StripSearch

The Journey to the Mainland

In the morning, Carla felt as if she hadn’t slept at all. The light seeped through the bars of her cage as the guard came in and tossed cardboard boxes with foil-wrapped burritos and water bottles into their cells.

Carla opened hers and felt the warm wrapper against her skin.

“Where will they take us?” she asked the other two.

Kofi chewed slowly. “The mainland… Labor farms, mines—hard work. Normally we’d go to prison. But with the ‘Investment Act’ they are putting more people in prison. Gets expensive. So they decided to make us slaves and work.”

Musa snorted, and added, “And they send us to the mainland because they think open slavery will spook investors. Naked slaves sully their precious image,” while staring at Carla’s breasts.

Carla’s skin crawled, her hands twitching to cover herself. She was annoyed that he could just stare at her goods at will. She wondered if he was doing it to find enjoyment. So she looked at his penis to check if he was aroused. His penis was flaccid, but Musa had noticed her glance. He grinned at her. Carla was annoyed that this guy would flatter himself to think she had nothing better to do than check out his penis. She really had more pressing problems right now.

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Shortly after, a guard entered, with a long chain rattling in his hands.

He approached Kofi’s cell. The iron door creaked as he unlocked it. With a swift motion, he snapped handcuffs around the prisoner’s wrists, then fastened the chain to the D-ring of his collar. Then he did the same with Musa.

Finally, the guard turned to Carla’s cage. By now, the routine was clear. She sighed, and turned, offering the guard her hands for cuffing behind her back. The cuffs snapped shut around her wrists. He guided her back to the others, and locked her collar’s D-ring to the coffle chain with a metallic click.

The guard took the lead and moved forward. Carla felt a tug on her neck as the chain pulled taut, as he led them out of the room. Their bare feet scuffed the floor as they followed him.

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The guard led Carla and the two men out of the jail’s dim interior. The heavy door groaned as it swung open, spilling them into a dusty backyard parking lot bathed in the harsh midday sun.

Carla felt the hot outside air against her skin as if she was walking against a wall. As the coffle chain pulled her further out, she felt the warm rays of the sun against her bare skin and the warmth of the cracked asphalt under her feet.

The guard led them outside into a dusty backyard lot.

She anxiously looked around as she stepped out, trying to spot people who would see her naked. She hoped there would be no one, but at least no one she knew. She was afraid that Tara, or someone from Celtic Circuits might be there for some reason and would see her like this.

Or maybe the beach shower guy was lurking here. Now he could see her naked. Had he orchestrated this, using Grabesh’s corrupt courts to deliver her straight to him, naked and chained? Would he be waiting for her, wherever it was that she would be delivered?

She scanned the dusty parking lot frantically. Her heart was pounding, but all she saw was a battered pickup and a worker unloading cartons. His eyes traced her form before turning away.



The guard halted at the pickup truck. He nodded to a large man approaching from the pickup with a lazy grin.

“Hey Dongo,” the guard greeted. His tone was brisk as he handed over the coffle chain with a metallic clink. “Here is your cargo.”

Dongo took the chain. He didn’t pay much attention to the two young men with her on the coffle chain. Instead, his eyes lingered on Carla with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

“Oh, a white girl! How rare!” he exclaimed. His gaze swept over her exposed curves before unlocking the trailer’s gate with a rusty key.

The guard nodded, “Yeah, she came in yesterday evening unexpectedly.”

Dongo guided the coffle toward the trailer, opened the back gate and fastened the chain to one of the bars of the trailer from the inside with a padlock.

Carla was now chained to the trailer with the other two.

The guard unlocked their handcuffs.

“In with you,” Dongo said, ushering them inside with a wave. He smiled at Carla as she passed him to climb into the cage.

She was the last to get in and heard the gate clang shut behind her as she sat on the wooden floor. Carla looked around. The cage was empty except for them. The bars now framed her view of the parking lot with Dongo and guard outside.

The guard waved, “Safe travels, Dongo.”

Dongo leaned against the trailer and squinted at the sky.

“Alright,” he said, looking at his involuntary passengers in the confines of the trailer cage. “Looks like a nice day today, huh?”

The pickup lurched onto a potholed road, each bump yanking the coffle, forcing Carla to brace against the bars.

Through the gaps, she saw the roads and houses on the island as they drove along the coast.

Carla knelt up and moved to the bars on the other side of the cage to get a better view of the beach. The coffle chain was long enough, but she had to turn the collar locked on her neck so the D-ring was on her backside. She knelt up and held the bars to look out. This proved too painful on her knees soon, so she knelt down and looked out as the scenery passed by them.

Eventually, the truck slowed to stop at a dock.

Through the bars, Carla’s eyes darted across the dock, searching for any familiar face who might see her like this. Someone like Tara to make sure she was being dealt with or that man from the beach. What if he had followed her, so he could see her now, naked and caged? Her breath hitched, as she grabbed the bars uselessly, stressed out under imagined eyes.

A dockworker was tossing crates nearby paused to skim Carla’s body. As their eyes met, he smiled at her. Then he resumed his work. A man on a motorcycle paused before the trailer. He resembled the beach shower guy, and Carla shrank back from the bars and turned away. Her nakedness felt like a beacon designed to draw stares, and she just couldn’t switch it off.

After a short wait, they rolled onto a weathered ferry’s deck and parked there.

Carla had a good view of the ferry and the ocean beyond, only tainted by the bars of her cage.

The ferry’s engine rumbled to life. She felt the vibrations through her bones. The trailer rocked with the waves, as Carla clung to the bars, watching the Kivana Islands’ familiar shore, palm-fringed beaches and whitewashed buildings, fade into the distance.

After a short time, the mainland emerged. Carla saw its white sand beach glistening through the bars of their cage. There were mud huts dotting the port, and dense jungle up to the horizon. She felt the sea breeze against her skin, and it felt strange to sense it tease her uncovered breasts and vagina, as the ferry cut through the water.

The driver, Dongo, a middle-aged Grabesian with a lazy grin and a sun-weathered face, climbed out of the cab to stretch his legs. He wandered over to the trailer, his eyes lighting on Carla with a mix of curiosity and casual interest.

“This is a first,” he said, his voice carrying over the waves with amusement in his tone. “A white girl in the cage! First time I’ve seen that on this route. What’d you do to end up here?”

Carla met his gaze through the bars, her cheeks burning. “Nothing,” she muttered. The chain tugged at her collar as she shifted. “I shouldn’t be here. I was framed.”

Dongo chuckled, “Of course!” He wiped sweat from his brow.

“Where are we going?”

“To the mainland. You’re in luck! You’re going to a tourist resort. It’s really nice there. You’ll love it!”

“I could easily do without it.”

“Fair enough. But I like longer tours like this. Away from the wife’s nagging, pleasant views of the sea. Grabesh’s nature looks nice from a distance, eh?”

He leaned against the trailer, “You’ll see the real jungle soon. Wild, but beautiful. My dad used to take me there as a kid. You’ll see. It’s great.”

Carla doubted she would find it great. The view was magnificent, she had to give Dongo that. If she had been free, instead of in a cage on wheels like a zoo exhibit, she might have enjoyed this view. Dongo could have at least let them out of the cage during the trip, so she could stand up and stretch for a change. And didn’t have to see all this nature through the bars of her cage.

The ferry docked with a jolt, and Dongo returned to his cab. The truck rumbled onto the mainland road, and the rain began.

The cage offered no protection from the elements, and so Carla just sat there and felt the raindrops hit her, drench her hair and run down her skin. Raindrops also bounced off from the bars of the cage and hit her from the side.

The rain splashed up from the cage floor, and she felt it prickle her thighs and vagina from below. It felt very awkward and unsettlingly intimate, so she shifted from her cross-legged position by straightening her legs.

She looked over to Kofi and Musa who just sat there stoically. Musa sensed her gaze, looked over to her and shrugged.

To her left she saw Dongo’s silhouette sitting dry in his cabin. She shivered and leaned back against the bars as the jungle passed by her.

Through the rain-streaked view, primitive settlements occasionally flashed by. Mud huts with thatched roofs, more rugged than Kivana’s attempts at presenting a modern facade. Naked, collared black slaves toiled in the fields. Their dark skin gleamed under the downpour. Sometimes one of them looked up, and their eyes briefly met hers. She saw a naked woman carrying sacks. The woman didn’t notice her, but Carla felt a bit of solidarity with her.

Carla’s hand moved up and traced her collar. She thought about how she was one of them now, a slave. But she didn’t see any other white slave. She sighed and thought how no other white girl had been stupid enough to get herself into this kind of trouble. Her friends would have kept their mouth shut in the same situation and just enjoyed their time working on the island.

The bumps shook her in the cage, her body aching from the strain. As her bare skin prickled under the rain, and she felt the cool steel of the collar resting on her neck, she wondered what awaited her at the end of the trip.

Bako’s Barn

Finally, after hours of driving, the livestock trailer shuddered to a halt. The iron bars creaked as the pickup’s engine sputtered out. Carla slumped against the cold metal. Sweat slicked her naked body. She felt miserable: Her limbs ached, the steel collar chafed her neck, and the coffle chain kept tugging at the collar, making her feel even more trapped. The humid air with its unwashed stench made her feel nauseous.

Kofi and Musa panted beside her. Their dark skin was beaded with sweat in the cramped cage as well. The afternoon sun shone through the bars.

Boots crunched on the dusty ground outside. The gate swung open with a groan, and Dongo stepped forward. His sun-weathered face carried a lazy grin.

The coffle chain clinked as he unlocked it from the latch.

“End of the line! Ding, Ding! Ding!” He said, chuckling, as he tugged the chain like a leash.

Carla stumbled to her feet in the cage. She hesitated to put her bare soles on the warm, pebbled earth of the sprawling farmstead. She was careful to scan for sharp stones or twigs, but Dongo’s pull of the chain yanked her forward, and forced her to step onto the gritty ground. A pebble bit into her heel, a sharp “Ouch!” escaped her, and she flinched, as her step faltered.

The chain jerked again as it pulled at her collar. She felt a sharp sting against her throat. She cried another “Ouch!” and followed Dongo. She grabbed the chain at her collar to dampen these shocks.

Kofi and Musa shuffled behind. Their feet seemed to be tougher and unfazed by the uneven terrain. Beyond the trailer, a weathered barn loomed. Its red paint was peeling, the pens were alive with bleating goats and scratching chickens. The air carried the smell of manure and hay.

A stocky man in his fifties with a straw hat and overalls stained with dirt approached. His round face lit up with a warm smile and twinkling eyes. He carried a thin wooden stick tucked under his arm.

“Well, now, what a fine batch!” he said and clapped his hands.

“Are you Bako?” Dongo asked.

“Yep, that’s me! Bako, trusted reseller for the Grabesh Ministry of Justice. At your service.” He laughed and turned to Dongo, who handed over a crumpled paper, chuckling.

“Three slaves, Bako. One white, a rare one. Ministry says move ’em quick.”

After Bako scribbled his signature, his eyes flicked to Carla, and he appraised her pale skin with a nod.

“Nice. She’ll pull a crowd!” He said and winked at her.

Carla averted her eyes. Bako’s wink sent an unwelcome prickle across her bare skin. Her stomach twisted at the thought of crowds leering at her pale skin and red hair like some exotic animal, but she bit her lip and swallowed the sharp retort that bubbled up within her. Defiance wouldn’t help here, she decided. She felt her nipples tighten against the humid breeze.

Dongo tipped his cap, climbed into the pickup, and rumbled off, leaving Carla and the others on Bako’s chain.

Bako tugged the coffle gently, while he swung the stick lightly in his other hand.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he said with a cheerful voice.

Carla stepped cautiously. Her toes curled to avoid a jagged twig. A stone pressed into her arch, and she gasped as she stumbled. The chain yanked her collar as it snapped tight, forcing her to step forward. Pain shot through her sole, and she bit her lips, as her bare feet stung with each step across the pebbled yard.

Bako glanced back, chuckling softly.

“New to bare feet, eh? Don’t worry, they’ll toughen up soon enough. It‘s actually healthy to walk barefoot.”

He led them to a fenced yard beside the barn, where he grabbed a hose with a dripping nozzle that was coiled on a post.

“Stand against the wall, all of you,” Bako ordered, gesturing to the rough wooden fence with his free hand. “Spread out as far as the chain lets you.”

Carla felt the coffle tug as they shuffled into position. They spaced themselves out awkwardly along the fence into a line.

“Now, feet apart, hands behind your head,” he added, his tone casual but firm. “Let’s get you clean.”

Carla obeyed. Her bare feet slid apart, her hands locked behind her head, exposing her front fully to him. The cold blast from the hose hit her chest first. It hit her sweaty skin and washed away the grime and bits of straw that clung to her. She gasped as her arms jerked instinctively. Bako swept the spray downward, directing it over her lower regions with deliberate thoroughness.

“Turn around,” Bako said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “Backs to me.”

Carla hesitated, then turned, the coffle chain twisting around her neck as she moved, pulling her closer to Kofi with a sharp tug. Not this too. Her breath hitched, the steel collar biting into her throat, amplifying her shame. Like a damn animal on a leash. Her hands darted to the collar. She fumbled with trembling fingers, grabbing the collar to twist it, unwinding the chain to ease the pull. Then she placed her hands behind her head again.

Kofi and Musa did the same with their own collars to avoid being pulled by the chain.

“Hands behind your head!” Bako reminded them. “And feet apart!”

Now facing the fence, her backside was exposed. Carla felt the cold hose blast hit her shoulders. The water poked her body, then cascaded down her spine over her bare curves.

Bako’s thorough spray left no inch untouched as he guided its spray over their bodies with unhurried precision.

“Now bend forward, all of you,” Bako ordered, his voice steady. “Spread your cheeks, let’s make sure you’re clean.”

Carla’s stomach churned, fury blazing inside. This was beyond degrading. But she complied, bending forward, her hands reaching back to part her buttocks, her face burning with humiliation as the cold spray hit the exposed area. The water poking with invasive precision. How did she manage to end up like this, she seethed.

“Stand up, turn around,” Bako said, his tone unchanged.

Carla straightened, turning to face him, the chain tugging slightly as she moved, and she turned the collar to relieve the chain’s tension. Bako’s eyes scanned them, pausing on Carla.

“You, redhead, your hair’s a mess. Bend forward again, toss it over your head.”

Carla began to bend straight forward, but the coffle chain pulled tight, making the collar dig into the right side of her neck. It forced her to twist left toward Kofi. Damn this chain. She tossed her damp red hair forward.

Bako turned the hose on, spraying through her hair, the cold water soaking her scalp. “Massage it,” he said. “Get the dirt out.”

Her fingers worked through her hair, rubbing out grit, the water dripping down her face as she fought the urge to snap back. Bako shut off the hose.

“Stand up,” he said. Carla rose, arranging her hair behind her, wringing it out with quick twists, water splashing onto the gritty ground.

Water dripped down Kofi and Musa. Their dark skin gleamed, and their faces were tight from the chill. Bako hummed a tune as he swept the hose once again over their naked bodies with practiced movements.

“All shiny now,” Bako said as she shut off the hose. He stepped closer. His fingers brushed Carla’s shoulder. She realized that he was checking her for dirt. His eyes flicked to Kofi and Musa. It lingered on their soft frames, their slack bellies from their desk jobs and their shoulders unhardened by labor. His smile faltered for a moment, before it widened with a practiced grin.

“Not the burliest lot, but no worry! There’s always a buyer for every kind of stock.”

He smiled, and his eyes were warm, but Carla was confused about how he managed to make her feel less human despite his kindness.

Bako tugged the chain to lead them into the barn. Carla’s feet stung on the pebbled path. He tapped the stick tapping lightly against his thigh as they walked. The air inside smelled like hay and animal musk, dim light filtered through the cracked slats of the barn. Stalls lined the walls, some holding goats, others occupied by a handful of collared slaves: men and women, their dark skin glistening with sweat, all chained by their collars to the walls. A lean black woman with sharp eyes met Carla’s gaze. Her lips twitched in a fleeting nod of shared plight.

Bako unhooked her from the coffle. He took a short chain coiled around a solid wooden beam of the stall, its end looped back on itself and secured with a padlock.

Bako took a padlock out of his pocket. He used it to fasten the stall’s chain to her collar’s D-ring. Carla’s stomach twisted as she heard the metallic click locking her in place, restricting her to a scant few feet of the stall’s confines.

“Settle in, dear,” he said with a warm voice. He gave her butt a light slap on his way out.

Carla’s body tensed as she sank onto the straw-covered floor. She glanced at Kofi and Musa in the adjacent stalls. Their weary eyes met hers. The open stalls offered no privacy. Their bodies were exposed to each other and the barn’s dim light.

Goats bleated nearby, mingling with the soft clinks of the other slaves’ chains.

Carla felt the chain tugging as she curled into the straw. Her feet throbbed from the walk over the hard pebbles. Her mind churned with suppressed anger at what they had done to her. She should never have applied for this job. Then this would have never happened. She would be at home in her cushy bed without a collar chained to a barn stall. She wondered what tomorrow’s market would be like.

Curious about her new limits, she stood up fully, but the chain tugged her collar downward, forcing her to step closer to the wooden beam, further from the stall’s entrance, to straighten her posture. The beam was waist-high, the chain’s length mocking her with its restrictions. How far can I even go? She turned toward the entrance, trying to edge closer, but the chain yanked her down, compelling her to lower herself. On all fours, she crawled forward, feeling the gritty straw scraping her knees and palms, while her breasts swayed with each crawl forward, until the chain went taut just short of the entrance. She stretched out a hand, fingers straining, but couldn’t quite reach the edge. Her other hand gripped the chain near the beam, pulling futilely, the metal unyielding.

The feeling of being chained sunk in, the utter helplessness, like a kinky game gone horribly wrong. If there were a safeword, she would say it now. But this wasn’t play; it was real, her naked body trapped in a barn stall like an animal, with no escape until Bako or someone else came to unchain her. Panic clawed at her chest. She had never been chained to anything in her life.

Kofi slumped against his stall’s wall, his voice low. “This is how it is, Carla. We’re just stock to them, chained and sold.”

Musa nodded. His usual smirk was absent. “Get comfy, white girl. We’re no better than the barn’s pigs now.”

Carla’s skin prickled as the other slaves—three men and two women, chained in nearby stalls—introduced themselves. They’d been in the labor program less than a week, working Bako’s farm under his or his son’s watch, furious they could be turned into slaves like this as citizens as part of the new labor program. Her heart raced as she heard about their shared plight.

As night fell, the barn’s single bulb flickered on, casting long shadows across the stalls. Carla lay on the hard ground. Her head lay close to the waist-high beam to which she was chained. Her chain hung down and curled loosely beside her. Every shift on the hard floor sent the cold metal slither across her bare skin, clinking softly as it tangled in her movements. The animal noises were a harsh lullaby. Her body ached, and her mind was busy with memories of Dublin’s rainy streets, so distant from her world now.

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Morning broke, and Carla woke up at the first sign of light. She had thought that she would not be able to sleep at all with the feeling of being chained by the neck like this, and lying on the hard boards of the stall. There was some hay, but that was not nearly enough to make it soft.

But she had barely slept at the jail the previous night, and so had quickly fallen asleep despite being chained by her neck in a barn stall.

She raised her head and looked around with her chain clinking. The others were still sleeping.

Carla pulled at her chain again as if to check that it was still fastened to the wooden beam. She couldn’t believe that she had slept chained in a stall like this.

She wondered what the day would bring. A market had been mentioned. That she would be “sold.” She tried to imagine what this would be like, but she had no reference to go by. She didn’t want to be sold, but she also didn’t want to continue living in a barn like this.

There was nothing she could do, so she lay back down and tried to sleep again.

She woke again as she heard footsteps approaching. A boy of about ten years entered, a full plastic bag swinging in his hand. He strode past each stall, tossing food at their entrances.

At Carla’s stall, he dropped a burrito, a banana, and a water bottle onto the ground at the entrance, the burrito speckled with dirt and straw. She looked up at him and their eyes met. His were filled with curiosity and hers with incredulity at this situation.

After a night’s sleep, her nakedness felt raw again. She squeezed her thighs shut and crossed her ankles tightly. Her breasts pressing against her knees as she tried to hide her vulnerability.

“Good morning,” the boy said, his tone casual, before turning to the next stall.

Carla’s annoyance surged, but her stomach growled, demanding relief. She shifted to all fours, and crawled to the entrance to get the food, feeling the straw on her palms and knees.

The noise roused Kofi and Musa, who stirred, their eyes flicking to her before they crawled to their own stall entrances, grabbing their burritos, bananas, and water bottles. The other slaves, hardened to the barn’s routine, slept longer but soon woke, quietly taking their food to eat.

Carla snatched the burrito, brushing off the dirt with quick, frustrated swipes, and retreated back to the beam. The juicy meat, tangy tomatoes, and crisp salad filled her mouth, a brief pleasure that couldn’t mask the humiliation of her chained state. As she ate, she watched the boy move on, tossing fodder to the goats and chickens in their pens.

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Later the boy returned to prepare them for the march. He started with the other slaves, ordering them one by one into a “submissive position.” Carla watched from her stall, the chain limiting her view, as the first slave lay down on the floor, front first, and crossed his arms behind his back. The boy entered the stall, kneeling to snap handcuffs around the slave’s wrists.

He moved methodically from stall to stall, repeating the process. By the time he reached Carla’s stall, she knew what was expected. “Submissive position,” he said in a casual tone.

Carla’s stomach twisted, but she complied. She lowered herself to the straw-covered floor. Her naked body pressed front first against the rough boards as she crossed her arms behind her back. The boy stepped in, his small hands quick as he clicked the handcuffs shut around her wrists, the cold metal biting into her skin.

He left without a word, and Carla lay there, the chain still tethering her collar to the beam, her hands now bound behind her. The position left her utterly helpless, her breasts pushing against the floor, the straw prickling her skin. She tested the cuffs, twisting her wrists, but they held firm. She was annoyed and wondered how long she would be left here like this.

“What’s going on?” she whispered to Musa in the adjacent stall, her voice muffled against the ground.

Musa shrugged, his own hands cuffed behind him. “We’re slaves, white girl. We do as we’re told, no questions. That’s the way it is.”

The boy returned with a long coffle chain. He started with Carla. He locked one end to her collar’s D-ring, the click echoing in the stall, then unlocked her from the beam. She rose awkwardly, her hands still cuffed behind her back, the new chain heavy on her neck.

One by one, he did the same with the others, attaching them to the coffle until they were all linked, hands bound behind their backs.

The boy took the coffle’s lead and guided them out of the barn, lining them up against the rough wooden fence in the fenced yard.

“Stand still,” the boy said, grabbing the hose. He turned it on, the cold spray blasting over their naked bodies once more, washing away the night’s grime to freshen them for the market. Carla shivered under the water and felt her skin prickle.

The boy shut off the hose and walked away, leaving them dripping against the rough wooden fence. Carla’s hands, cuffed tightly behind her back, ached as the coffle chain held her in place, linking her to Kofi, Musa, and the others who stood motionless in the dawn light. Water trickled down her body, pooling at her bare feet. What now? She tugged at the cuffs, the metal biting her wrists, but she couldn’t step away from the coffle, so she stood there and waited.

“What’s going on?” she whispered, her voice low, glancing at Kofi and Musa.

One of the other slaves’ eyes flicked to her, weary but calm. “Market soon. They always clean us up first.”

Musa nodded, his tone flat. “Just wait, white girl. They’ll come for us.”

Carla frowned, her heart raced. Left alone like this? The absence of supervision felt odd, a fleeting chance for escape. She scanned the yard, mind racing—could they run, slip the chain somehow? But the cuffs dug into her wrists, and the coffle’s heavy links bound them together, each slave’s stillness a chain as real as the metal. Can’t move, can’t do anything.

She stood with the others, waiting, her bare skin prickling under the humid air while the water trickled down her spine, between her butt cheeks down to a little puddle forming at her feet. Dread pooled in her gut for what the market would bring.

Inspected and Owned

The minutes dragged on until Bako’s boots crunched on the path. He returned with his son, each of them was pulling a cart loaded with produce from the farm: yams, mangoes, and bundled herbs were stacked high on them for the market.

Bako took the coffle lead and hooked it to his son’s cart with a carabiner. Carla was at the front of the coffle. She stared at the carabiner hooking the coffle chain to the cart. With her hands cuffed behind her back, she might still be able to awkwardly turn and fumble to unhook the coffle. But this would be slow and tedious, and Bako or his son would notice. And even if she did manage to unhook the carabiner, she would still be locked to the coffle chain, unable to run away while chained to the others. She would be punished for that and accomplish nothing.

The son went first. His small frame strained, but he steadily pulled his cart forward. Bako walked behind him with a thin rod in his hand. Carla suspected it was to ensure their compliance if there were problems, but she was in no mood to find out. His smile held a trace of warmth, but his eyes sized them up like market wares.

“Time to move, my lot,” he said with a showman’s cheer. The coffle chain clinked lightly as it pulled them forward. Carla stumbled forward and walked with her bare feet on the cool, gritty path.

The trail wound through groves, until the dirt path gave way to coarse sand that felt soft under her feet. Her moist red hair clung to her skin, and she drew looks from villagers carrying early market baskets who curiously looked at her walking in the morning light. Carla tried to ignore them as the chain led her forward by her collar. Musa and Kofi walked behind her. They seemed to be dealing with bare foot walking better than her. The same with the others, three male and two female slaves. They all appeared to be able to keep the pace without much effort.

The march felt endless to Carla, though it was probably just half an hour. Then she began to hear the market’s distant hum grow louder. It was the sound of voices and clattering stalls. The path curled and the market came into view. Carla’s feet ached. The chain’s slight slack allowed her a quick glance back. She saw Musa, his jaw tight, and Kofi, who nodded to her as if to confirm that this was where they were heading. The others trudged in silence.

Carla’s mind drifted to Dublin’s rainy streets, so far from this sunlit ordeal. She wished she could just wake up from this like a bad dream and be back in Dublin.

The market unfolded before them, a bustle of color and noise. Stalls brimmed with yams and mangoes, vendors calling over the squawk of penned chickens. The air carried roasted spices and the smells of warm food. Bako led them to a wooden stall with a crossbeam from which chains hung down.

“Here we are,” he said, his voice loud with pride. He unlocked Carla from the coffle and guided her under one of the dangling chains. He unlocked one of Carla’s wrists and cuffed her hands before her. Then, he raised her hands and attached her handcuffs to one of the chains hanging down above her.

Carla stood straight, with her arms raised above her. Her breasts lifted to the gazes of passers-by.

One by one, he detached the other slaves from the coffle and strung them up in the same way, until all six of them stood next to each other, presented to potential buyers.

Bako moved to the adjacent stall to pile up the yams, mangoes and other produce from the carts on rough wooden display tables while his son neatly arranged the herb bundles.

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The market buzzed with vendors hawking yams and clucking chickens, the humid air thick with roasted spices. Carla stood with her bare feet on the ground. Her wrists ached in the handcuffs that were chained to the crossbeam overhead to hold her arms up. Sweat trickled down her spine. She twisted her hips, trying to shield her breasts and pubic hair from the locals’ eyes, but the chains held her in place and her awkward movements only drew more curious looks. So Carla gave up, stood straight and faced forward, in an effort to not be noticed.

Carla felt her heart pound when locals approached her.

A man dug his fingers into her thighs as if to test their strength for labor. The rough squeeze startled her, and she flinched, her eyes darted to his face, heart racing as she tried to guess his next move. The man moved on to the next slave, then continued strolling through the market.

Another gripped her shoulders, probing her muscles with hard presses that stung her pride. She tensed, breath catching, her gaze fixed on him, anticipating more intrusion, but he shifted to the next slave and quickly continued to adjacent stalls.

A middle-aged woman chatting with a friend looked at her with curiosity, then came closer.

She lifted Carla’s breasts, checking for firmness. The bold touch startled Carla. She jerked to shield herself, but the chains yanked her wrists, and she hissed as the metal bit into her wrists. She tried to back away, but the cuffs held her fast and she couldn’t leave her place.

Bako glanced over, noticing the commotion. “Sorry, she’s new to this,” he said, his voice smooth. “Only recently enslaved.” He gave Carla a stern look, his stick raised. She forced her body to relax, heart racing.

The woman combed through her red hair, traced her scalp, then ripped out a strand. The sharp tug seared her skin.

“Ouch!” Carla cried, outrage flaring. She jerked her arms, wanting to slap the woman, but the chains held her arms above her. She looked up and stared helplessly at her cuffed hands above. The woman sniffed the hair, pulled to test its strength, then nodded.

“Good roots,” she said to her friend. They moved to the black female slave to Carla’s right.

Beside her, Kofi and Musa hung in silence, their soft frames slack, while a lean black woman, the one she had noticed in Bako’s barn the previous day, stood chained to Carla’s right.

Eyes turned to them, drawn to Carla’s red hair and pale skin, a rarity in this sun-warmed place.

A man in a faded shirt stepped close. His fingers brushed over her arm, gave it a squeeze and pinched it a bit, as if testing its firmness. “A fine one,” he muttered. His gaze lingered on her curves.

An older woman, her basket heavy with fruit, grazed Carla’s thigh with a bold touch.

“Worth a good price,” she said to a friend, who nodded, staring at her hair.

Carla’s skin flushed under their scrutiny. Her heart pounded, but she raised her chin, meeting their eyes with a flicker of defiance.

Bako paced before the stall. He kept his rod tucked under his arm, his voice rose over the market’s clamor. “Look at them, young and healthy! Three new ones today. Good prices!”

“Good for light work,” one said.

“Maybe breeding,” another mused, as his fingers grazed her hip.

Carla flinched, she tried to twist away from their touches. But the chain held her in place.

Buyers’ eyes raked her, a woman with a basket pausing.

“White one’s new. Worth a look,” she said to a companion in a casual tone, as if she was picking out an exotic vegetable.

Carla glanced over to a nearby stall, where a vendor cut down strings of dried fish for a buyer. Naked slaves labored around the market, all black, naked and collared. Some were pulling carts loaded with goods, others scrubbing stall floors on all fours.

Carla’s eyes widened in shock as two naked men, chained to a U-shaped drawbar by their collars, pushed a primitive carriage past her. It was all so surreal. She couldn’t help but stare at their penises as if to make sure they really were naked. Her mind, overwhelmed by the chaotic events since her sentencing, now paused. Her Catholic upbringing had kept her from seeing many naked men in her life. Just a brief affair with a Dublin boyfriend out of curiosity to lose her virginity, not love, and her father as a little girl, which didn’t count. The carriage was piled with produce, a vendor perched atop, cracking a rod lazily. How can this be normal? She thought it was surreal to be just a few feet from these naked men, who were being used as beasts of burden.

The carriage rumbled by, vanishing into the crowd, leaving her heart pounding at the horrors she was witnessing before her.

A lean man in his late twenties approached. His dark eyes scanned the line. His faded shirt clung to his frame, a leather leash coiled in his hand. He paused before the black woman, glancing at her toned legs with a quick nod.

“Looks sturdy,” he muttered, his voice low. The man stepped closer to the woman, brushing her arm briefly. He lifted her collar, squinting at its inscription, then moved on without a word.

Bako sauntered over, his straw hat tilted, the wooden stick tucked under his arm.

“Interested, friend?” he asked cheerfully.

The man nodded.

“Yeah, I’m Juma. I need a female slave for long runs. That one looks like she’s got the legs for it.”

Bako grinned, rubbing his chin.

“She’s in for mouthing off to a local politician—repeat offender. Tough as nails. Two thousand.”

Juma’s eyes narrowed, his arms crossing.

“Two thousand? We’re running a business, Bako. Spend that much on slaves, and we’ll be outpriced quickly. Too steep.”

Bako’s smile widened, his gaze flicking to Carla.

“Fair point. How about this one? Fresh stock, sharp mind. Train her, she’ll keep up with the best. Two-year term for drug sales—hey, she’s already got experience delivering goods to paying customers,” he joked with a chuckle.

He gestured to Carla, her pale skin glowing under the sun, her red hair catching the light like a beacon. Carla’s lips tightened into a fleeting frown of mild indignation, her bare shoulders tensed under the chains hearing Bako’s words. But this was hardly the place to discuss her case.

Juma let out a warm chuckle at her defiant scowl, his eyes softening with a hint of fondness as the two men stepped before Carla to inspect her.

His gaze swept over her thin frame, lingering on her slender arms and narrow hips. He touched her arm. His fingers were warm and firm. He turned her slowly to check her back. Carla flinched, her cheeks flaming, the chain rattling as she tried to twist away.

Once again she cursed Tara inwardly for setting her up like this. It seemed hopeless: She didn’t want to be left here to be presented for sale every day in this market like this, but she also didn’t know if she should want anyone to ‘buy’ her. She felt the people’s stares pierce into her naked body strung up before them.

Juma parted her red hair, fingers scraping her scalp.

“Ouch!” She cried. The rough scratching stung. It seemed to Carla as if he was checking her for lice, and she cringed at the thought.

He scanned her body with his eyes, then grabbed her upheld arm to twist her around. His hands ran over her back, feeling for unevenness. The touch startled her. She tensed, shame burning her cheeks, puzzled by his actions.

Bako leaned in. “Good quality, huh? No scars! No brands or tattoos. Pure white skin like a baby, yours to do with as you please,” he said to Juma.

Juma nodded. “Very pristine, presentable to customers,” he said.

Carla’s heart sank as she overheard Bako. They could brand her? Dread gripped her at the thought of permanent marks on her skin.

Her focus was snapped back into the present as his fingers grabbed her breasts and pressed into them gently, apparently probing for lumps, the bold touch startling her.

“Hey,” Carla said, her voice quivering with uncertainty. She looked at him, heart racing. Juma met her gaze with an amused smile and a friendly chuckle.

Juma pried her lips to check her teeth, fingers forcing her jaw open.

“Unchain her arms, Bako,” he said. “Need to test for injuries.”

Bako unlocked her handcuffs. Carla sighed with relief as she was finally able to lower her arms. A sharp tingle surged through her numb limbs, as the blood rushed back like a flood of pins and needles, making her fingers twitch uncontrollably.

“Step forward and squat,” he ordered.

Carla froze, appalled at the command. Her eyes flicked to Bako. He stared at her, his stick gripped tight, expecting compliance. Fear of its sting on her naked skin surged through her. She looked back at Juma, her cheeks burning, stepped before him and squatted low. She looked up at him and rubbed her sore wrists.

“Stand up,” Juma said.

She rose and shielded her breasts and vagina with her trembling hands. Her skin felt hot.

“Touch your toes,” he ordered.

Carla glanced at Bako again, his stick a silent threat. Carla was indeed flexible enough to reach her toes, so she bent forward and stretched her bare body under this man’s scrutinizing eyes.

“Stay there,” Juma said.

He walked around her, inspecting slowly. From behind, he slapped her butt, the sharp sting making her flinch. “Looks good,” he said. He completed his circle, standing before her again.

“Stand upright,” he ordered.

Carla rose, her cheeks flushed, heart pounding. Satisfied, he met her eyes, voice softer.

Satisfied, Juma met her eyes, his voice softer. “You good at running, sports?”

Carla’s throat tightened, her voice barely a whisper.

“I don’t do sports.”

Juma glanced at Bako, raising an eyebrow. Bako sighed, his shoulders slumping theatrically.

“Fine, fifteen percent off total, but you’re carving into my profits, friend.”

Juma nodded, a faint smile breaking through.

“Two years?”

Bako nodded.

“Deal. I’ll take her.”

Bako clapped his hands, his grin returning. “Won’t regret it, Juma.”

Bako grabbed Carla’s wrists and snapped the cuffs back on with a casual flick. The metal bit her skin and her arms stretched taut as he hooked them to the overhead chain. They shook hands and stepped over to the adjacent stall to finalize their deal.

Their voices faded as Carla hung there, her heart sinking, wrists already beginning to ache again in the cuffs. Chains clinked beside her.

Kofi’s low voice broke through. “Good luck, white girl. Hope he’s kind.”

Musa nodded, his tone weary. “You’re out of this stall. That’s something. I’m so jealous.”

The lean Black woman glanced at her. “Better than standing here all day.”

She forced out a whisper. “Good luck to you too. I just hope I’m not chained up like this wherever I’m going. I really need to sit down.” Her sore feet shifted uselessly on the ground, her stomach twisted with fear for what Juma’s ownership of her held.

Ten minutes later, Bako and Juma returned, Bako’s whistle cutting through the market’s din. He unlocked Carla’s handcuffs from the crossbeam, leaving them on her wrists, the chains rattling as her arms fell like dried fish cut down from the ropes of a nearby market stall after finding a buyer. A tingle surged through her numb limbs as blood rushed back, the cuffs chafing her sore wrists.

She shielded her breasts with her bound hands. Her cheeks flushed as she looked up to meet the gaze of Juma, her new owner now, her naked body prickling under his calm stare.

Juma stepped forward, his leash in hand.

“I’m Juma,” he said, fastening a leather leash to her collar with a practiced click. His voice was warm, almost friendly. “I work for Tribal Dispatch. Welcome to the team, Carla!”

He gave the leash a gentle tug, then let it hang loose, motioning her to walk beside him.

“Come on, let’s head to the office. Nice weather today, eh?”

Carla stumbled forward, her mind reeling, answering Juma’s questions in a daze as he chatted about her trip and the mainland’s heat. He held her leash loosely, walking beside her like a peer, his cheerful tone jarring against her bare skin prickling under the sun as they moved through the market’s din.

Carla wondered what role she would be playing in Juma’s ‘team.’ She glanced back one last time. Her eyes caught the other slaves still strung up at Bako’s stall, their naked bodies waiting to be sold. Kofi and Musa met her gaze. They nodded farewell with weary eyes; she nodded back in a final goodbye, knowing she’d likely never see them again, the first souls she had met in this nightmare.

Hey all,

Chapters 4–6 take Carla from the cells and court to her first chaining, barn life, and the market sale.

What are your thoughts? Did the barn and market world-building make Grabesh feel lived-in, or need tweaks?

Let me know what you think and don’t forget to rate this in the poll above!

Thank you so much. Not only for this fine story. Also for all your work to restore this site. Both are so appreciated.
Yours truly,
Belinda

Belinda wrote: Thu Nov 06, 2025 9:59 pm Thank you so much. Not only for this fine story. Also for all your work to restore this site. Both are so appreciated.
Yours truly,
Belinda

That’s very kind, thank you! Glad the site is back and the story is landing well!

Hoggle: Ditto to Belinda's comments. These chapters were good a little slow moving for me but appreciated. Hope Carla enjoys her position whatever it turns out to be. I will enjoy reading all future chapters.

lovethissite wrote: Fri Nov 07, 2025 9:24 am Hoggle: Ditto to Belinda's comments. These chapters were good a little slow moving for me but appreciated. Hope Carla enjoys her position whatever it turns out to be. I will enjoy reading all future chapters.

Thanks for pointing out the slowness! I’m so glad the forum is back so I can get feedback again. One of my goals actually was to make Carla’s story more fast paced than Melissa’s. I think you’re right, and the transport in chapter 4 could be tightened. And there is no need for chapter 5 having two hosing scenes. I have been watching some youtube videos for writers and they tell aspiring writers to be ready to "kill their darlings," to prevent the plot from meandering, and this might be just one of those cases. So thanks for pointing this out, and I’ll need to revisit these chapters at some point!

It was your email comment about reddit by the way that sent me down the rabbit hole, how I found Steve and the others, and let me offer help in the first place. So you had a part in saving the forum too!

Thanks for the honest read, keeps me sharp!
—Hoggle

Hoggle: Since Carla is a slave and will be sold at some point, and is in Grabesh. I just started to skim Melissa's story and forgot she had asked Markus to sell her. If Melissa was sold and Melissa's new trust fund master wanted to add a new sex slave Carla may be a great buy. Just a thought.

lovethissite wrote: Sun Nov 09, 2025 12:08 pm Hoggle: Since Carla is a slave and will be sold at some point, and is in Grabesh. I just started to skim Melissa's story and forgot she had asked Markus to sell her. If Melissa was sold and Melissa's new trust fund master wanted to add a new sex slave Carla may be a great buy. Just a thought.

Yeah, interesting point. When I wrote that, I was thinking about how Melissa’s life might continue, even when her story has officially ended. And it made sense she would prefer to be owned by Hannah’s master, a trust fund guy, because it would be a fun life with her friend, and no more farm work. I left it in because it seemed good to show that she realizes he won't free her, and the most she can hope for at that point is for Markus to sell her to someone else.

The sale never did happen though because Markus didn't want to lose control over Melissa, and he makes a bit of money by renting her out to the farm.

Now that you point this out, I think Melissa should mention this to Carla in a later chapter, so there are no loose ends. It also adds some emotional weight to the story when Carla hears that Melissa begged to be sold but still ended up stuck enslaved at the farm.