The supervisor picked up the pen and added his signature there. The legal officer then retrieved the form, applying several official stamps to it.
"Alright, Miss Maurer," the legal officer addressed her, then instructed, "Please stand."
Melissa complied and stood up as the officer approached with the collar. He turned to the supervisor, saying, "If you could assist," with a nod toward Melissa. The supervisor rose, gently lifting her hair to bare her neck. The legal officer opened the collar and placed it around her throat.
With a clear, metallic click, the collar locked into place. He continued to adjust it, the sound of multiple clicks resonating as it tightened. The officer was holding the collar in his fist, making sure to have his fingers on the inside, to prevent it from tightening too far on Melissa’s neck.
Once satisfied, he released his hold on the collar, pushed something on the inside, eliciting one final click. "To prevent further tightening," he said in a caring tone.
The supervisor let go of her hair and it fell back down. Then he took out a key and released her from her handcuffs. Finally she was free of them! Melissa brought her hands in front of her and rubbed her wrists. Then, she felt around the collar that was now locked on her neck.
“There is no lock,” she noticed. “How do I get this off?” Then she reconsidered her question. “I mean, how can Arbek, I mean, my master, unlock this?”
The supervisor explained that “This collar has a magnetic lock. Once your master has a collar for you he can collar you with that and we will remove this collar.”
Melissa asked, “What does it say on it?”
The supervisor read “Property of the State of Grabesh, id number 147389”.
Melissa was alarmed. “What? No! Why am I ‘Property of the State’?” This was getting out of hand. Arbek would not be able to take this collar off later. That was bad enough. But “Property of the State” sounded like Arbek would not even own her. Her thoughts were racing.
Mr Mengistu explained, “Don’t worry, Miss Maurer. It is only temporary. As soon as your master has a collar for you we will remove this one. In fact, he can go to any major police station and they can do this as well. It is just a formality.”
“Oh,” Melissa acknowledged, calmed by this.
“It was the ‘state property’ bit that worried you, wasn’t it?”, Mr Mengistu asked and smiled. “Slaves wearing these collars are almost never actually state property. The collars are a legal tool when ownership of a slave is more complex, for example when a slave is paid for in installments or a slave is used as collateral for a loan or, he concluded, in your case where the state has taken temporary ownership until your boyfriend has bought a collar. In cases like these the slave is issued one of these collars. The legal terms are filed in a central database and linked to the id number. That way the police can look it up and will know that they can remove this collar from you when your boyfriend turns up. Neat, isn’t it?”
Melissa nodded politely, but she had tuned out of his lecture. She didn’t care about technical details. She just wanted out of here and was trying to come to terms that Arbek’s slave ruse would not be over after she had passed the border checkpoint as he had promised.
Arbek would not be able to get this collar off. This would take longer than she had thought. Arbek would have to put his own collar on her so this collar could be removed. Then, once they were in private, Arbek could remove his collar and she could be free again and this surreal slave episode would be over. In the meantime, she could maybe wear a scarf or a turtleneck to cover the collar when out in public so people would not think of her as a slave. Then again, the climate in Grabesh was hot and wearing such items would surely look suspicious. So maybe she would just have to live with a demeaning collar around her neck for a day or so.
“Can I go now?” she asked.
“Please remove your clothes and personal items, Miss Maurer,” the legal officer ordered.
“What?” Melissa asked bewilderedly.
“It is part of the slave code,” the supervisor said. “I gather your boyfriend Mr Gurtan forgot to mention that to you?”
Melissa was devastated. Was that why all the slaves she had seen had been naked? She had assumed that their nudity had been cruelty of the airport police to degrade them. No. That could not be true. “This has to be a joke,” she said. “Are you telling me that all slaves have to be naked in this country?”
“Slaves are not allowed to wear clothes unless they have a reasonable excuse,” the legal officer recited the relevant bit of the slave code. He explained that “Slaves wearing plain clothes are a serious issue because it means they are trying to pass as free people. Falsifying your status is an offense in Grabesh.”
The men just looked at her expectantly. After a pause the supervisor said, “You don’t have a choice Miss Maurer. I imagine that the enforced nudity can be hard on some slaves at the beginning of their enslavement.”
“But… but… people will stare at me! Everyone will be gawking.”
Mr Mengistu shrugged and looked at her as if saying, “Yeah well but this is how it is.”
She imagined herself strolling down a street without any clothes on. What would that be like? In her mind, she saw people reacting: She saw men and women turning their heads. Men were stopping and staring at her, women were outraged at her brazen display while younger folks whipped out their smartphones and made videoclips of her to share with their friends. She saw kids pointing at her, calling out to their mothers. Dogs were barking at her. She felt sick from the glance set by her imagination running wild.
”What about children? They would see me naked too,” she exclaimed. ”They are going to be traumatized. This is completely nuts!”
He explained, “Miss Maurer, the conditions of slavery might be shocking to you because it is not part of your culture. But in Grabesh people are accustomed to slavery. People will take as much offense to your nakedness as they are offended by a naked dog or a naked horse. Have you ever looked at a horse or a dog and felt offended? Or thought that they should be wearing clothes? Or worried that their lack of clothes might somehow traumatize children?”
Melissa sighed. She didn’t know how to respond to that. This was the final straw. She wanted out. “I can’t do this,” she said. “I’ve had enough. Just take me to the detention facility and deport me as soon as flights resume.”
“That is not how this works, Miss Maurer,” the legal officer replied. “You can’t just choose to go to immigration custody. You are legally a slave now. And you are owned by a citizen of Grabesh. That means your presence here is no longer illegal. The issue now is that you are in violation of the regulatory code for slaves. The regulatory code states, as I just said, that slaves must be naked unless they have a reasonable excuse to wear clothes. Only free people have an unconditional right to clothes.”
“And if I refuse?” Melissa asked anxiously.
“Then you will make the acquaintance of Mr Sparky here,” the supervisor said while unfastening the baton from his hip belt. He held it towards her and pushed a button. Melissa saw sparks flying between the electrodes at its end, accompanied by a threatening crackle.
Feeling resigned, Melissa looked down. She did not believe that her nudity was an actual legal requirement. That was absurd. She was convinced that these men were abusing their authority to make a young white woman strip in front of them. She imagined they'd share a laugh about it later. But she also did not want the supervisor to use his taser on her. She sighed in frustration before stripping down to her underwear, revealing her flawless, pale skin.
She sensed the warmth of the linoleum against her bare feet. Melissa possessed a slender frame, the kind typical of youth, but with an added definition from her recent habit of regular running. She relished the escape into fresh air, a stark contrast to the confines of study. Consequently, her physique was fit and well-toned.
She looked at the men. “Is this ok?” she asked in a desperate voice.
“No,” the supervisor replied calmly.
“Arrrrrgh!” Melissa gave out a stifled cry as her buttcheeks cramped up, pain spread through her body and her legs started shaking uncontrollably. The supervisor had touched her behind with his baton and had switched on the sparks. After a few seconds that felt like an eternity she fell to her knees and caught her fall with her hands.
Melissa breathed heavily while trying to come back to her senses. She was in her underwear on all fours with two men who really wanted her to undress for them. Her body was throbbing. She felt the weight of the steel of the collar on her neck. Cold sweat was beading on her forehead, her back, and drops of sweat were running down her legs and thighs.
“Get up, slave, and remove your clothes,” she heard the supervisor’s calm but authoritative voice. “I won’t say it again.”
Melissa slowly rose to her feet, holding on to the desk for balance. Her legs felt shaky and still shivered unpredictably. She made a mental note of all this and once she was out of here she would file a complaint against this brute. He would regret this! But for now she would do what he said. She did not want the supervisor to use the taser-baton on her again.
Melissa removed her bra, revealing two perky handfuls of teardrop shaped breasts. They were pale and creamy, markedly whiter than the rest of her skin due to their constant cover from sunlight. Not one for sunbathing, her skin seldom felt the sun's rays, making her breasts appear even more pristine. Her areolas were unusually large, contrasting with the more common smaller, darker circles seen on most women. The diameter was akin to the loop formed by her thumb and index finger, making them notably prominent, as if designed to draw the eye, enhancing the sense of her exposed state.
Melissa handed her bra to the supervisor who put it into the plastic bag.
Finally she hooked her thumbs into the back of her slip and pulled it down to her knees, revealing her blonde pubic hair framed into white skin in a mild tan line.
Melissa did not shave her pubic region, opting instead for occasional trims that allowed her hair to form a modest bush. This choice stemmed from her physical anatomy; her inner labia extended beyond her outer labia, a feature she was self-conscious about. During her school years, she was occasionally required to shower after gym class, an experience she found distressing. Observing her classmates, she noticed many had a configuration where the outer labia concealed the inner, which she considered more aesthetically pleasing. To mask her own perceived flaw, she cultivated her pubic hair into a neat, dark blonde triangle. This helped her feel less exposed when she viewed herself in the mirror, making her more comfortable with her appearance.
Arbek had said that he preferred a woman with pubic hair. “A real woman has hair down there,” he had said. She had been relieved when he had said that because it meant she could keep her bush of pubic hair.
Melissa moved her legs together and let her slip fall to the ground. She stepped out of it and squatted to pick it up with her thumb and index finger. The supervisor held the open bag in front of her and she released the slip to drop into it.
Melissa stood fully bared before the two men, the gentle breeze from the fan whispering across her skin, subtly stirring her pubic hair and sweeping through the space between her legs. Feeling exposed, she instinctively shielded her breasts with one arm and her pubic area with a hand, in an attempt to preserve some modesty.
“Your hair tie as well Miss Maurer,” she heard the legal officer.
So she was not even allowed to tie her hair together into a ponytail. But given she was already nude. This was not so bad and she almost felt grateful not to be tased again for failing to hand this over.
Melissa pulled off her hair tie and she felt her long hair spread and fall on the bare skin of her back.
“And your rings,” the officer said.
Melissa was wearing a few decorative rings. She quite liked them. But she would get them back. The police would hand her belongings to Arbek and then she would put them back on again later. This was all just temporary, she reminded herself. Melissa pulled the rings off and put them into the plastic bag.
“Alright,” the legal officer said. He saw Melissa’s unease and tried to offer some comforting words, “You know, Miss Maurer, this is not so bad. Being naked has a lot of advantages. Grabesh has a hot climate and being naked really helps with that.”
She saw the legal officer put the form into a folder together with her passport while he was speaking. The folder went into a box and he took the bag with her clothes and put it into the box as well. He put her backpack onto the box bringing all of Melissa’s belongings neatly together.
“Thanks sergeant. That’s all I need,” the legal officer concluded. “I’ll pack this up and send it off for archiving.”
The supervisor said, “Thanks Mr Mengistu.” From the corner of her eyes Melissa saw the supervisor reach into his back pocket. Then he took her right hand that was covering her pubic area and snapped a cuff around it. Melissa did not resist. Her life and her body were now fully in the hands of these strangers. The supervisor gently turned her away from him, grabbed her left arm that was covering her breasts and positioned it behind her back to lock her left wrist to the handcuffs.
“Let’s go,” he said.
.
