Tara stood in the doorway, smiling that same cold smile from the Kivana Islands.
Juma hovered behind them, tone deferential. “Miss Brennan, welcome back to Tribal Dispatch.”
He gestured toward the empty bench. “Something to drink first? Water, coconut juice?”
Carla went rigid on the sybian as she felt Tara’s gaze on her.
“No, thank you,” Tara said smoothly. “I’m just here to collect feedback on the devices.”
Juma nodded quickly. “Of course. Right away.”
Tara stood in the doorway with a professional smile, the same smile she had worn when they had last met, at the dinner on the Kivana islands. Carla didn’t know back then that it would be her last day as a free woman. Or wearing clothes.
“Carla,” she said. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”
Carla’s voice trembled from her perch on the sybian. Despite her precarious position, she was outraged. “You framed me, Tara! I knew your deals were illegal in Ireland, and you planted that cocaine to shut me up! Now you’re in the slave business as well?” She gestured to her abdomen, her body shifting uncomfortably on the device.
Tara’s eyes didn’t leave Carla’s. “You put me in a difficult position back then. The executives were… unhappy. They saw you as a problem, and I needed a quick solution to put them at ease. You’re part of the solution now.”
Carla stared at her former boss as her words sank in.
Tara added, “Their entire cocaine stash went into fixing it. That stuff is worth a fortune, you know.”
“So you just sold me into slavery?” she whispered, voice cracking. “That’s madness!”
Tara’s tone stayed calm, almost gentle. “I had to protect my future, Carla. Otherwise the executives would have come for me. And it’s not so bad, is it? They say you’re being treated well.”
Carla’s outrage boiled over. As she stood up abruptly to face Tara, Carla felt the sybian’s dildo disconnect in her with a soft magnetic tug. “It was you who set me up because I found out about your sanctioned sales! Admit it!”
But before Carla could do anything else, a sharp sting erupted inside her. It was the tracker punishing the disconnect. She doubled over, clutching her abdomen, while a groan escaped her as the pain seared through her core. “Look… what you’ve done…” she managed, voice strained. Another jolt hit, knocking her to her knees in submission before Tara, her naked body trembling on the office floor. Tara watched with a raised eyebrow, while Juma nodded approvingly.
Reluctantly, Carla scrambled back onto the sybian, slid the dildo in again, and the shocks ceased instantly. She sat there, flushed and frustrated, the orange light resuming its glow while the sybian’s hum vibrated through her trembling body.
Juma turned to Tara. “See? The shocks really do motivate slaves well. Got her back on even when she had other plans.”
Tara nodded, her smile returning. “Impressive. Celtic Circuits will be pleased.”
She turned to Carla. “It’s only for two years, Carla. Hang in there, once you’re out, Celtic Circuits will have covered their tracks, the executives should have calmed down again, and we should be able to work something out.”
“Only two years? Do you know what they do to me here? Look at me. I’m being kept naked! I have to demean myself like this every day! Do you think this is normal?”
Tara shrugged. “We don’t make the rules here. You agreed to come to this country. It’s a different culture.”
“You guys made the trackers! You are no better than these people!”
Tara turned to Juma and Rafiki while adjusting her tablet. “How are the devices performing? Any discomfort?”
Carla’s cheeks burned. “Discomfort? It’s torture! You’re monsters. You expect me to help you now?”
“I was asking them,” Tara nodded to Juma and Rafiki who looked at Carla disapprovingly. Carla sighed and looked away.
Rafiki snorted from behind his desk. “Discomfort? No, the girls are fine wearing it. We had a bit of drama with this one,” he said, pointing at Carla still stuck on the charger. “She was late once. The tracker shocked her so bad she screamed like a monkey being castrated.”
Tara raised an eyebrow. “Does that happen with the other slaves?”
Rafiki shook his head. “No. The local girls know better.”
Tara nodded knowingly. “Carla’s always been a bit of a drama queen when it comes to deadlines. Some things never change.”
She mulled it over a bit. “If she has lower pain thresholds, we could calibrate her profile in the PainPal app.”
“Why not leave it as is?” Juma asked. “There is no harm done.”
Carla shot him an angry look, but didn’t dare say anything. Juma didn’t notice.
Tara looked at him. “Whips require a man to swing them. The tracker works constantly — no guard needed. That’s why it’s more effective. But constant high intensity causes cortisol spikes — reduces long-term compliance, increases stress-related injury risk, lowers resale value. The dose makes the poison. A well-disciplined slave is a productive slave.”
Juma shrugged. “Fine. Do what you need.”
Do what you need, she thought indignantly. How sweet. The man who chained her to his bed for his evening entertainment just handed her over for a tune-up. Because nothing says ‘I care’ like letting your favourite bed warmer’s ex-boss turn up the voltage on her womb-zapper. Romance was really dead in Grabesh.
She tapped her tablet. “Stopping recharge cycle now.” To Carla, she said, “You can get off now.”
Carla hesitated, then rose warily, just enough to feel the magnetic tug as the dildo detached from the tracker inside her, but not enough for it to slide out of her vagina, as if her body wanted to stay close in case the shocks resumed. After a moment of frozen tension, she felt safe enough. She let it glide out of her and rose fully to her feet. She walked over, instinctively crossing one arm over her breasts, the other hand shielding her sex.
She stood before Tara, unsure what to do next. She looked over the table and saw Rafiki frowning at her.
Carla sighed. Yes, she was not allowed to stand when among free people. She was almost used to it now, but Tara’s presence had made her fall back into her old ways. Her stomach knotted, but she lowered her arms and sank to her knees before Tara.
Carla caught the faint whiff of her perfume and looked up at her. Tara was only a few years older than her. Carla had envied her climb of the corporate ladder, and had wished to follow her example. But here she was, collared and naked on her knees, while Tara looked sharp and successful as ever.
Tara glanced down at her, eyebrows raised in brief surprise, then returned to her tablet without comment.
“Ok let’s get started,” she said. “Rate the pain from 1 to 10 when you feel it.”
A low shock pulsed inside her — short, sharp. Carla gasped and shot Tara an angry look. “Three… four…”
As Tara took notes on her tablet, Carla’s fists tightened. “I can’t believe you guys would develop something like this.”
Tara shrugged. “It wasn’t that hard, actually. It has been adapted from existing cardiac implants. They already come with GPS locators and transfer health data, low power. We just tweaked it for Grabesh’s needs. Low-hanging fruit, I’ve been told.”
Returning to the topic at hand, Tara asked, “Would this be appropriate as a quick reminder when the timer runs low or help you refocus you if you were dawdling on a delivery?”
“You expect me to help you improve the punishments?” Carla asked incredulously.
Tara frowned. She paused, voice cooling a fraction. “Please Carla. You’ve already caused me enough trouble with the executives. I wouldn’t be out here in this heat if it weren’t for you.”
“For me?” Carla’s voice cracked with disbelief.
“Yes, you,” Tara said, smile thinning. “They blame me for hiring you. To teach me a lesson, they send me on these field trips in the wilderness.”
“We all have to contribute to make the trackers a success. Your cooperation helps us improve it. This is in everyone’s interest. Including yours.”
Carla was sceptical about that, but there was nothing she could do, so she nodded.
The procedure continued with ever-increasing shocks. Each time, Tara asked Carla for her subjective rating of the pain.
After a nasty shock, Carla bent forward and cupped her abdominal area. “Eight…” Carla groaned her assessment.
“If this was administered for 10 to 20 seconds, would you consider this a fair punishment for a clear failing — say, a poor rating or speaking without permission?”
No, Carla thought, of course not. What a ridiculous question. The idea of that pain stretching on for ten seconds, twenty, made her stomach lurch as her body was still reeling from the brief burst. But she’d be damned if she begged Tara for any kind of mercy. Carla’s fists tightened, breath ragged. “Yes…”
Tara looked at her. “I think you can take more.”
Carla cried out from the sudden sharp pain and how unexpectedly intense it was. She cupped her abdomen instinctively, bent forward, and raised one hand, waving it as if signalling Tara to stop.
Please, make it stop, I can’t take this, she thought desperately.
Rafiki grunted from his desk. “You sure? You techies have no people skills. White girls break easier than you think. We had an incident with her already. Don’t damage her.”
Tara raised an eyebrow. “We calibrate precisely to avoid that.”
Rafiki grunted, unconvinced. “That’s the problem with these invisible punishments. You never know what’s going on. With a whip I see the mark, I know the pain.”
As the pain subsided, Carla panted with relief and exhaustion. “Nine or ten… please…”
Tara turned back to Carla, “Would this suppress any thought of deliberate disobedience — refusal, rebellion?”
Carla nodded, hoping this would be over soon.
Tara looked at Juma. “This is the highest setting. Full power should only be used for a split second, and only when she’s trying to do something truly rebellious that that requires immediate cessation. With good calibration and regular use of the tracker, it should never be necessary. She will be conditioned to never get that far.”
Conditioned to never get that far? Carla thought. Wonderful. New life goal: be so well-behaved, the torture setting never gets used. They really do think of everything when they’re turning people into appliances.
Juma nodded slowly. “Very interesting, Miss Brennan. Thank you for the effort.”
Tara tapped on her tablet. “Profile updated. Baseline lowered by 20%. Less drama, same motivation.”
Juma asked. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. How is the ‘calibration’ used?”
Tara explained, “The engineers at Celtic Circuits are thinking about a feature that allows customized tracker profiles. The amount of shock necessary to elicit the same amount of pain may vary from subject to subject, and calibration should allow them to normalize for that. So if we go forward with this, the level of shocks that each tracker emits is customized to the pain tolerance of the subject. This ensures that each slave gets exactly the right does she requires, leading to the best possible slave experience for all involved.”
Tara tapped on her tableg again. “The calibration allows us to be precise. We can now administer shocks just above the pain threshold for minimal disruption. Observe.”
She triggered one mild test shock.
Carla flinched but stayed composed.
Juma leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Fascinating.”
“Indeed,” Carla replied. “We are considering developing an update of the PainPal app for smartwatches that would allow you to quick trigger the device. This could be on a nudge button to get a slave’s attention, while another button could be for administering punishment. Such a feature would require this kind of precise calibration to be effective.”
Tara pocketed her tablet. “Thanks! This has been useful.”
“Fascinating,” Juma commented.
“Any other feedback before I go?”
Juma smiled. “No. The trackers have been amazing. Thank you, Miss Brennan.”
Rafiki gave him a look that could curdle milk.
Tara turned to leave. “Thank you all for your cooperation.”
Juma smiled. “Want some coconut juice before you go?”
“No, thank you,” Tara said. “I need to get on the road before dark.”
Juma nodded. “Long drive back to Kivana.”
“Oh no, I’m staying at a guesthouse nearby,” Tara said, glancing briefly at Carla with a flicker of annoyance. “More customer visits tomorrow.”
Footsteps echoed as the door closed behind her.
Carla stayed on her knees, waiting to be dismissed. But no one was paying attention to her.
Rafiki snorted. “Load of nonsense, Juma. These white people selling you their little gadgets to control slaves. What do they know? They don’t even have slaves anymore. All running around free! Some experts you have there.”
He spat to the side. “We’ve had slaves for centuries. Ours don’t even dream of freedom. And you’re bowing and scraping—”
Rafiki bowed his head exaggeratedly, in a mocking falsetto. “Yes, Miss Brennan, thank you, Miss Brennan — oh, how fascinating, Miss Brennan!”
He straightened, sneer deepening. “Like she knows better than us.”
Carla snorted — a quick, suppressed laugh she couldn’t quite swallow.
Both men turned to her, frowning at her inappropriate outburst. Carla tried to smooth her face back into a neutral expression, hoping they would just let this go.
Rafiki’s glare softened a fraction — just a flicker — before he turned back to Juma.
Juma countered, “They have technology that we don’t have. If we cooperate, we might put it to good use, to our own benefit.”
“You have no idea what the tracker does in the slaves.” In a squeaky, high-pitched voice he went on. “‘It’s a six, a seven, eight… yes, I feel appropriately punished…’” Then, dropping back to his normal gravelly voice, “Did you not see that? We are taking their word for it. Letting slaves decide how much they get punished. Absurd.”
That’s not what I sound like, Carla thought, frowning. But no one was paying attention to her.
“It’s called ‘calibration,’ Raffi.”
“With a whip, I know exactly how much pain I’m doling out. My hand will ‘calibrate’ them just fine. I can make every whipping a great ‘experience’ where the slaves get exactly what they ‘need.’ I’ll calibrate them till they howl like hyenas.”
“Come on, old man. No one is taking your whip away. You can still do all of that if you want.”
Carla was still kneeling on the ground. She couldn’t break position until someone dismissed her. It had been a long day of deliveries, weird people, and Tara to top it off. She felt drained. She had never imagined it possible, but she looked forward to retire to her cage.
“Carla,” Juma finally said.
Carla startled at the mention of her name.
Juma had taken out the handcuffs and was dangling them as if inviting her over.
Her stomach dropped. She remembered her laugh at Rafiki’s joke at Juma’s expense. She wondered if this would come back to bite her now.
Carla rose from the ground, and walked over to him. She turned and offered her arms behind her back for chaining as she had done so many times now. The cuffs clicked tight around her wrists.
Juma attached the chain leash to her collar and tugged gently.
“Come, let’s go.”
As they stepped into the warm evening air and walked the usual path, Carla began to relax. This was just routine. Juma seemed to have forgotten about her unfortunate snort earlier, and started talking about which takeaway they should pick up from the market. Eventually, he settled on getting them grilled goat and beef skewers with some kind of maize porridge and tomato-onion salad in extra containers. He carried the bags in one hand, and held Carla’s leash in the other.
Still, Carla was annoyed. Just earlier Juma had watcher being tortured at Tara’s hands and called it fascinating, allowed Tara to do whatever she needed with her, and how amazing the hated tracker in her was. And now he held her in tow with his leash as if she was some kind of dessert to go with the food he had just bought.
The dinner was good though, and she was hungry. Juma had uncuffed her, and she eagerly ate while her leash dangled from her collar. Definitely one of the upsides of being used as his sex slave, she thought. On those nights she was caged at the Tribal Dispatch office, the slaves weren’t fed any dinner. This was done to ‘calm them down’ for the night, and minimize their use of the bucket.
The ‘coffee cake’ from the Blue Door Bakery as a dessert was almost a tradition now. Her pre-rape treat, as she called it in her mind. But apparently she was too slow to eat it because Juma guided her to his bed when she was only halfway through the tub. He locked her leash to the headboard of his bed and undressed, ready for his own dessert.
Juma pulled her close to him by her leg, and she slid toward him. She turned to her stomach and went on all fours.
Yes, he expected her to spread her legs for him like nothing had happened. She looked at the chain from her leash, how it was locked to the headboard. She felt like one of the animals on Coconut Grove Farm, chained and about to be serviced by a bull. As Jumas’s penis pushed its way into her vagina, Melissa’s words flashed through her mind. ‘We are just slaves. We have no choice.’
She heard Juma’s moaning of enjoyment as he moved his penis back and forth against the walls of her still stiff vaginal walls.
“This is the best,” Juma said, breathing heavily. “The friction while you are still tight.”
As Melissa’s words echoed in Carla’s mind, she felt her resignation loosen her body. Nothing that happened here was up to her, it was up to Juma, her master. And she realized that with no choice came no responsibility. No guilt, even subconscious, to silence the pleasure. That was why the sex with Juma always felt so intense, even though she had no feelings for him.
By now she had become moist, and Juma’s penis was gliding quickly along her slick vaginal walls. He was panting from excitement, and decided it was time for a change, so he turned her over on her back.
But Carla didn’t let him enter him like this. Juma was surprised when she pulled him close to her, and rolled over with him, so she was on top of him. She didn’t quite sit upright, the chain was too short to allow her this, but she sat as upright as she could on his crotch. She wished she could have moved Juma closer to the headboard, so she wouldn’t have to navigate the demeaning chain going taut, but she didn’t want to lose momentum.
She inserted his penis into her vagina and had her way with him. She moved back and forth on him for her own enjoyment, breathing deeply, savoring the moment. Then faster. She felt small sparks of lust emanating from within her near. She bent down and pushed her breasts against him, enjoying the tingles of lust originating from where her nipples touched his chest.
“Fuck… yes,” he muttered beneath her.
She wanted to feel more. On her lips, her tongue. Without a thought, she dove in, mouth open, kissing him hard on his open mouth, wet saliva mixing as their tongues slid against each other while she took in his raw taste.
She continued moving, but it was too slow.
“Do it,” she gasped.
Juma instantly understood what she meant. He moved his penis back and forth within her at a speed she couldn’t have mustered. Carla heard herself moaning.
She didn’t care, she had no choice. And for the first time she felt a freedom in it. She was doing what she was meant to do. And she allowed herself to be absorbed by it. She heard herself breathe heavily, moan and cry out, as she allowed the lust to wash over her. With no self-consciousness and no shame.
Juma’s rhythm stuttered. “Oh… yes,” he muttered, as if convinced he had made a breakthrough with her. He drove into her harder, as if he was trying to make her moan harder.
Carla came hard, thighs shaking, a breathless scream tore free as pleasure flooded her without the usual tinge of shame. A second peak followed almost immediately, and then a chain of orgasms lit up all over her body like a firework, accompanied by a wave of warmth.
Juma finished with a guttural groan, spilling inside her with a shudder. She collapsed on top of him, exhausted and calm, while a satisfied smile curved on his lips.
“That was awesome,” he murmured against her neck with satisfaction. “I knew I could make you scream like that. I have the rhythm that can drive women wild.”
Carla breathed calmly, the aftershocks still rippling through her. She didn’t answer. The leash chaining her to the bed clinked as she turned to eye the tub with the leftover tiramisu on the table. Out of reach for her in her chained state.
In her mind, she recalled Melissa’s words once again: ‘Here, we have no choice. We are slaves.’
And tonight, it had been her enslavement that had freed her to fully experience the lust her body could bring her.
