Repaying My College Loans Pt. 03

(This story is set in the legalized enslavement world of Joe_Doe_Stories, by permission of that author. The HCI slave market appears by permission of Gentleman Mariner.)

*****

Elizabeth's story: Ms. Wright turned to me and commanded, as if urging a recalcitrant child: "You heard His Honor. Strip."

To avoid lifetime enslavement for debt, I had to convince this judge that a shorter indenture would still reimburse the bank that owned my loans. I immediately began pulling the sweater over my head, a head filled with a multitude of thoughts. I knew that any hesitation would be disastrous, that I had to strip naked in front of these two authority figures if I ever hoped to be free again. I felt humiliated, appalled, and sexually excited—my nipples suddenly became erect as I continued to undress. Based on the behavior of the judge and Ms. Wright, I realized that this was a game they had played before, hustling a frightened young woman into abject surrender because she feared the alternative—lifelong sexual bondage—even more.

By this time, I had discarded the sweater onto a nearby chair. Blushing furiously, with downcast eyes, I reached behind me, unhooked my 36D bra, and leaned forward to remove it, my full breasts dangling briefly. I dropped the bra, bent over, and skimmed both skirt and panties off in one frantic shuffle. As I bent further to retrieve my lower garments and place them on the chair with my sweater and bra, I noticed that the crotch of my panties was dark with moisture. I wasn't surprised, as I felt a liquid warmth growing at the V of my legs.

God, this was horrible. I had an overwhelming urge to curl up into a fetal ball or at least use my hands and arms to cover my nipples and crotch. I knew that I couldn't give in to my modesty, however, or the future would be even worse. Slowly, I straightened up in front of the desk, coming to my full 5'6" and forcing myself to assume the position called "Present"—legs slightly more than shoulder-width apart, arms bent with fingers interlocked behind my neck, my chest thrust forward with everything on display. I could feel more liquid trickle down the inside of my leg. I couldn't bring myself to meet the judge's gaze, though.

"Good slut," cooed Ms. Williams. I was no longer her female employee but only a naked sex toy offered to the judge in a desperate attempt to influence my fate.

Wordlessly, he gestured for me to move around his desk to the right, as he turned in his chair to face me. Without releasing my interlocked fingers or turning away from him, I sidled over to a point a few feet away from him. He again spoke to my boss rather than me, saying "put her through her paces."

Ms. Williams now used an even firmer tone of voice, as if giving commands to a show dog. First, I had to "About Face" away from the judge, then "Display" so that I bent over at the waist, exposing everything between my spread legs, then "Prone," face down on the carpet with my hands by my sides and legs slightly apart, then "Slave fours," the doggie position on hands and knees with head low and ass high, then "Flip over", legs spread wide, back arched, and looking past my bobbing boobs towards my audience. The pace was slow so it shouldn't have tired me out, but my heart was racing as I became aroused by the utter subjugation I felt.

Next, she ordered "On your knees," and instructed me to shuffle towards the judge. Impassive, he unbuckled his trousers and opened his zipper. "You know what to do," she told me.

I was not a virgin, but I'd had only one penis in my mouth before, and the one in front of me seemed much larger than the one my now ex-boyfriend had possessed—and this one wasn't even fully erect. Gamely, I attempted to please him, first running my tongue over the tip and up the bottom side of his massive shaft. Then I tried to slide him into my mouth, but he was so large that at first only the head would fit. I wrapped my hands around the base of his weapon, trying to fondle its entire length, but after a few minutes of pumping the first few inches in and out, he gruffly ordered "Back Hands," requiring me to move my hands behind my waist. One of his hands squeezed my left breast while the other took control of my hair, moving my head forewords and backwards to pump my mouth on his prick. For the first time I fully understood the meaning of "face-fucking." Mercifully, he occasionally paused with most of his cock withdrawn so that I could breathe, but I was gagging even before a torrent erupted down my throat.

While I was still coughing and trying to catch my breath, the judge resumed talking to Ms. Williams. "She's awfully inexperienced," he commented, his voice and face reflecting disapproval.

"You're right, your honor, but we'll have her trained. Would you like me to bring her back in a few months for a verification test?"

"All right, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt," he said, turning back to the folder on his desk. He pulled out the first sheet and read it aloud:

"Under Texas Code Chapter 5, section 309.2, the Court authorizes petitioner Elizabeth R. Sullivan to indenture herself voluntarily to satisfy outstanding debts to XYZ Bank. Indenture to be for a period of 2 to 5 years, depending on the income she generates, during which time petitioner forfeits all rights to XYZ Bank or its successors and will be treated in all respects as a slave. Classification: Pleasure Slut. So ordered." He scrawled his name on the bottom of the page and handed it plus the entire file back to my boss.

My boss promptly pushed the file back into her bag, scooped up my pile of clothes from the chair, and added them to the same container. In a hurry, she replied "Thank you very much, Your Honor. We won't take up any more of your time. Come along." She seized my elbow and dragged me, still naked and coughing, out of the judge's office. In the outer office she handed me my sweater, skirt, and shoes, but kept my underwear. When I asked for my bra and panties back, she dismissed the request, saying "You'll only have to take them off at our next stop—no sense wasting time. Now, go into the ladies' room across the hall, wash your face, and try to tidy yourself. I suggest you take this opportunity to pee, as you may not have another chance, at least not in private. And use this, too—it will make things easier for you," she said, handing me a small tube of lubricant.

Still coughing and shaking, covered by my rumpled sweater and skirt but with no underwear, I blushed once more and hurriedly followed her orders. After using the toilet, I finally focused on the lubricant she had given me. For a moment, I didn't know why I needed it when my crotch was alarmingly damp. Then the penny dropped, and with a renewed sense of shame I pushed some of the gel up my back door. I washed my hands and face, tried to arrange my hair, and returned to the corridor, where my impatient supervisor set off for the elevator, brusquely telling me to follow.

Down the elevator, out the rear entrance of the courthouse, and across a busy street to the Department of Agriculture office, with me stumbling after Ms. Williams while trying to avoid flashing the world. We rode the elevator up to the 5th floor. When the door opened, I was startled to encounter a muscular policewoman using what looked like a dog leash to pull a naked young man, hands restrained behind him, onto the elevator car. I noticed that he was almost fully erect although his face betrayed his unhappiness. Apparently other people were losing their freedom that day.

Ms. Williams led me through a cubicle farm of office workers to a glassed-in corner office. There, a secretary smilingly addressed her by name, confirmed that she was "right on time" for her appointment and that Mr. Shively would see her now. The woman almost visibly sneered at me, correctly suspecting that I was about to become a non-person. For a moment, I was afraid that she could even smell the evidence of my arousal. I slunk past her, following Ms. Williams into the inner office where a tall young man rose from his desk with a smile and an outstretched hand for her, again ignoring me.

"Thank you for seeing me so quickly," my boss said, pulling the legal file from her carry-all. "Here's the order from Judge Bean, authorizing a voluntary self-indenture to discharge a debt."

Shively read through the documentation slowly while Ms. Williams sat in a chair and I shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Then for the first time he looked directly at me:

"Elizabeth Sullivan? Are you prepared to execute this indenture?" I nodded, shaking quietly. "Please sit here; we're required to videotape the proceedings to preclude any misunderstanding." He turned on a video camera pointed at my face, then continued talking slowly and succinctly, as if I were mentally challenged.

"You understand that, for the duration of this agreement, you will surrender all civil rights and be treated exactly as if you were a slave?" "Yu-yes Sir."

"You also understand that your new owner has the sole discretion to decide whether you have provided enough value to discharge your debt, and may keep you in servitude for up to five years?" (Gulp. I hadn't really thought of it like that, but Ms. Williams had already convinced me that my value was marginal, making it likely that I would serve the full term. Too late, now—if I balked at this point, things would only get worse.) Again, I affirmed what he had said.

He handed me a page, and instructed me to read it out loud and then sign it.

"I acknowledge that I am indenturing myself of my own free will, under Texas Civil Code, Chapter 5 Conveyance, 5.309.2, indenture, for a period of not less than two nor more than five years. During this period, I convey ownership of my title and surrender all civil rights to the XYZ Bank of Dallas, Texas, its heirs and assignees. This indenture is irrevocable."

I stumbled over the last sentence, then scribbled my signature at the bottom before I could lose my nerve. For the next 2 or probably 5 years, I was in effect a slave. Once I looked up at Mr. Shively, he clicked the camera off, then told me to stand up.

"Slave, I want you completely naked—you have one minute." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ms. Williams pull a short whip out of her bag, obviously prepared to enforce his orders.

Here it was. I'd already stripped once, but that had been in a private office with only two people watching. Now, I was acutely aware that Shively's office had glass walls and that beyond that glass were dozens of people who all seemed to be watching my abasement. I began to pull the sweater over my head while shuffling my flat shoes off.

When my head came out of the sweater, which was bunched in front of me on my upper arms, I realized that this was the last moment when my breasts would be concealed. I suddenly felt a sharp crack, as the whip struck fully across my rear end. It got my attention but was not as painful as I had expected. Once again, Ms. Williams was way ahead of me:

"No modesty for slave girls. Hurry up."

I handed her my sweater, which she stuffed into her bag. I thought I heard someone in the outer office comment that I was braless and obviously begging to be screwed. Quickly I pulled off my skirt and bent over to retrieve my shoes, all of which went into her bag. Another swat reminded me to remove my hair clasp and the tiny, plain earrings I had put on that morning. I was completely slave naked. Again, I stood in the position of Present, conscious of the audience outside.

Mr. Shively rounded his desk as he ordered "Collar." I dropped to my knees, keeping them well spread, and placed one hand on my hip while the other grabbed my hair and held it away from my neck as he installed a temporary collar. I felt Ms. Williams bend close to me, and a tug indicated that she had clipped a leash onto the symbol of my bondage.

She ordered me to stand and turn towards the door, at which point Mr. Shively forcefully pulled my arms behind my back and used what felt like a zip-tie to pin my wrists together. As my new owner began to pull me towards the door, thanking Mr. Shively for his time, I panicked and jerked to a halt.

"Please, M-Mistress, may I wear a slave poncho?" I looked longingly at her, hoping she would use the translucent plastic garment that could be installed without releasing my wrists.

"I don't think so, slut. I know you're embarrassed, but the best way to get over that is by full exposure. In a few days it won't bother you anymore!"

She pulled me out into the open corridor, where employees of both sexes gathered to jeer and fondle me as I passed. With my hands tied, I could neither fend them off nor shield my boobs and pussy. I guess these people felt better about themselves if they could lord it over new slaves. I did jerk forward with a squeak when one young guy, bolder than the others, goosed me, thrusting his finger well past my sphincter.

"She's already greased up back there—she obviously can't wait for some guy to ram her ass!" he exclaimed.

To my chagrin, Ms. Williams abandoned her previous brisk walking pace, moving very slowly to the elevator while the spectators took advantage of my helpless exposure. Finally, we made it into the elevator and the door closed, headed down to the basement. Neither of us said anything, and I was still shaking.

We arrived at what was obviously the loading dock, where several other new slaves were already kneeling in large dog cages for transport. My ex-boss conferred with the attendant, giving him the pre-paid bill of lading to ship me to HCI in Houston. Before turning me over to him, she told me to "Display" again. Finding it hard to balance with my hands behind my back, I bent over, legs apart. I was startled by the sudden intrusion of two large objects—bigger than any penis or toy I'd ever experienced—into my lower holes. Thank heaven she had warned me to lubricate my rear! After tugging some cords into place, Ms. Williams ensured that I could not expel them by pulling the web of cords together and somehow connecting them at the top of my butt crack. I felt something scratching my skin, and recognized what she had done: installed a numbered aluminum shipping seal to prevent unauthorized removal of the dildos. When I worked at the slave market, I had occasionally seen new arrivals outfitted like this. Although quite uncomfortable, I silently thanked her for this, since it reduced the chance that I would be raped by shippers or slave handlers. Scratch that, I corrected myself mentally—in law, fucking a slave is not considered rape, even though it would be to the woman involved.

The attendant ordered me to kneel again, then installed a foul-tasting bit gag that wrapped around my head, pulling my mouth into an artificial grin. He pointed at an open cage and ordered me to crawl inside butt first. Once I managed that, he secured the cage door with a small lock and affixed the bill of lading to the side.

"I'll see you later—perhaps tomorrow, slave," announced Ms. Williams as she re-boarded the elevator and left me, gagged, naked, and caged, ready for transport.

I felt abandoned, and remembered instances of slaves spending days in transit. Fortunately for me, she had taken precautions to protect the bank's property. Less than ten minutes later, a small truck appeared at the loading dock and the attendant used a forklift to move my cage and one other onto it. The back door slammed down, leaving us in darkness.

It was hot and noisy in the truck, but unlike most slaves I knew where I was headed. It takes almost four hours to drive to Houston, although I had no way of tracking time. Yesterday, I had worried about major things, such as losing my clothes and being exposed to any man who wanted to take me. Now I realized that there were other drawbacks to my slavery. With hands zip-tied behind my back, not only could I not conceal my body but I couldn't even scratch my nose or force the weak little latch on the cage. This shipping procedure deliberately placed me in a humiliating crouch that exposed me to all and emphasized my lowly status, kept on my knees, compared to free people. As suggested by the collar, leash, and cage, I was a bitch puppy not trusted to wander freely. It was both unbearable and exciting.

Since I could do nothing else, I decided to enjoy the terrifying erotic thrill of being a slave. I spent the time rubbing my legs together, clenching on the two dildoes inside me and recalling with a shiver the experiences of the day. I was well on my way to a fourth orgasm when I felt the truck, slow, stop, back up and stop again. That almost certainly meant that we had reached our destination.

What happened next was a sequence I had witnessed many times while working at HCI, but never from the viewpoint of a slave. The truck door rolled up with a sudden burst of light that blinded me temporarily, then a forklift removed the two cages, one at a time. A few minutes later, I heard the "beep" of a barcode scanner, and knew that I had been added to HCI's inventory.

On my knees, all I could see was a pair of khaki pants and steel toed boots, the same kind of uniform I had once worn as an HCI slave handler. A stern female voice ordered me to crawl out of the cage and then remain motionless. I complied and felt a heavy collar with two sharp prongs wrapped around my neck. This was followed by a stout pair of handcuffs on my wrists before the zip tie was cut off. I felt even more defenseless than before, if that were possible.

"You are at the Houston, Texas, location of HCI Incorporated. You are here for processing as a slave. I am required by law to tell you that the collar you are wearing can deliver a powerful and extremely painful electric shock if you attempt to leave this building without permission. Additionally, all HCI employees are authorized to use any means deemed necessary to compel you to comply with all orders given to you, and those means include electrical shock and whipping. If you follow my instructions you will not be hurt. Do you understand?"

Shit! I knew that voice. I was about to be processed by my former partner, Cindy, the girl who originally taught me to perform slave postures. So much for not being recognized! My sexual day-dream had just become a nightmare.

(To be continued)