The Apartment - Part 4

[Carl Bradford]

The two friends sat talking in the apartment, drinking some Diet Dr. Pepper Jane had saved in the kitchen, fortified with something from a flask in Wanda’s toolbox.

Jane sat on one end of the couch, wearing only her buttoned-up work shirt, the tail just covering her panties. Wanda sat on the other end, legs crossed, a bemused look on her face.

“What made you come back?” Jane asked.

“Oh, when I saw Joaquin’s crew roll into the complex,” Wanda answered, “I knew they were headed for this apartment so they could get the invoice in earlier than they had agreed. So I turned the van around as quick as I could and came back.”

“No,” Jane grimaced, “I mean, why did you come back?”

“I was worried about you,” Wanda said, “I was afraid you would get hurt. So I grabbed my toolbox and followed them up here, then marched right in to tell them I was about to spray water all over the place, so no drywall or carpet today.” She chuckled to herself. “If Joaquin only knew what he actually missed out on…”

“But why did you think I was in trouble?” Jane pressed. “As far as you knew, I was just sitting up here going through boxes of stuff, looking for clues. I mean-“

“Oh Janey, you are just adorable but you are a terrible liar,” Wanda said, grinning. “I knew that looking for clues stuff wasn’t true - hell, you couldn’t even look at me when you said it. So,” she continued after a sip of her drink, “are you gonna tell me what you were doing in that kennel?”

Jane bit her lower lip, then said, “I, uh… Well, to tell the truth, I was - I am - affected by all this stuff, and wanted some alone time to process it, straighten out my head. You know, see if I could figure out what it was that interested me.”

“Affected, huh?” Wanda nodded. “Yeah, I figured it was something like that.”

“You did?” Jane said, a little surprised.

“Sweetie, how many times did you Jill off in here after I left?” Wanda said, grinning. “That closet smells like an LPGA locker room.”

Jane looked at her, stunned and embarrassed, her face turning a bright red. “I, I, I—,“ she stammered.

“I’m a dyke, sweetie, I’m like one of those sharks that can sense a drop of blood in the ocean a hundred miles away - I picked up the scent all the way out in the parking lot,” Wanda said, her grin growing broader before she started laughing out loud at the look on Jane’s face.

Jane couldn’t help but grin, and started laughing in spite of herself.

When they had both finished laughing, Wanda continued: “If Joaquin and the boys didn’t pick up on it - that would be damned hilarious all by itself. Seriously, though, Janey, you gotta be careful. I don’t think those boys would’ve hurt you on purpose, but when men are in a group like that they can feed off each other and… well, things can get out of hand.” Wanda put both feet on the floor and leaned forward. “Now promise me you won’t do anything like that without at least having a backup of some kind. Alright?”

“A backup?”

“Someone who knows what you’re up to, and can come looking for you if something goes wrong.”

“I promise,” Jane said sheepishly, looking down into her drink. “I’m sorry.”

Wanda reached over and put a hand on Jane’s bare knee. “I wasn’t asking for an apology, you got nothin’ to be sorry for. I just want you to be careful is all. If something bad had happened to you, I woulda wound up in a collar ‘cause I’d have murdered Joaquin.”

She leaned back again, and made a finger gun with her right hand, sighting down the barrel with one eye squinted shut. “Yep, I’d a shot him right through the pecker.”

Again, in spite of herself and her embarrassment and her feelings of guilt, Jane started to giggle.

“I do owe you an explanation, I guess,” Jane said, steeling herself with another swig before launching into a recap of the events in the apartment.

“I’m not a fan of men in general, and the Sandoval brothers in particular,” Wanda said once Jane had wound down, “But I can definitely see how hot that would be. All of us have slave fantasies at some point or another, it looks like yours just hit at the right time and place. I have to say that you do look a little less tired than usual - maybe fingerbangin’ to sex slave dreams agrees with you?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” Jane said, pursing her lips in distaste. “But yeah, this has been the best I’ve felt in… quite a while.”

“I mean, I can’t be a slave,” Jane continued, “Who would take care of my mother and my sisters? Not to mention that there’s every chance it might turn out badly for me.”

“Personally I think being a slave, even just as a short-term indenture, is a terrible idea,” Wanda said, “But there are options short of selling your ass to the highest bidder. Look, I have an idea,” she said, pulling her phone out of a belt holster. “Cassie used to be a licensed slave handler, right here in the H-O-U. Let’s go out to dinner tonight - my treat - and talk to her about it, okay?”

————————————————————————

That’s how Jane found herself going on a “girl’s night out” at the largest slave market in Texas.

She had changed into jeans, a black t-shirt, sneakers and a lightweight plaid-patterned over-shirt - there was a cool breeze blowing that threatened to turn a little chilly; standing on the sidewalk in front of the main concourse entrance, she wished she had brought a hoodie. Folding her arms, she walked over to the information signs posted on the floor-to-ceiling glass of the entryway and looked them over.

Gift shops, specialty retailers, a café, two restaurants, a bar, a nightclub, an arcade - basically a mall, Jane thought - nothing shocking or really out of the ordinary.

What was out of the ordinary were the thoughts and feelings going through her head ever since that morning.

She had been seconds away from being discovered by Joaquin and his work crew. Jane had no doubt that once they saw her, naked and collared and bound inside a slave kennel, there would not have been anything Wanda could do to stop them. Once they pulled her out, run their rough hands all over her helpless body, and forced her to her knees, at a minimum she would have sucked a whole lot of cocks, and had photos of her naked, cum-smeared body posted all over the Internet. She thought about what Wanda had said, about it getting out of control: having sex with every man on the crew, in every one of her openings, and possibly more than one at a time. Then she had remembered the gym bag next to her, filled with whips and clamps and other punishment tools — a bullwhip swung by someone as strong and fit as Joaquin would be terrifying.

Would they have even let her go? Or would they have locked her in the kennel and carried her back to their shop, so Salvatore and the rest of the company could take turns with her? Would they have taken out papers on her, turning her into an actual slave? Was that even possible? Joaquin is too lazy to put forth that level of effort, but Sal on the other hand…

Jane had dodged a bullet, she figured, but that wasn’t what bothered her the most.

What bothered her was that - deep down - she was disappointed that she had dodged that bullet. It was an accident, a coincidence, though she couldn’t imagine she had the courage to try it again. Just thinking about the “what-ifs” was turning her on - she felt that little thrill run up her spine.

One woman’s dodged bullet can be another woman’s missed opportunity, she thought.

“Jane!”

Jane turned to see Wanda and her wife Cassie walking up from the parking lot. Each gave her a big hug.

Both Wanda and Cassie were taller than Jane, but that’s where the similarities ended. Cassie was a little younger than Wanda, a thin, graceful, willowy woman with long blond hair (so light it was nearing white) done up in a single braid that reached to her waist. She had green eyes, a beautiful face with a small nose, and flawless white skin that made Jane think of porcelain. Cassie always wore a sad smile, which was deceptive because Cassie was actually the optimist of the two, and loved to tease the more serious Wanda and make her laugh.

Cassie had on a mid-length dress with a jean jacket and sandals, while Wanda wore a button-down shirt and knit tie, with khaki pants and leather shoes. When she broke off from hugging Jane, Cassie said, “Thanks for coming out with Mister McMillan and I. We really needed a night out!”
Jane looked at Wanda, who rolled her eyes but was clearly suppressing a smile. “Come on,” she said, “I got us reservations.”

The restaurant was nice, if a little on the touristy side: the main attraction became clear when their waiter arrived: a good-looking young guy with olive skin, probably in his twenties, clean shaven with artfully tousled black hair, a lean, athletic build, and a larger-than-average cock.

Jane could see his penis - in fact, every inch of his hairless body - through the transparent plastic apron he wore.

Jane looked away, blushing furiously.

“Good evening, mistresses,” he said, smiling at them. “This slave’s name is Christian, and it is my pleasure to serve you all this evening.”

“Hi, Christian,” Wanda said. “Our friend here -“ she gestured at Jane - “has never been here before. Would you mind if we asked you some questions?”

“Of course not, mistress,” Christian replied, his tone making it sound like he would like nothing better in the world. “This slave is pleased to serve.”

“How long have you been a slave?” Wanda asked.

“A little over two years now, mistress,” Christian replied.

“What kind of contract are you on?”

“Four years indentured service, mistress.”

“Ouch. Who owns you?”

“The company that owns this establishment, mistress, though day-to-day this slave answers to the restaurant manager.”

“How did you become indentured?”

“Financial default, mistress. I flunked out of school and could not repay my loans.”

“So you work here? What do you do?” Cassie interrupted.

“I wait tables, mistress, in addition to cleaning and assisting in whatever tasks the floor or kitchen staff may have for me,” Christian replied.

“Do those tasks include sex?” Cassie pressed.

“Yes, mistress,” Christian replied, smiling. “Currently this slave’s duties include serving the sexual needs of our executive chef, as you can see,” he said, turning around and bending forward slightly. He pulled on one of his butt cheeks through the split in the apron, revealing the base of a large, black butt plug.

Wanda and Cassie laughed, clapping. Jane clamped both hands over her mouth and turned a deeper shade of scarlet.

“How about with patrons?” Cassie continued.

“Not as a matter of course, mistress,” Christian said, “Although we are made available to certain patrons through arrangement with management. Personally, this slave has not provided sexual service to a patron in nearly a year.”

“But I’ll bet you get groped a lot, right?” Cassie said.

“Yes, mistress, this slave does,” he replied. “Every shift.”

“Well, no risk from us, my wife and I play for the other team,” Cassie said, “And poor Jane here looks like she’s about to literally die of embarrassment so I don’t think she’ll be sneaking a feel.”

Wanda and Cassie laughed, Christian smiled, Jane just stared at the three of them, goggle-eyed.

“Jane,” Wanda said after she calmed down, “Did you have anything you wanted to ask?”

“Umm,” Jane stammered, her voice barely audible, “Why do you, uh, wear clothes? I thought all slaves are kept naked.”

“Oh, I was curious about that too,” Wanda said. “Last time I was here, all of the servers were completely nude.”

“Yes, mistress, new health regulations require all food servers to wear shoes,” Christian held up one foot to show the semi-translucent rubber clogs he wore, “and to cover their torsos and hips,” he gestured at the apron. “When this slave first started at the restaurant, it was as mistress described: slaves wore nothing but a collar and a smile.”

Wanda looked over at Jane, who clamped her lips into a thin line and gave a slight shake of her head.

“Well, thank you Christian, you’ve been very helpful,” Wanda said, picking up a menu. “Anything on special tonight?”

————————————————————————

“…so any tips are supposed to be deposited into an account for when the slave is freed,” Wanda explained. “I don’t think it happens all the time - restaurant management is a slimy business - but HCI manages to keep these guys more honest than most.”

“Regular audits, from what I hear,” Cassie added, “by slave accountants who get time off their service if they find wrongdoing.”

The trio made their way leisurely through the food Christian brought them, conversing as they went. Jane still couldn’t quite believe what she had seen, much less what she was hearing.

“Slave accountants?” She said. “Like, CPAs? Seriously?”

“Well, not CPAs, obviously, although some might have been when they were free,” Wanda answered. “But yes, they’re called Extraordinary Talent slaves, because they possess some skill or knowledge or ability that makes them uniquely valuable.”

“Beyond just their bodies,” Cassie added.

“That said, sometimes even ordinary slaves are bought for their abilities,’ Wanda continued. “Janey, you remember Russ?”

Jane chewed while she contemplated.

“Oh yeah, he helped you re-route that sewer line in unit three. Is he a slave?”

“He used to be,” Wanda replied. “Damn fine plumber and pipe fitter, but his business ran into trouble, he got behind on his support payments and his ex-wife - who, honestly, sounds like a copper-bottomed bitch if there ever was one - declined to give him a chance to catch up and filed on him. Next thing he knows, he’s in a collar and on his way to the slave market, classified as a general labor slave. His plumbing license saved his ass, literally - one of the guys over at AAAA Services got word of what happened and scooped him up at the auction.”

“I wonder how that happened?" Cassie said, smiling at Wanda, who looked away, her face a mask of neutrality. "Anyway, his ex-wife got his slave sale price, the proceeds from sale of his business, tools and personal belongings, and a portion of any wages earned by him on behalf of AAAA were garnished for three years,” Cassie continued, reaching for the breadstick basket. “She made out pretty well in the short term, but after his indenture was up he was released from all debts and obligations, including support payments. Some guys call it ‘Three and Free’.”

Jane honestly hadn’t even thought about male slavery until this evening. A cute boy like Christian she could see, but Russell? He was old enough to be her father! She tried to imagine him, balding and a little paunchy, naked and collared with his dad ‘stache, standing on the auction block, and couldn’t do it.

Time to change the subject.

“So Cassie,” Jane said, “You never told me that you’d been a slave handler?”

“Yes,” Cassie said. “Licensed and bonded, no less.” She looked at Wanda, then back at Jane and gave Jane her sad smile. “I actually worked for HCI, at this very branch.”

“Really?” Jane exclaimed. “What did you do?”

“I mostly worked in the grading department,” Cassie said, “directing women who were there to be graded through each step of the process. I sometimes picked up shifts in other areas, like intake and kenneling.”

Over the course of their meal, Cassie explained how she had gotten into slave handling via an internship, which had led to an offer to become full-time; she had worked there for two years while going to college, and had eventually taken advantage of an HCI program that let her get her state license which they paid for; she mostly handled female gradees and slaves, only occasionally handling males.

“I have to ask,” Jane said, her cheeks red and her voice somewhat strained, “Did you ever have sex with any slaves?”

Cassie and Wanda both chuckled.

“Of course, dummy!” Cassie teased. “That’s kinda the biggest perk, and since I’m bisexual my options were unlimited. I had sex with young females right out of high school, females old enough to be my mom, older males, younger males, athletes, criminals, minor celebrities — it was a hell of a way to make a living, that’s for sure.”

“Really? You really did that?” Jane said, her voice raising an octave; she cleared her throat. “I thought that only happened in books and tube shows. What was it like? You know, telling someone to have sex with you and they can’t say no?”

“I’m not going to lie to you: it’s pretty awesome,” Cassie said, with Wanda snickering next to her. “Sometimes the new, untrained ones — especially the ones who were taken by surprise — would be reluctant, but as a handler I had the power to compel them in any way I wished. That could be anything from removing certain privileges, to placing them in restrictive, uncomfortable bondage, to physically punishing them. There were limits, of course, didn’t want to damage the merchandise after all, but I always got what I wanted.”

A gleam of something, Jane wasn’t sure exactly what, flashed briefly in Cassie’s eyes.

“Let’s say it’s male, like our little buddy Christian. He’d most likely be in one of the overnight kennels, so I’d just walk inside. He would automatically get on his knees when I entered — if he didn’t, he’d quickly wish he had — so I’d just sit down on a bench and tell him to shuffle on over. You don’t want to ask him anything, you tell slaves what to do. Never let them think they have a choice.”

Cassie took a sip of water and continued: “If he just sits there and stares at me, I’d pull out my electric prod and give it a quick trigger tap, those things make an impressive arc of electricity that snaps the slave out of whatever mental state they’re in. If not, I’d run the tip of the prod down his chest to his belly and stop right above his dick, and tap the forks on his skin — I don’t remember anyone not getting the hint after that.”

“So he’d shuffle over, and I’d put a leash on him not so much to control him — I mean, he’s in a locked cage, where’s he gonna go? — but for two reasons: first, it reinforces our positions (especially his) in his mind, and second, it makes it easier to lead him exactly where I want him to go. Most males are shit at eating pussy, so they need plenty of guidance.”

Jane blushed even harder, and her breathing was getting heavier. She glanced at Wanda, who was drinking iced tea; Wanda winked at her.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Jane said, “But a quick question: you keep calling them ‘males’ and ‘females’ instead of ‘men’ and ‘women.’ Is that deliberate?”

“Free persons are ‘men’ and ‘women,’” Cassie replied. “Slaves are slaves. Broadly speaking they come in three varieties: male, female, and other. It’s part of the lingo — if you meet any other pro slavers, you’ll see that they do it too.”

“Like I was saying,” Cassie continued, “I’d tell him to unbuckle my belt and take down my pants, and do it quick.” Cassie snickered. “That’s one of my favorite parts, adding stress to an already stressful situation. The implication is that if they take too long, I’ll be unhappy and I’ll punish them, but they don’t know exactly what quick means — is it a few seconds? A minute? Two minutes? — so they fumble like crazy to get it done as fast as possible, and almost always mess up something so that I can say ’Strike One.’ That really gets into their heads.”

“Unless they’re from somewhere other than the Western Hemisphere or Japan, I’m guessing,” Wanda interjected, “In which case they wouldn’t get the expression.”

Cassie rolled her eyes exaggeratedly at Wanda, then smiled and laughed. “Thank you, Miss I-Read-Wikipedia-On-The-Toilet,” she said, then turned back to Jane. “Then there’s the Moment of Truth. Most of the slaves you meet in a market are first-timers, untrained, inexperienced, and the reality of their new place in the world hasn’t fully hit them yet. So they hesitate - they almost always do. I like to ask myself why? Is it because they don’t want to go down on me because they’re ’straight’ females —“ she waggled her fingers in the air like quotation marks, “—which is hysterical because slaves do not get to be straight or gay or bi or anything else, they’re whatever a free person wants them to be at that moment. Or maybe they’re hesitating because they don’t want to perform a sex act on some stranger, like they’re still free and have a choice? Or maybe it’s something else? So I always make them tell me—“

“Sweetheart,” Wanda said, placing a hand on top of Cassie’s arm. “As you can tell,” Wanda said, turning to Jane, “being a slave handler was something she was passionate about. That’s why I asked you to come here tonight, so Cassie can show you around the place, tell you about what it’s like to be a slave, and maybe suggest some things.”

Cassie had fallen silent, staring at her water glass. Wanda squeezed Cassie’s arm, and she looked up at Jane with that beautiful sad smile.

“It’s true,” she said with a sigh. “I miss it, so when I talk about it I can get carried away. But let’s finish eating so I can show you around!”

“In my humble opinion,” Cassie continued, “I’m an excellent guide for someone new to HCI; both since I used to work here, and then because I was processed through there.”

————————————————————————

Jane nearly choked on her food, but recovered fast enough that she made it look like a cough.

“When you say ‘processed,’” Jane asked, “What exactly does that mean?”

Cassie’s smile faded, but Wanda started rubbing her forearm and said, “Go on, you knew this was going to come up, it had to, you just ripped off the Band-Aid like we discussed. Tell it like we went over it on the way here.”

Cassie sighed, then leaned over and kissed Wanda on the cheek. “You’re right, honey — no secrets, no shame.”

“‘Processed’,” Cassie said, returning her gaze to Jane, “Is the term we use for when a slave is inducted into a market, especially for the first time, and is put through a process that includes identification, examination, hygiene, and other procedures in preparation for sale.”

Cassie drew in a deep breath, then let it out.

“In other words,” she said, “I was a slave.”

“Oh my god,” Jane said, reaching across the table and taking Cassie’s hand. “I’m so sorry I asked, I didn’t mean—“

“No, sweetie, it’s not a problem and you have nothing to apologize for,” Cassie said, her smile becoming less sad as she went on. “I’m committed to radical honesty, as part of my program.”

“You’re doing great,” Wanda said, gently.

“Jane, my name is Cassidy, and I am an alcoholic,” Cassie said, sounding almost cheerful. “I’ve been sober for three years, ten months and nineteen days. It was drinking that led to my enslavement: I sometimes liked to drive when I’d had too much. I eventually caused a serious car crash that totaled three vehicles and sent several people to the hospital. It’s a miracle I didn’t kill anyone. I was sentenced to two years of indentured service - I had a pretty good lawyer - with the proceeds of my sale going to the persons I’d injured. I was stripped and collared inside the courtroom, branded with a circle star, then taken here to be sold. It was… very, very unpleasant.”

“Oh, Cassie,” Jane said, “That had to have been the worst day of your life.”

“If the day I was processed was the worst day of my life,” Cassie continued, “The second-worst day was the following one, when I went up on the auction block.” She looked down at her plate, then back up at Jane and smiled. “Let’s get out of here, shall we? I’d rather be a tour guide tonight.”

[Belinda]

So wonderful so exciting so well written. You have so pulled me in I just can't wait for the next segment.

Yours truly,

Belinda

[gentlemanmariner]

Thanks Belinda! I'm so glad you're enjoying it

[Jim927]

I agree with Belinda. This is very well written. You keep adding these twists that I don’t see coming. I love it.
Jim