StripSearch

At the Tribal Dispatch Office

Juma released Carla from her handcuffs and handed her leash to a grizzled janitor at the Tribal Dispatch office, asking, “Hey, can you take her out back and prep her for deliveries. Clean her, shave her, and make sure she’s fed.”

“Sure thing, Juma.” The janitor tugged the leash, leading her to the backyard as she stumbled after him. Carla’s hand flew up, fingers closing around the leash where it met her collar to soften the jerk against her neck. He stopped at the outdoor shower, a rusted showerhead bolted to a vertical metal pipe. The janitor unclipped the leash and locked a loose chain in its place. The chain was fastened at neck height to the pipe, giving her about a meter of slack.

“Take a good shower,” he told her. Then he walked away.

Carla stood there with the chain holding her in place. Her gut twisted. She glanced around the backyard, nervous about who might be watching her. It was a fenced area, but gaps in the wood let her see passers-by on the path.

She turned on the water, and the cold spray blasted her bare skin, sharp as a thousand needles. Instinctively, she flinched, stepping back to dodge the icy sting, her bare feet slipping on the wet ground. The chain snapped taut with a metallic clink, yanking her collar and jerking her back into the spray’s path.

“Ouch, damn it!” She cursed and rubbed her neck, where the collar had dug in.

The water quickly turned warm, and she lathered with soap from a dispenser. Her hands moved quickly over her body, and her skin prickled as she rinsed. She turned off the water when she was done and wiped it off her body. She realized she couldn’t even sit down, the short chain would not allow it. Water dripped from her hair. She called out, “I’m done!”

The janitor returned with a shaving kit, trimmer and shaver. He handed it to her. “Shave your pubic hair. Hurry up.”

Carla sighed inwardly. Not only could she be kept naked, but they would also decide the appearance of her vagina for her. She took the kit, waiting for him to leave. But he stared back, his tone impatient. “Come on, move.”

With nervous hands, she trimmed her pubic hair short. Then she applied foam and used the shaver to create a clean shave. The blade scraped her sensitive skin. Did he have to stare at her like this, she thought. She was chained to the damn shower, she wouldn’t run anywhere. She rinsed off, the water cold on her freshly shaven area.

The janitor inspected it closely by tracing her skin with his hands while Carla looked away. A pubic hair inspection. Nothing was too private for this place. He nodded, satisfied.

Then he unchained her collar from the shower. He led her inside and gave her a simple meal, bread and fruit. Carla ate quickly, the bread soothing her hunger, and she felt the exhaustion in her bones after the day’s ordeal.

A black female slave walked past them, her naked body was collared like Carla’s. She greeted the janitor and introduced herself to Carla. “Hey, new slave, I’m Lisha.” Carla’s heart lifted at another woman’s face.

“Hello. I’m Carla,” Carla replied.

Lisha smiled faintly. “Welcome.”

──────────────────────────────

She returned soon after. “Rafiki and Juma sent for her,” she said.

The janitor brought Carla to them. She entered the dim office cluttered with maps marked with routes and ledgers. She saw Juma and another man, a stocky figure with graying hair and sharp eyes.

Juma greeted her with a friendly smile, “This is Rafiki. He runs things around here.”



Rafiki leaned forward, his sharp eyes sizing up Carla’s pale skin. “Hello, Carla. Juma is just full of surprises, bringing a white girl like you to the team. Let’s see how that goes,” he said with a sigh and unmistakable skepticism.

Juma continued, “Anyway, welcome to the team, Carla. Super excited to have you on board! You’re part of our labor force now.”

The reality of her nakedness, collar, and two-year sentence slammed into Carla, snapping her out of the daze. Outrage flared, her voice sharp despite the dripping water chilling her skin.

“This is insane! I am stuck here, naked in front of clothed men, forced into this demeaning collar, and expected to work like this for two years? This cannot be right!”

Juma leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed, his tone steady and assured, as if discussing a standard business process. “I see you’re upset, and that’s understandable given your circumstances.”

“I want a lawyer to appeal this sentence and this inhumane treatment!”



“You don’t need a lawyer. In Grabesh, slaves are considered legally incompetent, so filing appeals isn’t possible for you anyway. We’re committed to your well-being here at Tribal Dispatch. If there’s anything you need to adjust, just let me or Rafiki know, and we’ll support you in getting settled.”

“I also need to call my family to tell them what is happening to me!”

“We encourage healthy connections, it is part of our core values here, but slaves are not normally allowed access to electronic devices. They could be used to organize or plan escapes, so we can’t allow that. Your family is welcome to visit you here, though.”

“But they don’t know where I am!” Carla shuddered at the thought of her family actually turning up here and seeing her being kept like an animal.

“That’s a valid point. But it’s safer this way. Facilitating an escape is a felony here, and chances are, they would be tempted. Look, there are lots of great people here. I assure you, you won’t be alone at Tribal Dispatch.”

Carla was dumbfounded. These people were savages. They were keeping her as their slave, and expecting her to work for them. She felt like the only sane person in an insane asylum.

“This is… crazy… You are all… crazy,” Carla’s mind was in chaos. Celtic Circuits had wanted to get rid of her, and they had succeeded. She couldn’t do anything here, she couldn’t escape, couldn’t contact anyone, and no one would ever find her here.

Rafiki snorted, his eyes narrowing at her upright stance. “You don’t know the first thing about being a slave, girl. You’re even standing there like a free woman instead of kneeling before us. We can’t let a fresh slave like you loose on our customers. It’ll reflect bad on the company. We need to get you trained. I’ve got a contact at The Slave Academy, they’ll teach her proper behavior.”

Juma’s brow furrowed, his voice hesitant. “Is that really necessary? She can be trained on the job, and we can track her just fine on deliveries.”

Rafiki’s gaze hardened. “Do you even hear her talking, Juma? Imagine her talking to customers with that attitude. She will reflect poorly on the business. She needs to be trained.”

Juma nodded, his grin returning, though strained. “You’ll handle deliveries, Carla, but you’ll need some compliance training first. The Slave Academy will get you there.”

Carla’s stomach dropped, her mind already reeled with images of whips and chains. She doubted this would be a simple job training.

Rafiki stood up, stepped to the window, and pulled out his phone, his voice low but clear enough for Carla to overhear. “Got a white girl, first for Tribal Dispatch. Can The Slave Academy take her now? Good, she needs a crash course in slave training.”

Juma stepped forward, took her leash and nodded to Rafiki. “Come on, let’s get you sorted,” he said, leading her toward the door.

At The Slave Academy

Carla’s bare feet shuffled on the dusty path as Juma tugged her chain leash, leading her to the main building of The Slave Academy, its stone facade interrupting a wire fence that encircled the compound. The fence gleamed under the sun, its mesh deceptively neat and pretty, like a garden trellis, but barbed wire coiled at its top and base, sharp and cruel, a barrier no naked slave could cross without tearing skin. A tall man with a thick Russian accent opened the heavy door, his broad frame looming in the entrance. An old black woman, small but stern-faced, stood just behind him, her braided whip coiled at her hip, dark eyes raking over Carla’s pale skin as if sizing up livestock for a master’s pleasure.

“Hey, I’m Victor, your colleague made a booking with us,” the man said to Juma. “Come to my office, we’ll discuss the training. Zuri will take the girl.”

Juma unlocked the padlock on Carla’s leash with a click, the chain falling free from her collar.

“Follow me,” Zuri said, as she turned and led Carla through the main building’s dim interior. They stepped out an exit into the fenced courtyard, allowing Carla to see the wire mesh and the barbed wire again, but from the inside. Zuri’s braided whip swayed at her hip like a constant unspoken threat. Carla’s heart thudded, her naked skin prickled with dread. That whip was meant to keep girls like her in line, to sting her bare flesh, to force her to submit.

They arrived at a mudhut where voices murmured inside.

Zuri pushed open the dining hall door, the clatter of trays and scent of spiced stew filling the air. “This is Carla, she’s joining us,” she announced to the slaves inside. She turned to Carla, “Help set the table for lunch.”

Carla’s breath caught at the command. Ordering me around like a bloody servant? she thought, outrage simmering beneath her fear. Her eyes darted to the slaves, all pale-skinned, their collars glinting under the dim light. A shock jolted through her: every slave here was a white girl. She hadn’t seen any other white slaves so far, and here, there seemed to be maybe a dozen of them. She felt a strange kind of relief at seeing others like her, that she was not alone. Despite her desperate state, she was curious. Why only white women? Did this place specialize in breaking girls like her?

She swallowed hard and muttered, “I… Fine,” as she moved to the table, arms twitching to cover her chest, fingers clenching bowls with jerky motions.

The dining hall buzzed with clattering trays and murmured voices as slaves gathered for lunch. A young woman, no older than twenty, arranged stew bowls at the serving table. Her blond hair caught the dim light, strands shimmering like pale gold. Her blue eyes, sharp yet soft, scanned the room with a quiet focus. Her beauty seemed like a cruel contrast to this place. The young woman’s grace made Carla’s fumbling hands feel clumsier, her collar heavier. Two others set out wooden spoons, their motions quick and practiced. One, with a soft face, offered Carla a tired smile. The other, sharp-eyed, kept her gaze down, lips tight.

As they knelt on the ground to eat, the three women clustered around her.

“So, Carla, how’d you end up here?” the soft-faced one asked, her voice gentle with a Canadian lilt.

Carla’s eyes flashed. “My boss set me up with drugs to shut me up. I knew their deals were illegal in Ireland. Betrayal’s a bitch.” Her heart thudded at the thought of what Celtic Circuits had done to her. “What about you lot?”

The soft-faced woman shrugged, her smile bitter. “I’m Hannah. Au pair scam. Thought I’d nanny in France, ended up in a shipping container. Been here two months.”

The sharp-eyed one spoke colder. “Jennifer. Modeling gig in London. They locked me in a cage, sold me to some rich creep. Three weeks in.”

The blond girl stayed quiet, her blue eyes met Carla’s with a warmth that felt out of place in the Academy’s cold grip. Her quiet attention, the way her lips curved slightly, felt kind, almost defiant in this place of whips and chains. Carla’s gut twisted. These girls had been betrayed just like her.

Lunch ended too soon. Zuri’s voice sliced through the chatter. “Outside! All of you! Training!”



The girls filed out to the courtyard.

Carla thought how Zuri was quite old, more than sixty years old she guessed. Carla and the others were young and fit. She reckoned she could probably beat Zuri in a fight. In a fair fight, that was. But she was naked, and Zuri had a whip. That whip would be painful, she was certain. But there were at least a dozen girls in here. If they fought against Zuri, Zuri would not stand a chance. Zuri would probably not even stand a chance against two of them. Against three, she would certainly have no chance. Even with them being naked and with her whip. But she was new and had no allies, so she decided to go along with what everyone did.

As Carla stepped out, she felt the hot air envelop her body and the tropical sun on her skin.



Zuri stood at the edge, her small frame tense, her braided whip coiled like a snake at her hip. She barked orders, her voice sharp as she pointed to a simple obstacle course: low wooden hurdles, a rope net to climb, and a stretch of grass for crawling.

“Run! Through the course, now!” she snapped, cracking her whip in the humid air, the sound slicing like a blade.

Carla stumbled forward with the others, her legs heavy, heart pounding. She leaped over the first hurdle, her bare thighs scraping the rough wood, and scrambled up the rope net, its coarse fibers burning her palms. Zuri’s dark eyes tracked every move, her whip snapping to spur them on. The blond girl moved ahead, her grace defying the course’s grind, her blue eyes low with focus, as if she’d learned to push through pain. One of the girls got her foot caught on a hurdle and tripped. Zuri’s whip found her skin with a crack. The girl cried out, and covered her thigh with her hand where the whip had hit her.

“Faster, slave!” Zuri shouted, her voice like thunder. Carla pushed harder, her breath ragged, the welt burning.

They reached the grass, and Zuri barked, “Crawl! Low and fast!” Carla dropped to her hands and knees, the blades pricking her palms, dirt smearing her naked skin. Zuri paced alongside, her whip cracking above, urging speed. Another girl faltered, her movements sluggish, and Zuri’s whip struck her back, a sharp thwack that drew a yelp. Carla’s heart raced, her body trembling as she crawled faster, grass sticking to her sweat-soaked skin. Zuri’s eyes never wavered, catching every hesitation, her whip ready to punish any who slacked.

“Move, slave!” she roared, and Carla’s arms shook, her pride stinging as much as her thigh, the Academy’s cruelty grinding her down.

The blond girl moved with a grace that defied the whip’s threat, her pale hair swaying as she scrambled through the dust, panting with the others. Her blue eyes stayed low, sharp with focus, as if she had learned to bend herself to their will without breaking. Carla struggled to keep up, her legs burned from the unaccustomed strain, her breath ragged as exhaustion dragged at her muscles. She wasn’t used to this relentless push, her body faltering over a hurdle, her bare thighs scraping the rough wood.

Exhausted, she looked at the fence in the distance. The area outside The Slave Academy seemed so close. But she also saw the barbed wire at the bottom of the fence. In her naked state, she couldn’t even go near the fence. And there was barbed wire coiled at the top of the fence as well. Even if she somehow managed to jump over the barbed wire on the ground and cling to the fence, she would not be able to climb over it.

A searing lash struck Carla’s thigh, the whip’s bite a sudden, blinding pain. She cried out. She had been whipped. The experience that she could be whipped shocked her. Her heart pounded from the pain and the indignation of what it meant, her skin throbbing where the leather had hit her.



Carla lagged behind, her face flushed with exertion and fury, her mind reeling from the whip’s lesson. Her crawl slowed, shock numbing her limbs as she grappled with the truth—she could be whipped. Zuri could do this to her if she wanted. Another whip crack landed on her back, a sharp jolt that tore a second cry from her throat. Her body lurched forward, the pain snapped her back to the moment. It was worse this time. The whip really hurt! The first hit had probably been a warning shot.

“Move, slave!” Zuri shouted. After the lash with the whip, her voice struck her like a thunderclap that shook her to her bones.

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Back inside, Zuri led them to a training room for posture drills. She paced before the line of slaves, her boots scuffing the sandy floor. “Attention!” she barked. The group snapped into place, feet spread, hands locked behind heads. Carla stood stiff, her pale skin prickling under the dim light. She spread her feet, hands clasped behind her head, but her elbows sagged inward. Zuri’s eyes narrowed, her small frame taut with authority.

“Elbows out,” Zuri growled. She tapped Carla’s arm with a stick, the wood stinging her skin. Carla flinched, her breath catching, and pulled her elbows wide. Her cheeks flushed hot.



“Kneel!” Zuri snapped. Carla froze, her face twisting with disgust. She glanced at the others, their thighs spread wide on the sand, and her stomach churned. Dropping to her knees for Zuri felt like spitting on everything she was. Zuri had struck her twice with the whip, and submitting to this woman felt like she was rewarding Zuri for that. Her legs trembled, caught between fear and fury. She collected all her courage.

“I’m not kneeling for you,” she spat, her voice shaky but sharp, fists clenched at her sides.

Zuri stepped closer, her eyes cold as stone. “Kneel, slave!” she barked, her stick cracking hard against Carla’s shoulder.

The pain blazed through her, sharp as a knife, and Carla gasped, her body swaying, but she held her ground, her breath ragged with shock. Zuri struck again, blows landing on her shoulder, arm, thigh. Each hit stung her bare skin, ripping a scream from her throat. Her legs gave out under the pain, and she sank to her knees before Zuri, her face burning with humiliation, her eyes wet with rage.

“Spread your legs!” Zuri ordered, her voice ice.

Carla’s cheeks flushed hotter, the pain and shame grinding down her will. Her lower legs scraped against the floor as she parted her thighs, as if to present her most sensitive part to Zuri. Her heart pounded, and the areas of her skin that Zuri had struck still throbbed.

Zuri faced the group, her riding crop tapping her thigh. “Why do we spread our legs when we kneel?” She stopped in front of the sharp-eyed woman, lifting her chin with the crop until their eyes locked. “Jennifer?” she asked, her voice sharp.

Jennifer swallowed, her voice flat but steady. “To show masters we’re not hiding anything.”

“That’s correct,” Zuri said, nodding as she paced on.

“Worship position!” Zuri barked.

The beautiful girl with long blond hair lowered her forehead to the sand, her hands resting beside her head, her body a stark picture of submission. The other slaves followed, their bodies folding into the same humbling pose, foreheads touching the floor, hands next to them.

Carla’s breath caught at what was expected of her. Her upbringing screamed against assuming such a position before any human. And even though she had stopped believing young, it still went against Carla’s grain. Her chest heaved as she stared at the blond girl’s graceful surrender, her pail hair spilling across the floor like a veil. The sight hit her hard. Bowing like that before Zuri, the woman who had whipped her and struck her, was too much for her. Her stomach churned, revulsion clawing at her throat.

“No,” Carla said, her voice trembling, cracking with terror and defiance, her eyes wide with fear. “I can’t do this!”

Zuri’s face darkened, her stick cracking hard against Carla’s thigh, the pain blazing through her leg. “Obey, slave!” she roared.

Carla flinched, the sting radiating, but her resolve hardened. She broke position, scrambling to her feet, backing away as Zuri’s strikes followed, each thwack bruising her thighs and arms, ripping a raw scream from her throat.

“I said no!” she shouted, her voice raw, words spilling in a frantic rush. “I shouldn’t be here, this is wrong! I’m not a slave, you can’t do this! Let me go, please, just let me go!” Her voice cracked, tears brimming as she stumbled back, hands flying to cover her breasts and vagina in a futile shield.

Zuri’s patience snapped. She grabbed a whistle from her belt and blew a sharp note.

Victor stormed in, his bulk filling the doorway, his cold eyes locking onto Carla with a satisfied smile.

Zuri turned to him, her voice tight with frustration. “Victor, this one refuses to obey. She won’t take the Worship position—keeps breaking stance.”

“We fix that,” he said, his Russian accent thick, his tone flat but eager.

He seized her arm, his grip iron-tight, and dragged her out as she struggled, her shouts echoing down the hall. “Please, I don’t belong here!” she cried, her pleas thick with desperation.

Carla’s bare feet scraped the rough ground as Victor hauled her across the yard, his fingers digging into her skin like clamps.



The sun beat down, sweat stinging her fresh welts from Zuri’s stick. Her heart pounded, her breaths coming in short gasps, her naked body twisting in his hold. He stopped at a small wooden box against the mud-brick wall, barely waist-high, its rough planks weathered and stained, no bigger than a meter and a half square.

Carla stared at it, her stomach dropping like a stone. He wanted to lock her into this? It was so small! She would only just fit. He couldn’t be serious, could he? She turned to him and saw the determined set of his jaw. Her heart sank. A cold sweat broke across her skin as panic clawed up her throat.

“No, please, don’t put me in there! I’ll do it, I’ll kneel, just don’t lock me in that thing!”

Victor’s laugh rumbled low, his free hand yanking the heavy bolt free with a grating screech. The door creaked open, revealing a dark, narrow space, the inside rough and splintered, reeking of old sweat and dirt.

“You learn now,” he said, his voice cold. He shoved her down, forcing her to crawl inside, the rough wood grazing her palms and knees, the sour smell of her sweat rising.

“Please! I understand now, I’ll do what she says!” She tried.



Victor slammed the door shut. She heard the bolt scrape on the wood as Victor locked it from the outside.

She curled up tight, her shoulders brushing the sides, her head bumping the door.

It was pitch black. She waited for her eyes to adjust, but they didn’t. She couldn’t see her own hand in front of her face. Any gaps must have been sealed to prevent light from coming in.

The air was already warm, thick with the smell of old wood and her own breath. She tried to stretch her legs but her knees hit the end of the box. Her shoulders scraped the sides when she turned. There was no room.

Okay, she told herself. Just breathe. They would let her out soon.

She counted her breaths to stay calm. One. Two. Ten. Thirty. She lost count soon.

The heat built up slowly, like someone turning up a dial. Sweat beaded on her skin, ran down her back, pooled under her. She shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position in this cramped space. But the floor was hard, and the confined space didn’t allow her much space to maneuver.

They were teaching her a lesson. She understood that. It had been foolish of her to think she could refuse and get away with it. This was some kind of slave training facility designed to break slaves. Of course they would have ways to punish those who refused. She had been stupid to push back without understanding what she was getting into.

I’ll kneel next time, she told herself. I’ll worship this damn woman. Message received. Just open the damn door.

She pounded against the walls with her fists. Once. Twice. The sound came back dull, swallowed by the wood. No answer. Her fists hurt. She stopped. They’re busy. They’ll come when they remember.

More time passed. She wasn’t sure how much. She shifted again. No position was truly comfortable. There was always a limb going to sleep.

If only she could stretch! She tried to but was immediately met with the hard wooden walls of the box confining her.

The air grew heavier, harder to pull in. Her mouth dried. She licked her lips. She heard her heart beat. How long had she been here?

She tried to count again. But she lost track at fifty. The walls felt closer. She pushed against them with her palms. There was no give. They didn’t move.

They forgot me.

A cramp seized her calf. She needed to stretch. But she could barely move in this darkness. It hurt. She put all her strength into pushing against the box, she tried to break it by putting all her will into it. But there was no give at all.

She called for help. They had to let her out. She would promise them that she had learned her lesson, that she would do as they told her.

No one came.

Carla screamed. She screamed as loud as she could. They would come and check what was going on with her. She would plead to let them out. Her gut twisted at the thought, but if need be, she would beg whoever opened the door to check on her to let her out. But if they refused, maybe she could convince them to give her a few minutes to recover. Just a few minutes. So she could stretch, she could pee, and then she could go back in. It would be easier then.

But no one came. No one answered her screams.

She began to despair at her own helplessness. She knew her confinement was out of her control. She was locked in here, and there was nothing she could do about it, regardless of how much it made her feel like she was suffocating.

She wondered how long she had been here. Was it hours or days even? Sometimes she wondered if she was awake or dreaming. How could she even tell the difference?

She hit and stomped against the walls of the box with all her might. She knew her fists would hurt. But the pain would be better than the darkness, the nothingness that engulfed her. If she felt pain, she was still alive.

She screamed again until her voice was gone, just a dry croak in the dark. Please, I’ll do anything. Just end this.

She would die in here, she thought. Forgotten, a naked body in a box.

Naked Truths

Carla breathed in shallow breaths. She had no idea how much time had passed. She had felt the heat of the day as the sun had heated up the box. She had thought she would pass out from the heat. Maybe she had. She wasn’t sure. The sweat and stench around her barely registered anymore. She was seeing colors and hallucinations. She was no longer sure what was real and what was not. She lay still, had no more energy to move. Initially she had thought they had wanted to scare her into compliance. If they had let her out, she would have done anything to avoid ever being put back into this box. But no one had come for her. She would die in here, in a box in a remote country, forgotten.

Carla heard faint footsteps. She had heard them many times before, but they had never been real, just wishful thinking. Maybe it was her heartbeat. Or she was hallucinating. Then, she heard a loud thud right beside her. Could someone be removing the bolt that was locking her in? Carla was afraid. Afraid to get her hopes up only to find out it was another hallucination.

As the door opened, pain stabbed her eyes. A white-hot blade of sunlight after an eternity locked in darkness. She had not been forgotten. She wanted to cry with relief but had no fluids left in her.

Carla inhaled the cool sharp air as it began to mix with the stale air in the box. It was fresh with a smell of earth and salt. She felt her mind awaken as if from a daze.

“Out!” She heard a voice bark at her. It was Zuri’s voice. Zuri had not forgotten her. Carla felt a wave of gratitude. Zuri had not left her here to die. Her mind pushed back against this. Zuri was the one who had put her here. But it didn’t seem to matter right now. Her lungs didn’t care who had opened the door. Her stomach twisted at the thought. She wanted to thank this woman. The woman who had put her in here.

Carla began to maneuver herself out of the box. But her limbs were numb, cramped and useless. She hadn’t used them for so long. How long had she been in there, she wondered. She could see the orange hues of the setting sun.

Carla’s pale hand emerged, trembling as it gripped the edge. Her head followed, her dark hair matted and clinging to her sweat-streaked face. She crawled out awkwardly, limbs stiff and cramped, a sour stench wafting from her. Grime coated her bare skin, her breaths shallow and ragged as she blinked against the light, eyes wide and haunted.



Zuri grabbed her arm roughly, hauling her to her feet. Carla swayed, her knees trembling, hands limp, the reek of her unwashed body sharp in the air.

“You refused me once,” Zuri said, her dark eyes boring into Carla’s. “Now you’ll do it right. Attention!”

A part of her still wanted to fight, but it was faint. Right now Zuri felt like a deity commanding her. Carla would do anything to please her.

Carla’s legs wobbled, but she forced them apart, hands shaking as they rose to lock behind her head. Her movements were slow, unsteady, muscles cramped from the box, yet she obeyed.

“Kneel!” Zuri snapped.

Carla dropped, knees hitting the sand with a soft thud.

“Worship!” Zuri’s voice cracked like a lash.

Carla touched the ground with her forehead. She had forgotten her previous resistance. At this moment, she was glad Zuri was asking such a simple task from her. It was so easy to please her, to avoid this woman’s punishment. Just touch the ground before Zuri with her head. That was all Zuri asked of her. Carla placed her hands on the ground next to her head.

The pose was shaky, her body trembling with effort, but she held it. Zuri paced around her, boots scuffing the earth, her stern face unyielding.

“Good enough for now,” she grunted. “You stink like a pen. Go clean yourself, thoroughly. Report for inspection, or it’s two days next time.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Carla whispered. Her voice was hoarse. She remembered she had been screaming. She had screamed until her voice was gone. Raw, cracked, nothing left but a rasp. She hoped her whisper was good enough for Zuri. So she had been in the box for a full day. She could not even imagine spending another day in there. There was no way she was going back into the box, not if avoiding it was so easy.

Zuri tapped her whip against her shoulder and stalked off, leaving Carla in the worship position in the dusk.

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That evening, Carla sat with the other slaves in the basement dorm. Her mat prickled her knees as she knelt with them.

Zuri’s voice cut sharp. “Lock!” The girls reached for chains beside their mats, heavy links with open padlocks bolted to the stone wall.

Carla’s breath caught, her body trembling with shock. Lock herself to the wall, with no key to escape? Revulsion churned her stomach, the thought of chaining herself like this was unacceptable. The blond girl to her left snapped her padlock shut with steady hands, the soft-faced one and sharp-eyed one following without a flinch. Nearly a dozen clicks echoed, a grim chorus sealing them for the night.

Carla’s fingers shook as she grasped the cold metal, its chill biting her skin. She couldn’t do it, her heart pounding, frozen by the trap’s finality. Zuri’s boots thudded closer, her dark eyes locking onto Carla with cold impatience. Carla looked up, her chest tight, and forced her trembling fingers to press the padlock to her collar’s D-ring. The sharp click locked her in place, the chain’s weight tugging her neck. Zuri paced the line, checking each raised chin and secured collar, her grunt of approval cold as she moved on. The door creaked shut as Zuri left, leaving the girls chained in the dimness.

“I thought I’d die in there, just for not kneeling. I’d do anything to avoid it again.”

“That’s horrific,” the soft-faced one murmured, her chain rattling softly.

The sharp-eyed one snorted. “Bloody monsters. They’d box us all if they could.” A dry laugh rippled through them, thin but grounding.

“We’ve all been there,” the blond girl said with her soft voice. “Don’t let them break you. This will end one day. We have to believe that, or we lose our minds.” Her arm brushed Carla’s, sparking trust.

Carla nodded, the touch easing her feeling of isolation. “This will end.” A part of her still dreamed of fighting back, but right now it was more important to please her masters.

The blond girl turned to Carla, her voice gentle but firm. “Life here is harsh, Carla, worse than anything I’ve known. Drills till your mind goes numb, commands till your ears ring, and whip lashes till pain is all you know. But we’ve got each other, and they can’t take that. You’re with me, Hannah, Jennifer—not alone. You’re with friends.”

Carla’s eyes met hers, the words sinking deep. The blond girl reached out, her hand finding Carla’s, fingers wrapping around hers in a gentle squeeze.

“I’m Melissa,” she said, her voice soft but steady, her blue eyes warm in the dim light. The warmth flooded through Carla, the first human touch since her enslavement that was welcome. It seemed to begin to mend what had broken in her in the box. Maybe there was good in the world after all. Even here, in this place.

“Friends,” Carla whispered, her voice trembling but carrying a faint smile, her first glimmer of hope. How long would she be trapped in this place, she wondered. Her heart felt heavy when the thought of the endless days under Zuri’s whip ahead of her, but she was grateful to have found a kindred spirit.

Their eyes met. Melissa’s calmness soothed the turmoil in her. She leaned in, pulling Carla into a tender hug. Their chains rattled softly, but the embrace wrapped them in a cocoon of warmth. Carla felt the softness of her shoulder against her cheek, the steady beat of her heart, and for a moment, the harshness of their world faded away.

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A week of grueling drills later, the training ground wore on with relentless kneeling drills and cultural lessons barked by Zuri. But the cooking tasks brought a flicker of joy, stirring fragrant stews with the other slaves, their chatter and kindness warming her as much as the rich flavors. Each whip crack stung her bare skin, a reminder of her new reality, but the evenings brought a sliver of relief. Slaves gathered for brief moments of freedom, their naked bodies glistening under the tropical dusk, collars glinting like cruel jewelry. These breaks, meant to keep morale from crumbling, let them sip iced tea, play volleyball, or cook at an outdoor hearth before they were chained to the dorm’s cold walls for the night.

Carla sat on a rickety porch bench, her bare thighs sticking to the wood. She clutched a glass of iced tea. Having a cool drink like this was so good with the heat. Across from her, Melissa lounged, her dark eyes weary but kind, her own collar catching the fading light. Hannah and Jennifer flanked her, their naked forms relaxed despite the steel around their necks. The other slaves’ chatter filled the air, a low hum of resilience against the Academy’s grind.

Carla sipped her tea, wincing as it spilled, cold droplets splashing her bare chest. She glanced at Melissa.

“How do you handle all this?” Carla asked, her voice low to avoid an overseer’s ear. “The whips, the orders. I’m barely keeping it together after that box.”

Melissa leaned forward, a faint smile breaking through. Her shoulder brushed Carla’s, the contact warm against the evening’s breeze. “I got here through a stupid mistake. Trusted a guy, my ex, to fix a visa problem. Thought it’d be quick, a paperwork trick. Next thing, I’m collared, caged in some vet’s office like an animal. Sounds like anyone you know?”

Carla’s eyes widened, her grip tightening on the glass. “Yeah. My boss, Tara, set me up with drugs to shut me up. Betrayal’s a bitch.” Her heart thudded, the parallel stinging. “They caged you? Like, actually?”

Melissa nodded, her fingers tracing her collar’s edge. Carla caught sight of her ear tag again. “Yeah. Poked, prodded, chipped like a damn dog. You learn to push through, Carla, or you break. We’re tougher than they think.” She looked up at Carla, and Carla saw in her calm eyes that despite all that had happened to her, her spirit had remained unbroken.

In a conspiratorial voice, Melissa whispered, “That box you were in? Five-star resort. Dark, quiet, no service.”

Carla mustered a frail smile, “Room service was terrible.”

Victor’s voice cut through the air, sharp and gravelly. “Carla, come with me.”

Carla and Melissa were startled. They had not heard him approach from behind.

Carla’s stomach twisted, the memory of his iron grip and that wooden coffin flashing through her mind. She rose, her legs shaky, and followed him across the yard, her bare skin prickling under the sun, dreading another punishment. He led her to his office, the door creaking open to reveal Juma standing by a cluttered desk, smiling at her.

“Ready to go, Carla?” he said.

Hey all,

Chapters 7–9 take Carla from Tribal Dispatch, the company that owns her, to The Slave Academy where she meets Melissa.

What are your thoughts?

I experimented a bit with AI images for illustrations. What do you think of them, do they enhance the story or do they distract?

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

Loved the plot development and the pictures really help in visualizing where Carla is and what's happening around her. Fantastic job!!

Hoggle: Good chapters glad Carla met Melissa. It seems like Carla is as head strong as I thought she may be. Looks like a little time in the box may have convinced her of current status as a slave. The artwork is great and slave naked helps reinforce all the slaves position. My question is Carla destined to become a sex slave, work in the bar as Melissa does, or a laborer? I hope she and Melissa are sold together as sex slaves and maybe bred. Keep up the great work however you decide to go.

lovethissite wrote: Mon Nov 17, 2025 12:47 pm Hoggle: Good chapters glad Carla met Melissa. It seems like Carla is as head strong as I thought she may be. Looks like a little time in the box may have convinced her of current status as a slave. The artwork is great and slave naked helps reinforce all the slaves position. My question is Carla destined to become a sex slave, work in the bar as Melissa does, or a laborer? I hope she and Melissa are sold together as sex slaves and maybe bred. Keep up the great work however you decide to go.

Thanks! Really happy you’re enjoying the chapters and the artwork.

You asked for punishment back on the very first installment, well, you got your wish with the Box this time around

The Box also explains why Carla suddenly starts acting a lot more like a proper slave from here on out, even when she’s still fuming on the inside.

Carla’s future? Tribal Dispatch has creative long-term plans for their new fleet slave… and they have ways to make sure she never forgets who owns her.

Hoggle: I love where this is heading. Since Melissa has met Carla are the going to continue to train as slave naked sex slaves?

Hey Lovethissite!

lovethissite wrote: Tue Nov 18, 2025 10:43 am Hoggle: I love where this is heading. Since Melissa has met Carla are the going to continue to train as slave naked sex slaves?

Tribal Dispatch’s “creative long-term plans” are already rolling, and yes, Melissa is very much part of Carla’s world from here on out.
You’ll see exactly how Carla’s training continues in the next few chapters… promise it won’t disappoint

Thanks for the enthusiasm, keeps me writing!

Hoggle: Since Melissa is now part of Carla's world will she too be slave naked now?

lovethissite wrote: Tue Nov 18, 2025 11:02 pm Hoggle: Since Melissa is now part of Carla's world will she too be slave naked now?

Melissa staying fuzzy is 100 % intentional. Grabesh isn’t one-size-fits-all.

Different owners, different rules. Carla has to be presentable to customers for Tribal Dispatch (hence the smooth look), but Melissa is owned by Markus who doesn’t seem to care. And the farm he rents her to later doesn’t care about presentation either. They just want her for milk and labour. So she keeps her natural look.

There is no universal “all slaves must be shaved” law here, or having to shave for being friends with Carla. Just whatever the owner feels like enforcing that day

Hoggle: Melissa is going to continue to be Marcus' sex slave not turned over to the Tribal group ? So there is going to be a difference in status between Melissa and Carla? Good luck with the story I'm looking forward how the story continues. Thanks.

With female slaves the sexual submission is a key component of obedience school training. Other than giving birth, sex is the most intimate and private aspect of a woman's life. Once a woman submits to sexual service, is there anything else she would refuse to do? The next key is conditioning her to enjoy the sex. Studies have shown that sexual arousal reduces anxiety and depression which are a common disorders that affect recently enslaved women. I'm looking forward to seeing how you incorporate training in the sexual arts.