Slaves Don't Need Visas Ch. 23

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23. Dinner

After a short walk the group arrived at a complex of houses. The houses were simple wooden and mudhuts arranged around an entertainment area at their center. The center part had a pool, its water shimmering under the late afternoon sun, with a beach volleyball court close by.

They walked along a network of dirt paths on the premises and arrived at a mudhut. It looked simple on the outside, but it was cozy on the inside with carpets and living room furniture with a small kitchen area and doors leading to other rooms.

The hut was shared among Tariq, Amina, Zahara and Arbek. Melissa would be living with Arbek. Markus had rented his own hut which was on the same property just a few minutes of walk away.

Melissa felt the exhaustion in her bones and went to drop on the sofa. She remembered she hadn’t been allowed to use furniture in the cafe for ‘hygiene reasons’ and so she turned and saw Tariq watching her critically and reconsidered. She was too tired to argue, so instead she sat on the carpeted floor and leaned against the sofa. The thought of asserting her right to sit on furniture was there, but it had fizzled out under Tariq's disapproving gaze. She wasn't just tired; she was weary of resisting internally, of being anything other than what they expected of her here in Grabesh.

She suggested, "Can't we just have food delivered?"

Amina responded with a chuckle, "Food delivery isn't really a thing here. People send slaves to fetch food. There's no infrastructure for it, and with slaves readily available, there's never been a need."

"But with so many tourists here," Melissa pointed out, "wouldn't that change?"

"It's the opposite," Tariq said. "Many come here for the slave culture, so they rent slaves to do these tasks for them."

“Yeah,” Amina agreed. “People say they come to Grabesh for the good food and the nature. But there are places closer to western countries to have that.” She giggled, “The foreigners who come here, are here for the slaves. They want to have some fun that they can’t have elsewhere.”

Melissa, always conscious of her enforced nudity, didn’t have to ask what that ‘fun’ might be. If her owner was anyone other than Arbek, she would be on the receiving end of that ‘fun’. She felt a new wave of urgency to get the damn collar off her.

“If you want to stay here Melissa, that is fine,” Amina said. “We can bring home a takeaway for you.”

“Absolutely,” Arbek agreed. “You have been through so much today. Rest, if you want. We will get something nice for you.”

"Uhm," Melissa hesitated, her eyes scanning the room, landing on her friends. They looked at her with genuine compassion, their faces softened by concern, but her gaze lingered on Zahara. There was something in the way Zahara stood, just a bit too close to Arbek. Despite her tiredness, the thought of staying behind while they went out together, made her uneasy. She didn't want to give Zahara any opportunity to make a move on Arbek, not now, not when she was already feeling so vulnerable. Arbek legally owned her. So much was at stake for her that he remained loyal to her.

"No, I think I'll come with you," Melissa said, pushing herself up from the couch with a weary determination. Her muscles were aching, and she needed rest, but her mind was racing with scenarios she didn't want to entertain.

"Are you sure?" Arbek asked with concern. "You really look like you could use some rest."

"I'm sure," Melissa replied, her tone firm but with a hint of forced cheerfulness.

"We'll make it a short trip then," Tariq suggested. "Just to the restaurant and back. It'll be nice to get some fresh air after being cooped up in that bus."

Amina nodded and added, "And we'll make sure you're comfortable, Melissa."

Melissa appreciated their kindness, but her eyes kept darting back to Zahara and Arbek. She wondered if she was just being paranoid, if the exhaustion was making her see things that weren't there. Still, the thought of leaving Arbek alone with Zahara was enough to spur her into action.

“I just need to freshen up,” she said. “Is that the bathroom over there?”

Arbek grabbed one of his towels for her, and Melissa headed off to shower.

She was grateful that she was able to shower instead of the hosedowns she had had to suffer at the Health Office over the last few days. She enjoyed the warm water from the shower running over her and that she was neither chained to a post nor handcuffed to the bars of her stall while being hosed down by some stranger.

The autonomy while cleaning herself in the privacy of a bathroom made her feel as if her life was back to normal for a while, only briefly interrupted when she had to work around her collar to clean her neck. She enjoyed the feeling of washing away all the mud and sweat from the arduous trip.

She would have loved to take a long shower, but she knew her friends were waiting for her.

After getting out of the shower cabin she wiped off the water with the towel Arbek had provided for her. Out of habit her eyes searched for the clothes she would have laid out to wear after the shower. Finding none snapped her out of the brief feeling of normalcy and reminded her that she’d be exiting the bathroom naked to rejoin her friends. She quickly combed her hair and left the bathroom. Her damp hair fell down her back and clung to it as it traced its contours.

"Alright," she said, forcing a smile. "Let's go then. I could use a little walk, I guess."

—

As they left, Melissa made sure to walk beside Arbek. Arbek gave her hand a gentle squeeze as they stepped out of the hut into the warm evening air. The others followed behind.

The group moved towards the beach. The sounds of the sea filled the silence between them. Melissa felt the sand under her feet and the cool breeze on her skin, but her mind was elsewhere. She was determined to keep Arbek close until she was freed from this collar and a free woman again.

At the restaurant, the scent of the sea mingled with the aroma of cooking fish. Markus spotted the two German pensioners he had met in the bus earlier today sitting at a table. They waved at each other.

Tariq spoke to one of the employees there. When he came back he said: “Slaves have to go to the slave stables. But I just talked to the manager. It is not a busy day, and he said if we sit outside then Melissa could dine with us as long as we cover her chair with our beach towels and none of the other guests complains.”

Slaves were not usually allowed to use any furniture. The friends had been prepared for that and if there would be problems, they would just get some takeaways and sit on those beach towels at the beach to enjoy their meal.

“Why don’t they allow slaves inside?” Markus asked, glancing at the pensioners. He was probably hoping they could sit close together so he could continue his chat with them.

“It’s for hygiene reasons. You wouldn’t want to sit on chairs when a naked person might have sat there before you. And food is being served here. But if we sit outside they are willing to make an exception.”

“Okay,” Markus agreed.

As Melissa stood there, the cool evening breeze caressed her naked skin. The idea that her nudity was a 'hygiene risk' gnawed at her. Her nudity was forced on her, and yet she felt as if she was being blamed for it. The mention that she was supposed to be sent to some kind of stable instead of dining inside with her friend was a chilling reminder of her place in this society.

A flicker of relief passed through her when she was allowed to sit with them outside. But the condition of having beach towels on the chair was a reminder that she was considered unclean, that she was not to touch and could not just sit where others could without being marked as different.

“We really are pushing the boundaries here,” Tariq explained, looking at Melissa. “If any guest complains, they won’t allow you to use the chair anymore. Obviously in that case we would all leave. But it would be nice if we could have a restaurant experience. All it takes is that you are on your best behaviour so as not to upset people, ok Melissa?”

“Yes, Sir,” Melissa sighed. She didn’t want to be blamed if they were kicked out of the restaurant. She could have stayed at the hut, but she had chosen to come along, so she felt she had a duty to do her part. She forced herself to appear indifferent to this arrangement, but on the inside she felt a deep-seated longing to be freed from her enslavement, to be rid of the collar that marked her as something less than human.

“Excellent. Thank you, Melissa,” Tariq said, relieved.

“It’s a bit like when those overly dog loving people in the West would allow their dog to sit on a high chair as if he was a human like them and eat his food from the table,” Zahara said. “It would look really weird.”

“I didn’t want to put it like that, but yes, that is an apt comparison,” Tariq commented uncomfortably.

“Yeah, it is ok, I understand,” Melissa said, slightly annoyed, uncomfortable from being compared to animals at every opportunity and wishing to move on so they could have dinner.

They sat down outside and after covering Melissa’s chair with beach towels she sat down with the others and really had a great view of the bay.

The waiter took their orders with Arbek ordering for her as it would have been offensive to have the waiter take his order from a slave.

—


"I've downloaded this 'MooTag Explorer' app that Tariq mentioned before," Markus began as they waited for their food. His voice was full of curiosity, "supposedly scans for livestock chips like the one Melissa might have." He aimed his phone at Melissa from across the table, who sat uncomfortably between Arbek and Amina. The phone beeped, signaling it had found something.

"It's picked up a chip!" he said with excitement. He focused on the screen, "There's data linked to it."

"Melissa Maurer," he read out loud from the phone. "That is your chip," he said incredulously. "Wow, I never thought this would actually work."

“What do you have there?” Zahara asked.

Melissa's face tightened as Markus scrolled through her file. "There are pictures..." he paused, his eyes flickering across the screen, "from when you were... at the Health Office, chained to a post, from different angles."

Tariq, now intrigued, leaned over to peer at Markus's phone. "What else is there? Let me see." His interest was piqued but masked with a frown of concern. He quickly pulled out his own phone and, with a few taps, started downloading the app.

Melissa's stomach churned at the thought of her privacy being so easily invaded. Her face tensed, her discomfort palpable as Markus's eyes scrolled through the information on his screen. She remembered how they had taken the pictures of her, naked and chained to a post when they had made her pose from different angles. Those must be the images Markus and Tariq were looking at right now.

Markus, trying to mask his personal feelings with humor, began, "Well, it seems you've been quite the... patient at the Health Office."

With a hint of mockery hidden beneath his casual tone, he read aloud, "Patient was delivered catheterized. Noted body odor; likely from extended time in confinement without cleaning. Arranging thorough cleaning."

"What?" Amina said with shock.

Melissa's hands clenched under the table. "Markus, please," she cried out. Heads turned from the neighboring table.

Tariq, sensing the rising tension, leaned in closer to Melissa, his voice a whisper, "Remember what you promised. You're a slave here. Keep your voice down, and use 'Sir' if you must speak out. Don't attract attention."

"Sorry, Sir," Melissa forced herself to say in a muted voice. She had promised to keep up the facade of being a slave, but Markus was making it very hard for her.

In the meantime Tariq's phone had downloaded and installed the app. "Let me see," he murmured, scanning Melissa's chip with his phone. The smartphone beeped recognizing Melissa's chip.

“Interesting. Hey Arbek, if you install the app you can register yourself as Melissa’s owner.”

“Cool!” Arbek replied. “What does that do?”

“You can add your contact details… ah, and you can register her as missing,” Tariq said. “I guess anyone who scans her, would know that he should return her to you.”

“That’s convenient,” Arbek laughed and looked at Melissa. He saw her frowning face and stopped laughing. “Oh come on, that is pretty funny.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Arbek, I was chipped against my will and I can’t remove it,” Melissa reminded him.

Tariq said, "Wow, Mel, they really put you through it. They've got you in all sorts of poses for these pictures."

Melissa's eyes briefly met Tariq's screen, seeing the images of her in such a vulnerable state, and she looked away quickly, her face burning with humiliation.

Melissa's face flushed with humiliation. "I didn't have a choice, Tariq. It was... degrading."

"Of course, Melissa," Tariq said. Slaves here in Grabesh are used to this. But you have been free all your life and been enslaved for only what, four days?"

"Five days," Melissa sighed.

"I guess having proper images makes sense when there are multiple slaves, and they are handled by people who don't know them personally."

Zahara chimed in, her voice soft with concern, "What's with the catheter?"

Melissa sighed, "It was for the transport. They didn't want to stop for... bathroom breaks." Feeling Tariq's look on her, she added "Ma'am."

“What?” Arbek said, confused. “You never mentioned that to me.”

Markus continued, "Generally good submissive behavior. 'Potential for breeding might be limited.' Oh, and here, 'Protested against chipping and ear tagging.' You really didn't want that, huh?"

Melissa's discomfort was palpable, her eyes darting around, aware of the other patrons. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. "Please, Sir, don't..."

"Why is her potential for breeding limited?" Arbek asked curiously.

"I have no idea what that's about," Melissa said.

"Something about you having high stress levels," Tariq replied.

“Looks like you got a full barrage of vaccines,” Tariq said.

“Which vaccines did I get?” Melissa asked. “They didn’t tell me.”

“Why didn’t you ask them?” Tariq said. “Yellow Fever, Hepatitis A, Typhoid… and a bunch of others. Actually quite useful. Especially when you are naked all the time.”

“I did ask them,” Melissa said. “But didn’t say and just kept injecting me.”

But Markus was already moving on, "Involuntary urination during cattle prod use. That sounds rough," his tone now genuinely concerned.

Amina, concerned, leaned forward, "Melissa, what was that about the cattle prod?"

Melissa, feeling cornered, felt her friends’ eyes on her and responded evasively, "It was... just a scare tactic. I was supposed to give a urine sample, and I was struggling."

Amina asked softly, "What happened?"

"They... they poked me with a cattle prod to make me pee for a sample," Melissa explained, her voice strained. "I was scared."

“What?” Arbek said, “That’s horrific!”

Markus, perhaps enjoying the power of knowing too much, continued, "They noted you weren't adapting well to... slave life. And there's something about discomfort during... uh, certain examinations."

Amina looked at Melissa with sympathy, "That sounds awful, Melissa. Are you okay talking about it?"

Melissa shook her head, her voice low, "I didn't want to go through all of that. It was humiliating, being treated like... like livestock."

Amina, sensing the tension, tried to steer the conversation with empathy, "It sounds terrible what they did to you, Melissa. They noted you were distressed during some procedures?"

"Yes," Markus interjected, his voice now more serious. "There's stuff about discomfort during examinations, and they think you might not be cut out for ‘slave life’."

Zahara, while leaning over to look at Markus's phone, her tone gentle, added, "They're even talking about follow-ups for potential std infections." She chuckled and told Arbek in a feigned serious voice, “Don’t forget to make an appointment!”

“That was complete nonsense!” Melissa blurted out.

Then, with a guilty side glance at Tariq, she said in a muted voice, "Sorry, I mean that was nonsense, Ma'am."

"Of course," Zahara said. “I was just joking.”

"Yes," Markus said, his tone now more subdued as he realized the gravity of what he was reading. "They took some pretty invasive samples. They said you might need... training for local customs."

Tariq continued, almost to himself, "And these notes... 'lacks resilience,' 'potential for breeding limited,' 'unfamiliar with local customs.' They really did a number on you, didn't they?"

The group went quiet as the waiter returned with their meals. After everyone had a plate with a yummy smelling fish dish, he left the group to themselves.

Her hands clenched under the table, not just from anger but from a desire to reclaim at least some of her dignity. She felt the weight of their gazes as she finally spoke up in a subdued tone and pleaded, "Sir, may I ask you not to view my medical file anymore?"

Arbek, watching Melissa's discomfort grow, squeezed her hand under the table, his voice stern but caring. "Enough. It was hard on her, and you are making her relive all of it by reading from her medical file. It is inconsiderate."

“Agreed,” Zahara said, looking at Arbek. "We shouldn't be discussing this in front of Melissa like this."

Markus, feeling the weight of the moment and his own unresolved feelings towards Melissa, nodded silently, his gaze dropping to his plate.

“Absolutely, Melissa,” he said. “I have never seen slavery before in my life and seeing how you are treated makes it so much more personal.”

Tariq added, "You're right, Arbek. Sorry, Melissa. We didn't mean to make you feel worse. I have been around slaves all my life, but I have never seen the chip in action. The curiosity just got the best of me. I will be more mindful of your feelings."

Melissa gave a weak smile, "It was... not pleasant. Let's leave it at that."

“Absolutely,” Markus agreed. “I’m glad the guys got you out of there. You weren’t kidding when you said that the Health Office was hell. I didn’t know it was this bad.”

Amina tried to offer some comfort, "We're just worried about you, Melissa. We want to understand what you went through." She gently stroked Melissa’s back from the shoulder down.

Zahara mused, “I noticed in England that people are more careful about what they share with others. We are more open,” she said and chuckled. “When we are among friends and family, we just talk about whatever we want to know.”

Tariq added, “I’ve noticed that too. Melissa, when we ask these personal questions, we don’t mean to intrude. It means that we feel like you are one of us. So we forget our polite boundaries.”

Amina agreed, “You are dear to our heart. That is why we ask so many questions. We talk to you like you are one of us.”

“Thanks guys,” Melissa replied, slightly mollified and touched by their expressions of kinship. The difference in culture explained why their intuition for privacy differed from her own. But It didn’t explain why Markus would read her medical file like that. He had known that he should not have done that, but he likely did it because of their history. He didn’t just get to see her naked here in front of him, but now he also had those degrading pictures from the Health Office and her medical information on his phone.

“Yeah, my parents are like that too,” Arbek noticed. “I always felt like they have boundary issues!” He said and laughed. “Now I know where that comes from!”

“And it is really interesting,” Markus said. “I have never dealt with slaves before. All of this is new and fascinating to me. Guys, I’m so glad you brought me with you.”

Arbek gave her a reassuring look. "We'll focus on getting you through these days. We're here for you, not to dig into what happened." He kissed her on the cheek.


—


“The app is actually really cool,” Markus mused. “They could make it run in the background and scan for chipped slaves. And if they find a slave who has not been registered as missing, it could sound some kind of alarm.”

“Or send a report back with the GPS coordinates so the owner knows where the fugitive slave is,” Tariq added.

“Yeah,” Markus said. “Lots of people here seem to have phones. It would make it really easy to find fugitive slaves.”

Melissa didn’t like this. She was chipped and for her these discussions weren’t just theoretical, but they showed her how she could be controlled with the chip in her that she had no way of removing. Markus was getting way too excited about clever ways chipped slaves like her could be tracked.

She would be so relieved once she was free again, she thought. She would get out of this country as soon as possible. Next, she would find a surgeon who would get rid of this ridiculous ear tag and who could remove the chip from her. And she would need a new set of friends. She couldn’t imagine hanging out with any of them once this was over after they had seen her like this.

And it wouldn’t be a great loss either. She wasn’t particularly invested in any of them. She had known the Africans for about two weeks now. That was not a lot of history.

Arbek was clearly not long term boyfriend material. And she was sure now that he didn’t love her. He had never called her his girlfriend and the fact that he had forgotten about her while she had been locked in the trailer cage suffering in the sweltering heat, proved this to her. If he had loved her, he would not have been carried away by some conversation. On a subconscious level he would not have been able to do that. He liked her and the sexual satisfaction she could provide him with. And he was decent enough that he wanted to rectify his mistake that had gotten her into this slavery mess.

He might have been fun as a boyfriend when times were good, but in moments of crisis, it was love, not just attraction, that would provide the reassurance she needed to not feel abandoned. The anxiety she had felt about him when they had been separated at the Health Office was a result of the lack of that loving bond.

But he did not love her, and she did not want to be with a man who had gotten her into this situation even if inadvertently.

So once she was freed from her enslavement to him and out of this country, she would end things with him.

And regarding Markus, well she already had rejected Markus even before this ordeal had started. His presence here was like life kicking her while she was down.

Maybe she would move to a new town where no one knew her and she wouldn’t risk running into any of them again and be reminded of this low point of her life. But right now, she needed them. She was enslaved to Arbek and her life depended on him.

“That is an interesting thought,” Tariq said. “But the app is not very well known. It is probably used only by farmers. I myself have never tried it before. I guess that is how you would track slaves back in England, if slavery was introduced today. But in Grabesh, slavery is old and ways to control slaves have evolved long before phones even existed.”

“Slaves are controlled by force, not by apps,” Zahara explained with what seemed like pride in her voice. “Our ancestors won wars against the other tribes and that made the defeated survivors our slaves. It was our strength and superior fighting skills that made us masters, not technical gadgets. To this day, children in Grabesh still learn how to fight when they grow up.”

Tariq rolled his eyes and laughed, “Oh yeah… I hated that. For years, we had to learn traditional martial arts. Urgh, I hated that. Who even fights with knives and sticks these days. It is just stuff you will never need again in life.”

“Tariq would not have made a great warrior on the battlefield,” Amina laughed, “We also had to do archery. Oh, you have to be so zen for that.”

Melissa had never learned any martial arts. She looked at Zahara’s athletic body. Her arms were toned and muscles visible. Nowhere near Arbek’s level of course but what a young woman would have who exercised regularly. Melissa thought she could see the heritage of the warriors in Zahara.

She looked around the table. Yes, Tariq didn’t look like a fighter, neither did Amina who was a bit overweight. And Markus didn’t look like much of a fighter either. Arbek actually was athletic and muscular. He had no fighting training, but if he did, he would have made a good warrior in old times, she thought.

—

Markus asked, "Why not just take Melissa out of the country now, Arbek?"

"It's not that simple," Arbek replied, his fork paused mid-air. "At the airport, they'd check her collar, see she's supposed to be at the Health Office. We'd be caught."

“Oh yeah right,” Markus replied in thought.

“And they took my passport at the airport,” Melissa added. “And everything else I had. Literally everything.” She looked down at her naked self.

“And the collar can’t be easily cut off because it is made of steel and close to her neck, so it would be dangerous.”

“Actually, how will I get my stuff back?” Melissa asked. Due to her situation she was forced to use a meek voice, and apparently it was not enough to steer the conversation in her direction.

“And illegal,” Tariq added. “No blacksmith would take that collar off her. It would be facilitation of an escape attempt.”

“But Arbek is her ‘owner’, right?” Markus asked. “He can do whatever he wants with her. So, if he asks the blacksmith to cut the collar off, then it is not an escape attempt.”

It rubbed Melissa wrong to hear that Arbek could do whatever he wanted with her. While it was legally true, she would have preferred if they could all pretend that she was their equal.

“No, the state owns the collar and, legally speaking, also Melissa. So some police officer or so could have it cut off, like if there was something wrong with the lock,” Tariq explained.

“Ok, but once Arbek has swapped her collar for his own, then he could have it cut off?”

“Yes. But then he could also just use his key to unlock it.”

Melissa sighed at the hopelessness of her situation being pointed out to her once again. At least it would be over in ten days.

Melissa turned to Markus, curious, "What were you chatting about with those old men earlier?" And with a lot of willpower she added, “Sir?”

“Oh, they are pensioners who are spending their retirement here. They told me about their life here, and they were curious about you, Melissa,” he said. "They've seen other white slaves, all women, trafficked here as sex slaves."

Melissa, feeling a twinge of dread, asked, "What did they say about me, Sir?" Her voice showed her discomfort, but she wanted to understand her place in this strange world.

Markus chose his words carefully, mimicking the way diplomats would speak, "They were... intrigued by you, Melissa. They asked if you were here for the same reasons as the others, but I told them you were with friends, not... available like that."

Melissa flushed with a mix of embarrassment and relief, murmured, "Thank you, Sir, for clarifying that."

Arbek interjected, "Don't worry about what they think, Melissa. You're here with us, and we're looking out for you." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze under the table.

Zahara offered a supportive smile, "And if anyone gets too curious, we'll just remind them who your friends are." Her tone was both protective and teasing.

“We’ve got your back, Melissa,” Arbek agreed.

—

The conversation shifted to more pressing financial concerns. "And about that loan I took out," Arbek mentioned. "I'll find a way to pay it back. I’ll look for jobs I can do."

"I have some savings," Melissa added, her mind racing for alternatives.

She tried to come up with other ways to raise money to pay back Arbek’s loan. Her parents had money. And Arbek had taken out the money for her, so her parents would support the cause and likely help when asked. However, that would also mean that she’d have to tell her parents about what had transpired here.

Her parents had been very controlling during her upbringing and not allowed her to become her own person. She had never been able to make her own choices, and she resented her parents for that. But as an adult, at university, away from home, she suddenly had had to make choices for herself. And her first big choices as an adult had led her to Arbek and then into this mess. So if she were to ask her parents for help, they would find out about all of this. It would not only be embarrassing in front of her parents, but she had resented them for their controlling regime for most of her life and them witnessing her failure would vindicate them for not allowing her more freedom while growing up.

"But I don't want to ask my parents," she continued, her tone laced with humiliation. "It's too much. I’d rather die than have them see me like this. They can never know what happened to me here. Seriously guys," she looked into their eyes. “When this is over, no one can know about what happened to me here. Can you promise me that?”

She looked at her friends, and they nodded with empathy and understanding.

"I've seen a programming job I could do," Arbek offered, trying to sound optimistic.

"And why bother paying it back?" Markus asked, leaning back in his chair. “Just leave this country and never come back.”

"That would be fraud," Arbek explained. "I'd be in trouble if I ever come back to Grabesh. I might also get problems when I want to renew my passport."

—
Melissa, still grappling with the reality of her situation, asked, "How can a place like this even exist? Wouldn't the UN or other countries step in?"

"Grabesh is a tiny, insignificant country," Tariq said. "Most people don't even know it exists. It's off the international radar."

"And," he continued, "there are conspiracy theories that many rich international figures have homes here to indulge in their fantasies without repercussions. They have an interest in keeping Grabesh out of the spotlight."

"Other conspiracy theories," Tariq added, "have it that the local elites might be using blackmail to make the rich use their influence to ensure Grabesh stays under the radar."

Arbek, trying to lighten the mood, said, "I'll go out naked with you, Melissa, in solidarity."

Tariq laughed, "Nudity's for slaves here, not for free people. It's like dogs being allowed to be naked in public back home, but not humans."

Melissa knew Arbek’s remark was meant to be comforting. He wanted to share her burden, but it only served to highlight her isolation. He doesn't understand, she thought bitterly. Solidarity in nudity when one can choose to wear clothes again is not the same.

—

Upon finishing up, Melissa excused herself for the bathroom.

“Where can I wash up?” She asked.

“You can’t go on your own,” Tariq said.

“I can’t even go to the bathroom on my own,” Melissa asked in an annoyed tone. Then added “Sir,” when she saw Tariq’s raised eyebrows.

“Well, you can’t walk around the restaurant on your own in general,” he explained. “And that would include going to the bathroom.”

He noticed Melissa’s annoyed stare.

“Look, think about it: In the West if people bring a dog into a restaurant, then the dog has to stay at the table, right? You can’t bring a dog and let it run around the restaurant, right?”

And there it was again. Melissa was being compared to animals. She should be used to it by now, but she wasn’t.

“Dogs normally even need to be leashed. The people here are quite laid back, but in other venues, if they allow you in, they would expect you to be leashed to the table as well.”

“Really,” Markus said. “How does that work?”

“Oh, the tables have holes in them that can be used to attach a leash. Or slaves can be attached to a table leg. Restaurants can usually provide leashes if people haven’t brought one.”

“Interesting,” Markus commented.

“Does someone else need to go?” Tariq asked.

“I can take Melissa, I want to go as well,” Zahara said.

They both got up and Zahara picked Melissa up from her spot. They walked to the main building and as they did, Zahara told her, “Hold your left wrist with your right hand behind you.”

“What?”

“Do it. And mind your manners. There are people everywhere.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Melissa put her hands behind her back and held her left wrist with her right arm. They walked towards the main building and Zahara held Melissa by her upper arm. Melissa felt like she was being led like a handcuffed prisoner by Zahara. Her grip felt firm and possessively.

The sun was dipping lower and as Melissa was led by Zahara she could see the outlines of her naked form in her shadow on the sand. Her breasts swayed slightly with her steps and she felt the gentle strokes of her own hair cascading down her back as she moved.

A waiter was standing at the door to the outside area. Zahara asked him where slaves could use the bathroom and the waiter pointed them to the slave stable saying that there were slave facilities in the slave stable.

The trio walked together. Melissa recalled Zahara's prideful recounting of how her ancestors had taken slaves from tribes defeated in battle. Now, at this moment, naked and collared, with her hands clasped behind her back, she felt akin to those ancient captives, being led by the athletic Zahara, just as defeated tribal women would have been by the triumphant warriors of old.

She felt that Zahara enjoyed this display of power, and part of her wanted to rip her hands free, to shout, to run. But she also knew that there was no escape for her. So she walked while seeing her shadow on the sand showing the silhouette of her naked body.

The stall was a wooden hut. When they entered Melissa saw that the inside had a large cage with two female slaves in it. The waiter pointed to the squatting toilet in the cage and told Zahara that her slave may use that toilet. He unlocked the cage door and the two slaves knelt up next to each other with their legs apart and hands close their shoulders facing forward.

The waiter opened the door and Zahara guided Melissa into the cage. Melissa turned around to see the waiter close the door and it locked shut.

“I’ll pick you up later,” Zahara said.

“Ok,” Melissa said, not happy about how this was going. “Ma’am,” she remembered.

The two women inside the cage, both in their thirties, looked up as Melissa entered. Recognition dawned on their faces, their eyes widening with a mix of surprise and amusement.

"Hey, it's the white girl from the bus," the one with long, black hair said, her voice carrying a playful tone.

The other, with a knowing smirk, added, "The one who shrieked like a cat caught in the rain when we crossed the river." Her eyes sparkled with humor, her body lean and agile, suggesting a life of labor and perhaps, as Melissa had guessed, sexual servitude.

Melissa felt a rush of heat to her cheeks, remembering the moment. "Yeah, that was me," she admitted, trying to keep her voice steady.

"You're with that white guy who gave you the drink, right? He your owner?" the first woman asked, her gaze flicking to Melissa's collar.

"No," Melissa quickly corrected, her tone sharp with disgust at the thought. "He's... an acquaintance." She didn't elaborate on her history with Markus.

The second woman nodded, her interest shifting to Melissa's hair, reaching out to touch it gently. "Your hair is different. So soft," she said, her fingers brushing through the strands with a childlike wonder. Melissa tensed at first but relaxed, understanding their curiosity was innocent, their hands exploring her blonde hair with a fascination born from a life where such textures were foreign.

Melissa, feeling the pressure of her bladder, moved towards the squatting toilet at the wall in the cage. The act of using it in front of others felt like an invasion of her most private self, yet she had no choice. Her movements were stiff, and her face flushed with heat. Her nudity and the act of relieving herself under scrutiny made her feel like time was passing in slow motion. She positioned herself over the toilet and spread her legs as the design required, as if displaying her vagina to the other slaves.

Her cheeks burned with the intensity of their gazes. They burned not just with shame but with anger at the situation, at Arbek for his part in this, at Markus for his fascination, and at herself for being unable to change her circumstances. ‘This isn’t me,’ she thought, her mind screaming as her body complied.

She felt the eyes of the two slaves on her, their acceptance of this life starkly contrasting with her inner revolt. ‘How can they live like this?’ she wondered, her gaze inadvertently meeting theirs.

As she relieved herself, the first woman spoke, "You're new to this, aren't you?"

"Yes," Melissa admitted, irritated by being spoken to in a private moment like this. The sound of her urine against the metal echoed slightly in the confined space. She looked at the woman and their eyes met. "It's... overwhelming," she said with a strained voice, making eye contact while urinating.

The second slave watched with a mix of empathy and interest, shared, "We've been slaves all our lives. Those German men your friend was talking to have rented us. They're not bad masters, but they like their sex. We do chores, and we're there for their pleasure."

“Rented?” Melissa asked confused.

“Mutual Mastery owns us and rents out slaves for all kinds of purposes. Tourists often rent their sex slaves from them, like us,” the second slave giggled.

"Does it ever get easier?" Melissa asked, her voice a mix of hope and despair as she finished and stood up.

The first woman shrugged, "It is all we’ve ever done. You learn to live with it."

Melissa nodded, her frustration surfacing. "I can't stand being treated like an animal, like livestock."

The second gave her a sympathetic look. "It's just how it is here. But you're strong; you'll get through it."

Melissa wanted to tell them her enslavement was temporary, but the need to maintain her cover kept her silent. Instead, she asked, "What's your life like with them?"

"Chores, mostly," the first woman explained. "And sex. But they're gentle, in their way."

“Serving those old white men is like a vacation,” the first woman said. “They are easy to please, and we get to sit at the pool and play beach volleyball a lot.”

The conversation paused as Melissa felt the second woman's hand reach for her ear tag. "This is new," she remarked, gently touching it. Melissa winced, the tag still sensitive. "Be careful with that; it's still healing," she said.

The first woman laughed softly, "We won't hurt you. We're just curious, like you are about us."

Feeling a connection forming, Melissa decided to share her name, "I'm Melissa."

"I'm Liana," the first woman said, a smile spreading across her face.

"And I'm Kaya," added the second, her voice warm.

Melissa and the slaves chatted for a while. At some point, she stood up and walked around the small cage. She went to the bars holding her in and wondered where Zahara was. She was fed up with constantly being locked in cages. She couldn’t even return to Arbek from her bathroom break without needing someone to free her. In her frustration she pushed and pulled against the bars of the cage which were unmovable.

They talked a bit more until they heard footsteps coming closer.

“They’re coming to pick you up,” Kaya said.

The door opened and the waiter came in with Zahara. The three slaves hurried to form a line facing Zahara and the waiter from in the cage.

Melissa had also discussed the slave protocols here with Liana and Kaya. It had turned out that they were quite similar to the one in the Health Office with the exception that the submissive pose involved wasn’t lying on the floor, but kneeling up.

She knelt with Liana and Kaya in one line, spread her legs, then lifted her thighs to create a right angle with her lower legs. She raised her hands to her shoulders and made her palms face forward. Fingers relaxed with small gaps between them.

In ancient times this would have been not just an acknowledgement of their subjugation, but also a way for their captors to make sure they weren’t hiding any weapons. Not between their legs, nor in their hands nor tucked in anywhere on their naked bodies.

Adhering to the slave protocols felt like an act of betrayal to her own identity. This was not who she truly was. ‘How can they live like this?’ she wondered again.

The waiter unlocked the cage door and opened it, and Melissa was about to get up to leave the cage. Then she stopped herself. She remembered from Nala’s training at the Health Office that she couldn’t dismiss herself from a position. Her handler had to do that. Her handler was Zahara. And Zahara was just looking down at her from outside the cage, seemingly studying her.

Melissa was becoming impatient. She looked up at Zahara with pleading eyes that she might give her a signal so she could get up and they could go. But Zahara made no such motion. Zahara was enjoying this, Melissa realised. She was making Melissa feel her power over her by making her wait in this position next to the other slaves.

Zahara slowly walked along the bars of the cage and entered it. She walked past the two slaves kneeling up next to Melissa until she was standing before her. Melissa glanced up at her and their eyes met.

She felt Zahara’s commanding eyes scrutinizing her. ‘Is she enjoying this?’ Melissa wondered with a surge of resentment. But she also realized that Zahara was just another product of this culture.

Just like at the Health Office she needed permission to speak when in a slave pose, so all Melissa could do was kneel before Zahara, until she allowed her to rise.

The act of kneeling up before her with her thighs spread wide, was both a physical and psychological submission. Zahara's gaze as she stood over her, watching and waiting, felt like a physical weight which was pressing down on Melissa and made her keenly aware that her naked body was vulnerably exposed to her.

As she waited for Zahara's permission to rise, time seemed to stretch. She wanted to shout, to break free, but the fear of repercussions kept her silent. ‘I’m playing their game,’ she admitted to herself in a bitter thought.

Finally, Zahara said, “Come, let’s go, Melissa.”

The delay before Zahara allowed her to rise was a power play, a demonstration of control that left Melissa feeling both humiliated and oddly aroused by her own compliance. Relieved, Melissa stood up and walked to the cage door.

The relief of being allowed to rise was mixed with a sense of defeat. She had conformed. Not out of willingness but subjugation. ‘How much longer can I fight this?’ she thought. A part of her feared she might grow accustomed to this, that she might eventually accept this kind of treatment by ‘free people’ and the thought terrified her.

“Stop,” Zahara said.

Melissa stopped and turned to look at her.

“Left wrist in right hand,” she ordered.

Melissa moved her hands behind her back and held her left wrist with her right hand.

“Stand outside the cage,” Zahara ordered.

Melissa exited the cage and stood next to the entrance, hands behind her back as ordered and waited for Zahara.

Zahara exited the cage as well and held her upper arm.

“Thanks for letting our slave relieve herself,” she thanked the waiter.

“Any time,” the waiter replied. He shut the cage door and with that the two slaves in the cage were released from their position and relaxed again.

“Ouch,” Melissa said, feeling Zahara’s hard grip on her arm, pushing her forward. Zahara led Melissa out of the stable like a puppet with an ironclad grip and back to their friends at the dining table while holding her upper arm.

When they were close, Zahara loosened her grip. “Well done, Melissa,” Zahara said. “You followed the slave protocols well. Sorry I had to be strict with you, but I wanted this to look believable.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Melissa said. So this had all been a show to keep up appearances? Zahara hadn’t actually been on a power trip at her expense? It surely had felt like that. To the waiter, the two slaves and anyone seeing her trip to the toilet, her position as a real slave would have been out of question. She wasn’t sure if Zahara was protecting her or if it was something else.

—

After the meal was over, the plates cleared, and a semblance of normalcy had returned to the group, they left the restaurant. Melissa felt the sand under her bare feet and the cool evening breeze on her, but it did little to dispel her worries.

This is just temporary, she told herself, but as she walked beside Arbek, her eyes caught something unsettling. A slave, a woman perhaps her age, was cleaning the restaurant's outdoor area. Her movements were mechanical with no spark of defiance or a hope for freedom she could see. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and in that gaze, Melissa saw a kind of acceptance that chilled her to the bone.

"Melissa," Arbek squeezed her hand, pulling her back from her thoughts. His touch was meant to be reassuring, and she forced a smile. But her mind was racing with images of herself in that woman's place. This could be her, if Arbek were to decide not to free her.

As they walked back to the huts, the night was alive with the sounds of the ocean and the distant music from a nearby bar. Arbek spoke of his plans to pay off the loan and of freedom in ten days.

At one point, Zahara mentioned how some slaves in Grabesh had grown to prefer their life, finding comfort in the simplicity of their roles, their duties. "It's not all bad, you know," she said, her voice light, but Melissa felt no comfort in those words.

Melissa watched as Arbek laughed at something Zahara said, their camaraderie a contrast to her isolation. None of them understood what it was like to be a slave. To be so dependent on someone’s whims as she was on Arbek’s right now. She wondered if this was how it started, how one became accustomed to a life of servitude. The thought of becoming complacent, of her spirit bending to the will of this place, was terrifying.

—

Back at the hut later that evening, the air was heavy with unspoken tension. Arbek, perhaps sensing the need to reconnect, moved closer to Melissa. His touch was tentative.

There was a peculiar intimacy in the way he looked at her. His eyes took in the beauty of her smooth white skin. The contrast between his clothed body and her enforced nudity displayed the power difference between them. His hands roamed over her, and he felt both the familiarity but also a new feeling of ownership.

Melissa was exhausted. It had been a long day. Her day had begun at the Health Office and ended here after two trips in cages. One from the Health Office to Zawadi, then another trip in the cage trailer of the bus. Both had been demeaning, but the second one had particularly drained her physically. Then she had gone out again to the restaurant which had been emotionally exhausting with everyone accessing her medical file and discussing intimate details in it that she would rather have never thought about again. She just wanted to shut her eyes and sleep.

Normally, she would have told him she was too exhausted for sex. But she was enslaved to him which meant she legally couldn't deny him. He had the right to take her without her consent—a chilling thought. Fortunately, she understood that he saw her as a free woman wrongly enslaved due to his mistake. Thus, she knew she could indeed refuse him.

However, she also remembered that it was his doing that she was out of the Health Office now. She would still be trapped there, sleeping in the cage in the stable at night and having people with cattle prods swab her in places that were best left unswabbed and who knows what else. He had acted quickly and decisively to get her out. Sure, Tariq had made the plan with information gathered from his parents, but Arbek had had a significant part in her liberation from there.

When he had visited her at the Health Office, she had told him that they would have plenty of time for adult fun once she was out of there. And now she was out of there. This had served as a motivator to get her out. Not his only motivation but it would have played a part. And now he was here to claim his prize. And she had an obligation to give him the sexual gratification he craved.

And why shouldn’t he have sex with her. He had done well, Melissa decided. He deserved to have some sex. But she was tired and would let him do all the work.

She reciprocated his touch with a resigned acceptance, and he took off his undershirt and underpants. He maneuvered himself on top of her and they kissed. Soon her body was moving under his lead and the room was filled with the sounds of their intimacy.

Yet, Melissa's mind was elsewhere. After Arbek had ejaculated into her, she felt a sense of resentment. She was grateful for her rescue but frustrated by his neglect during the journey. "You didn't even check on me in that cage," she murmured as they lay in the afterglow.

Arbek's reply was almost defensive. "I was caught up in conversation with Zahara. I'm sorry, Melissa," he said while putting on his T-shirt and underpants again.

Melissa's eyes narrowed, a suspicion forming. "Is there something going on with Zahara?"

“She was sitting next to me on the bus, that’s all,” he replied.

Melissa was too exhausted to think about this.

She felt Arbek’s semen leaking out and sighed as she felt her muscles ache when she stood up to go to the bathroom. She didn't even consider asking to borrow some of Arbek's clothes, knowing that even within the privacy of the hut, she'd likely face judgment for such a request. Resigning herself to their expectations, she remained naked.

As she stepped out of Arbek's room, she ran into Zahara, who was leaving the bathroom, now dressed for the night. Zahara's gaze swept over Melissa’s naked body and paused between her legs, where Arbek’s semen was slowly trickling down and Melissa wished she was permitted at least a bathrobe or a towel to cover herself. She caught the judgment in Zahara's eyes as she passed by, heading to her own room.

As she cleaned Arbek’s semen off the inside of her legs she thought about the sex they had had. Her body had responded, driven by exhaustion and the need to repay his efforts. She was expected to fulfill roles, to be grateful, to be compliant, when all she wanted was her freedom, her voice, her self.

She straightened herself and caught her reflection in the mirror. She wasn’t used to seeing herself like this. She was marked by the collar, a sign of Arbek's ownership on her. And the ear tag which made her look like a farm animal. She fought the rising despair at the sight of her own reflection by telling herself that this was just temporary.

If she could just get this collar off, she thought, she would leave and never look back.

After freshening up, Melissa returned to bed, collapsing next to Arbek. She heard him breathe steadily beside her. She felt the collar around her neck, more oppressive in the silence with nothing to distract her. But she quickly succumbed to sleep from the exhaustion of the long day.

[hoggle123]

Happy New Year everyone!

Thanks for reading the latest chapter. I hope you enjoyed it!

If you've read the entire story up to here, you have read 196 pages or 81,508 words!

As usual, what did you like, what didn't you like? Let me know what you think!

[lovethissite]

hoggle: I don't know how to thank you formally, but thank you. I do hope Zahara and Arbek hook up, further making Melissa feel like a slave. Arbek then becomes more controlled by Zahara and she takes more of a dominant role over slave Melissa. Nine days can really reinforce Melissa's slavery, especially if pressure starts to build on Arbek's inability to repay the bank loan. Arbek has already started to treat Melissa more like a slave. Financial pressure could push him over the edge. A beautiful white woman could make him a rich man in Grabesh either by selling Melissa or renting her. Just an idea. Whatever you do I am a fan and look forward to this fantasy.

[LoneWolfMATTY]

There were a few moments where I thought she was going to be confused for one of the other ones like when she was in the cage on the bus I thought that the driver was going to confuse her for one of the other slaves which would’ve been quite interesting to read as I love that kind of stuff

[hoggle123]

There were a few moments where I thought she was going to be confused for one of the other ones like when she was in the cage on the bus I thought that the driver was going to confuse her for one of the other slaves which would’ve been quite interesting to read as I love that kind of stuff

That would have been fun, but since Melissa is the only white slave in the cage, the bus driver would have some explaining to do if he wanted claim it was an 'honest mistake' and 'they just all look the same to him'.

[LoneWolfMATTY]

That is actually what I was thinking!! The driver said it was an honest mistake or they all look the same or maybe that’s an idea for the future! There is a few more white slaves and Melissa is confused as one of the random white slaves