Return to Sessia Ch. 01

Gretchen had more fun with the stockings. She grabbed the fabric of the stockings at the top and slowly slid the material down my thighs, fondling the smoothness of my skin as she went.

Then she hooked her fingers into the waistband of my tiny panties, and before she began to pull them down, she looked up at me and said, "Most of these people have never seen you naked, Diane. Now you're about to be stripped naked in front of them. And for the rest of their lives -- no matter what you're wearing- they will always remember what you look like naked and exposed and handcuffed. How does that make you feel?"

Gretchen didn't give me time to respond. She just wanted to see the humbled and humiliated look on my face just before I was stripped of my last vestige of clothing and dignity.

Then, instead of sliding the panties down my hips, Gretchen gripped the flimsy fabric in her hands and used the scissor to shred the panties and tear the delicate fabric from my body, leaving me naked and exposed in front of ten fully clothed people.

There was an immediate reaction amongst the assembled guests. Not only was I standing naked and handcuffed, with no hope of covering myself, but my pussy was also shaved bare and totally exposed. And to my shame and humiliation, my pubic lips were swollen and unfurled and engorged with arousal.

And despite the fact that I had agreed to it, it was still the most dreadfully embarrassing and extremely humiliating event in my life thus far - to be seen totally naked by people who knew me. I just stood there in total embarrassment as twenty eager eyes wandered all over my nude body. And for those with cameras the opportunities were endless and I was circled and photographed from every conceivable angle.

Then, with a dramatic flourish, Gretchen tossed the shredded fabric that had once been my panties to the ground and then Officer Ryan loudly proclaimed to Gretchen, "You may now kiss your slave."

It was a historic moment as Gretchen kissed me; her naked and handcuffed slave; in front of her mother, my sister and several of our friends and acquaintances. And it seemed that everybody had a camera or a camcorder to capture the event and make certain that it never be forgotten.

* * * * * * * * * *

So, the next step was the signing of the paperwork.

I didn't read most of it. And if you had any concept of exactly how much paperwork is involved when you travel to a foreign nation to promote a product or cause you wouldn't judge me. And of course I wasn't just traveling to Sessia to promote a cause; I was also signing away quite a lot of my legal rights while I was there! So, there was more paperwork for that! And then there were the medical documents and legal documents and financial documents and contracts that spelled out my responsibilities to LSC and the paperwork that spelled out the obligations I would have towards Gretchen under Sessian law as her slave and the paperwork just went on and on and on.

Eventually, Officer Ryan just went to stay in a hotel. She came to Gretchen's house to spank my ass and rape me with a ten-inch strap-on dildo, not to watch me do paperwork.

And then came the day that I met with Victoria.

Victoria Lynn Johnson works for Stacy Martinet and while Stacy manages everything from an office in Washington D.C., it was arranged by Stacy for Victoria to travel to Sessia with me and Gretchen. And of course before we left, Victoria had to make sure that Gretchen and I would be delivering the proper image.

For starters, Victoria didn't like the image my hair gave off.

"You have a very pretty and open face," Victoria informed me, "but your hair is too long and too flowing and it just gets in the way. We'll have to get it cut and styled, so that the photographers don't have any problems getting photos of your face."

I thought she was joking at first, but then she sent me to a hair-stylist in Falls Church and had them chop most of my hair off. What was left was cute and stylish, but much shorter than before.

And despite the fact that I would be spending most of my time in Sessia naked, Victoria decided it was very important to pick out the clothes that I would be wearing for the day that we arrived.

"You do know that they're going to make me strip naked there at the airport, right?"

"Absolutely," Victoria replied, "I'm looking forward to it. You-a free woman-stripping naked in public, and being reduced to a naked slave in front of scores of witnesses will be a highly ritualistic and emotional event and we only get one shot at maximizing its potential! We've got to get it right the first time...which means that you've got to wear the right outfit for the cameras!"

Victoria ended up going with a very conservative (yet somehow cute) women's skirt suit with a classy, grey tweed jacket with a three button front closure. This was paired with a gray tweed skirt that just barely covered my knees. Of course the skirt was custom-fitted to show off the shape of my ass, and the jacket was custom-fitted to show off the narrowness of my wait.

There was also a crisp, button-up shirt, black sheer stockings and black heels. The whole outfit had the effect of making me look classy, yet feminine. The outfit was also complex enough that it would take several minutes to disrobe, which would allow the photographers time to get plenty of photos of me as I undressed at the airport.

Oh, yeah, did I mention that Victoria arranged for newspaper photographers and TV news crews from six different nations to be at the airport waiting for me on the day I arrived in Sessia?

On the day that I got on the plane, Victoria even had a professional makeup artist apply my makeup.

Oh, and Victoria also picked out Gretchen's clothes and her makeup professionally applied as well. Gretchen was furious about this. She had gone to college and got a college degree and worked for years as an accounts manager at Listig Strategic Communications. Now, she was being dressed and made up like some sort of runway model or stage performer. Nobody cared about the knowledge in her head; they just cared about how good she looked in front of the cameras.

The whole time on the flight across the Atlantic, I had butterflies in my stomach. Sure, I'd stripped naked in front of strangers before, but somehow it never gets easy.

Also, I've never stripped naked in front of an army of reporters and TV cameramen before. Literally millions of people were going to see my humiliation and surrender when I stripped naked at the airport.

We arrived at Alexander Price Airport and got off the plane and my heart was beating so hard I could actually feel it pounding in my chest. Gretchen had an arm around my shoulders and Victoria tightly held my left hand.

At the time, I thought they were comforting me in my time of need, but they could just as easily have been holding onto me to help make certain I didn't panic and make a run for it.

Victoria informed one of the airport officials that I was registered as a slave with the Office of Slave Identification (OSI) and he took my passport and called for security.

I tried to even out my breathing. I took long, slow breaths and tried not to panic. I'd done this before. I could do it again. No reason to panic. Nobody's going to hurt me...well, not any worse than I'm used to anyway.

In short order, two officious-looking, young women in intimidating-looking uniforms with the letters AAS on their stab vest marched down the corridor and intercepted me. One of them was holding my passport.

"Miss Schlank?"

"Yes, Ma'am," I replied, not having to fake how nervous or intimidated I felt.

"You'll have to come with me, Miss Schlank. By Sessian law, you can't be processed by the same procedures as your friends. The Office of Slave Identification has written their own rules for the processing of registered slaves that come to Sessia from a foreign nation."

I was nervous and I'm certain I was sweating by then, but I managed to screw up my courage and meekly reply, "I understand. I'll go with you and acquiesce to whatever procedures Sessian law requires."

"Good girl," I heard Victoria say. Gretchen was quickly identified as my legally recognized owner and one of the AAS security guards told Gretchen where and when I would be available for her to reclaim.

My wrists were quickly and efficiently handcuffed and I was led down a corridor, to an area of the airport that was visible to scores of tourists, travelers and airline employees; however it was also roped off and thick with security personnel. There were no walls or barriers to keep people out of the room, but multiple signs were erected, stating, "No unauthorized personnel beyond this point" and "Restricted Area".

At least a hundred people would be able to witness my capitulation as I obediently stripped naked, but only the AAS guards and OSI bureaucrats would get close enough to actually touch me.

The security guards unlocked my wrists from the handcuffs and I was identified by my passport photo as well as the photos of me that the OSI already had in their database of registered slaves. Everyone who was ever a registered slave in Sessia has a permanent file that database.

They also had my fingerprints on file and after I was released from the handcuffs, they used a biometric scanner to verify that my fingerprints matched the fingerprints of the Diane Schlank that was registered as a slave in Sessia four months ago.

Having checked and double-checked and triple-checked my identity (I guess they really don't want to take the risk that they might accidentally enslave the wrong person), the three officials from the OSI certified that I truly was Diane Schlank, American citizen, and registered property of Gretchen Starke.

"Very well, Miss Schlank," said one of the security guards as she grabbed a cardboard box at set it down on the table, "Get undressed and place all of your clothes and any personal items in this box. You'll get everything back when you go back to the United States."

I swallowed hard and faced the table where the three member panel from the OSI was sitting. Behind me crowds of people watched, including camera crews from the BBC and other news networks. If I looked in their direction and made eye contact, I'm not sure if I would have had the courage to strip naked in front of them.

I started with the tweed jacket. There were just three buttons to unbutton and then I could slide it off. It was the first to go into their cardboard box. Then off came the shoes, and then the custom-fitted skirt with the hidden zipper.

My back was to the journalists and the camera crews, but I could feel them judging me, evaluating my physical attributes, taking photographs and video footage. Their eyes on my body were almost as bad as being groped by their hands.

The crisp button-up shirt took longer to remove. It had a lot more buttons than the jacket, and my hands were starting to shake at this point. Finally a security guard had to help me get my shirt off. She also had to help with the hook and eye on my pushup bra (I don't normally wear pushup bras, but Victoria insisted that I wear one) and she grabbed hold of my thighs and I shuddered as I felt her strange hands on my legs as she slid my stockings down.

I felt hot and feverish and embarrassed by the time I was just down to my panties. They were black, low-rise; hip-hugger panties with black lace trim that left very little to the imagination. They were very tight and very small and clung to me like a second skin. You could clearly see the shape of my ass through the thin, tight spandex/lycra fabric of the panties and I also had a "camel-toe" where the panties were digging into the cleft between my public lips and it felt as if the material had ridden up into the back and was wedged tightly in between the my buttocks. But Sessian law was very clear. Those panties would have to come off.

So, I took a deep breath and hooked my thumbs into the waistband of the panties and struggled out of them in front of an audience of scores of people. Once they were free from my hips, they slid down my slender thighs easily. I stepped out of the tiny article of clothing once it had hit the floor and I dutifully dropped my panties into the cardboard box along with my dignity and self-respect.

"I'm pleased to see that your pubic area is clean-shaven," an OSI bureaucrat interjected as she looked directly at my swollen pubic lips. "We have a new punishment for slaves that fail to keep their genitals smooth and hairless. Believe me, you wouldn't like it."

That blunt statement scared the hell out of me, but it also made me wet. What would she have done to me if I had negligently allowed pubic hair to grow on my pubic mound? Visions of painful and traumatic punishments instantly sprang into my imagination.

I was already stark naked, and feeling helpless and vulnerable and embarrassed, but then a grim faced OSI bureaucrat demanded that I take off my watch and I surrender that as well. "Slaves aren't allowed any personal property, you know."

So, I unbuckled my watch from my wrist and placed that in the box as well.

I was now a docile and lowly slave and my body language made it obvious to everyone that they had just witnessed my transformation from free-woman to slave-girl. I now passively awaited the orders of those who had authority over me.

"It's time for a body cavity search," announced one of the OSI bureaucrats. She was young (slightly older than me) and wore a gray skirt suit almost identical to the one that I'd been wearing just moments before. Somehow I felt it an affront that she was still clothed in a nice suit, while I was stark naked and vulnerable and exposed to the world.

The box with my clothes was closed and sealed with packing tape and labeled with my name and slave number, and then taken away. I wouldn't see it again for a long time.

"Open your mouth, wide, Miss Schlank," one of the security guards ordered me. "It's time we did a body cavity search." The guard then proceeded to use a tongue depressor to keep my tongue down while she examined the interior of my mouth. When she was satisfied I wasn't hiding anything in there, I was ordered to stand with my legs far apart, bent over, with my head down and my hands flat against the table, my knees straight and my ass way up in the air.

The security guards took a lot of time to make certain that every detail of my position conformed to their specifications. It seemed to me that it was designed to make me feel as vulnerable and exposed as possible.

After they were satisfied that nothing could be done to make my position any more humiliating, one guard took her sweet time snapping on a latex glove and getting into position behind me.

This made for good drama and the photographers snapped photo after photo of my widespread legs and vulnerable ass, as the security guards made me wait for what was to come.

I waited and waited and the suspense was becoming unbearable. Every part of my body went tense, waiting for a latex-clad finger to penetrate a very tender part of my anatomy; however the security guard was content to make me wait. I held the position so long that my legs started to feel weak and wobbly, the muscles in the back of my legs felt uncomfortably stretched and taut and sweat began to form on my torso and underneath my arms.

Then, when I thought I couldn't take the suspense anymore, I felt the security guard firmly grasp my labia with one hand and then shove two fingers deeply inside me with the other hand.

Gretchen hadn't given me permission to orgasm in several days and my clit was super-sensitive and swollen. The woman thrust and wriggled her strong fingers, exploring every inch of my sensitive interior, while I was forced to maintain my very difficult and awkward pose. I moaned and felt an orgasm approaching within seconds after her fingers entered me. She may have been doing a body cavity search, however as she roughly fingered my aching cunt, it felt more like she was trying to bring me to a wild and screaming orgasm. To make matters worse, my face was just a few inches from the face of an OSI bureaucrat and she was studying my face closely, probably attempting to assess my emotional reaction to what was being done to my sensitive pussy.

And to add to my embarrassment, I could hear the army of reporters behind me, recording the whole thing, immortalizing my shame as I panted and perspired and felt my body flood with endorphins as this woman's merciless fingers invaded the most sensitive part of my anatomy and probed it. My humiliation and submissive surrender to authority would soon be shared all over Europe.

I continued to whimper and my thighs continued to tremble and shake, and just when I thought orgasm was inevitable, the security guard withdrew her fingers. They came out covered with hot, sticky fluids,

"Keep your legs spread like that," she ordered me, "or else you'll be punished."

And while I consumed with self-pity for how I had been unjustly denied a much-needed orgasm and how my passive acquiescence to sexual abuse would soon be soon all over Europe, the AAS security guard grabbed the cheeks of my ass and pulled them roughly apart. Some sort of cold, thick gel was smeared into the delicate pink flesh between by my buttocks and then I didn't even have time to take a deep breath before she plunged a finger directly into my anus.

My asshole was still sensitive from all those times that Officer Ryan had anally violated me with a strap-on and I made a noise that was half gasp, half whimper as that finger speared me deep.

It was hard for me to maintain my position with my head down and may ass up and my legs spread so ridiculously wide with that finger moving around inside of me, but slaves can get into a lot of trouble for not following orders, so I screwed my eyes shut tight and gritted my teeth and made a herculean effort to ignore what that strong finger was doing inside my anus as maintain my difficult posture.

I whimpered as the security guard's strong finger continued to assault my tiny, sensitive hole. I had so many nerve endings down the AAS employee seemed to be determined to manipulate and stimulate and abuse them all.

I had tears in my eyes by the time she finished. But rather than comfort me after my traumatic ordeal, somebody pressed something cold and metallic to the back of my neck and I felt a sharp, sudden pain and heard a mechanical sounding Ka-chunk noise.

"What the hell was that?" I asked, frightened and confused. By Sessian law, they're not allowed to any real damage to slaves. They're not allowed to break our bones or stab us or brand us or do anything that would require a trip to the hospital.

"I just injected you with a tracking chip," the female security guard replied. "It's nothing to be concerned about. It's just underneath the skin. After a day or two you won't even be able to see the mark where it was injected."

"A tracking chip," I asked, not certain I understood.

"It's like Lojack," she replied. "It sends out a beacon that the OSI and the police can detect. It means the OSI will always be able to find you, no matter where you go. Miss Starke insisted that we outfit you with one."

Then the two uniformed security guards grabbed me by my upper-arms and pulled me up and I attempted to stand on shaky legs. I was still traumatized from everything that woman had done to my pussy and asshole and was also my body just wanted to collapse.

While I was still reeling from my body cavity search, an OSI bureaucrat produced a black, leather slave collar and she locked it around my neck. A metal tag was attached to the collar which listed my name as well as the name of my owner. There were also two contact numbers that people could call if I ever got lost or (far less likely) if I was captured after escaping. There was a loud click as a small metal padlock was locked onto the collar, making it impossible to remove.