60 Days In

"You aren't going to jail today."

Jeanine's heart sank. Most people would be thrilled to hear those words, but Jeanine had been selected to be on the show 60 Days In.

"There was a, uh, incident" One of the producers continued. The others nodded in agreement.

Jeanine looked around the van. There were 5 other occupants; two male and one female producers, the driver, as well as a cameraman who was filming her.

Over the years, the show had become a cultural phenomenon, skyrocketing in ratings, and launching many of its participants into celebrity. Meanwhile Jeanine had been cultivating her own social media following. With nearly 20 thousand followers, her profile gave the impression of a jet setter that spent her life in lingerie or a bikini on an exotic beach. Few knew of her real life cleaning cages at a veterinarian's office. She hoped that with her appearance on the popular show would turn the image into a reality.

But now that hope was falling apart.

"We may have to scrap the entire last season." The female producer chimed in. "And we will definitely be terminating our relationship with the Clark County Sheriff's office."

"So we had to pivot quickly and we think we have something else lined up. It would be taking the show in a whole new direction, and if you're still on board, you would be the first participant."

"Yeah, definitely. I'm still down for whatever you guys have for me."

"Well, if you are still interested, we would place you as an undercover in the Southwestern Education Center for Former Citizens." The producer who hadn't spoken yet said.

"A slave training place?" Jeanine was shocked.

"It has a lot of similarities to a jail, so it wouldn't be too different from the current show or what you've been preparing for since you applied." The first producer added.

"But don't they keep those girls naked? And fuck them?"

"Our sources indicate that sexual contact is surprisingly rare, about what you would expect in a regular prison." The female producer answered.

"And based on your social media, you seem pretty confident in your own skin." The first male added.

"Yes, and it is network tv. Your private areas will be blurred out." The female continued. She shot the male a glare for the interruption. "You would still have your escape phrase if you felt you were in imminent danger, but we would encourage you to do whatever it takes to make it to the end."

Jeanine thought about it for a moment.

"How long do I have to decide?" She asked.

"You would need to decide now. We have you registered for a 3pm intake and that barely gives us time to do the updated waivers."

Jeanine knew she wouldn't get another chance like this.

"Fuck it, let's do it."

As the van drove down the highway she quickly signed the mountain of new paperwork. The producers briefed her on her backstory, what not to say, and emergency procedures. Finally they gave her the escape phrase, the words she would say if she was in danger that would end the experiment and have her "rescued". All the while they kept reminding her to do whatever she had to to survive and that it wasn't supposed to be enjoyable for her. She wondered if they said the same things to the people going to prison. A tiny microphone was inserted deep into her ear to pick up audio of her ordeal.

The van pulled into a parking lot and one of the male producers helped her out.

"Joel will be delivering you. It would blow your cover if you showed up to the facility in a van with a camera crew." The other male producer told her.

She was handed a thick piece of paper with a QR code printed on it. At the top it read Jackson, Jeanine D. 6/27/2019 Age 24. Voluntary.

Joel took a firm grip on her upper arm and led her down the street. She knew she was on camera so she didn't protest but the way he held her hurt.

Two blocks from where they got out, Joel stopped and rang the bell of a warehouse building. Jeanine stole a glance back at the van and saw the camera trained on her. Most of the businesses in this part of town were shuttered and the sidewalks were empty.

The door suddenly opened and a gruff looking man with coveralls stood there with a tablet.

"Name?" He barked.

Jeanine started to speak but Joel interrupted her.

"Jackson." He snatched the paper from her hand and handed it to the man who scanned it with his tablet.

"Are you Jeanine Jackson?" He asked.

Jeanine nodded.

"Eyes on the ground. Always!" He ordered.

Jeanine quickly complied. He handed her back the paper and grabbed her arm with a grip even firmer than Joel had. She yelped which made him chuckle as he led her down a hallway and into a large open room.

Stealing a glance around the room she saw that there were rows of colored dots painted on the floor like a giant twister mat. About 3/4 of the dots had a terrified looking girl standing on each one. A line connected each similar colored row and led in an arc to the door of a bus parked on one side of the room near a garage door. Several men and women dressed in coveralls stood around holding either thin canes or shock batons.

She was led to a dot on the red row, which was already halfway full.

"Face forward, don't move."

She assumed "forward" was the direction the other girls were facing and followed suit. A woman in gray coveralls like the other guards, except with a white band on the sleeve pushed a metal cart up to Jeanine. She took her paper and scanned it and put it in a file box on the cart. Jeanine saw the stun baton sitting on the cart so she made sure to look down and ahead. She did not realize the woman was making her way to the other side of her until she felt the cartilage of her ear being pierced with a plastic livestock tag.

She let out a loud yelp and promptly felt the shock of the baton in her back.

Over the next several minutes, the remaining spots were filled with girls who were each tagged and shocked if they cried in pain, which was most of them. Once the last girl had recovered from her shock, a guard yelled "STRIP" and all the girls quickly started pulling clothes off. Jeanine followed suit and slid her sweatpants off.

"Everything off, clothes, underwear, jewelry. Put it in a pile to your left." A guard rattled off. "If you have a phone, wallet, money, put it in the pile. You no longer own anything. Most of you will never wear clothes again."

Jeanine was glad that she had dressed for jail. She had left her phone and wallet at home and hadn't worn any jewelry. Under her sweatpants and faded Galveston beach tee were her "period panties" and an old bra she had as a spare since high school when her 32Ds came in. They barely dropped as she slid the undergarment down her arms and allowed it to fall on the pile to her left. It was an unusually brisk May day and the air of the unheated warehouse kissed her small nipples and caused them to stand more prominently than usual atop her light areolas.

As she slid the granny panties down her legs she did a quick assessment of the other girls in her vicinity. While they were all somewhat attractive, she felt that she was still the most striking of them all. She also noted that they all appeared younger than her but most had some cellulite forming on their butt and thighs in contrast to her toned backside from her gym regimen.

She wondered how the other girls had wound up there. Most girls entering slavery were serving sentences for nonviolent felonies. Many of them would eventually regain their freedom. Others were voluntary, most in exchange for a large sum of money to their family or repayment of a debt. A few unfortunate souls had been tricked into it. Jeanine had even heard rumors of there being a slavery fetish that would compel people to condemn themselves just for fun.

Once nude, she stood at attention awaiting the next instruction with her hands folded in front of her crotch in a surreptitious attempt to preserve some of her modesty. The cacophony of steel filled the warehouse as guards dragged chains with open steel bands on them down the side of each row. When the guard pulling the chain to her right stopped, a single open cuff lay ominously next to her.

At the same time, another guard pushed a laundry cart down the other side of the line, collecting the girls' former belongings in it. The word INCINERATOR stenciled on the side of it ended any hope that Jeanine would get her new Puma running shoes back after this ordeal. Stopping at the girl in front of Jeanine, the guard sorted the clothes into the cart and dropped a necklace and some small bills into a canvas bag that hung on the side of the cart. When she got to Jeanine's pile, she shook out each item, but finding no valuables, she scowled.

"Check this one good!" She shouted.

Jeanine would soon find out what that meant when another guard shouted "Cavity search! Bend over and spread your holes!"

The other girls quickly complied and Jeanine followed suit. For several minutes she held the position, using her hands to pull her cheeks apart as she saw the other girls doing. Finally, she felt a presence beside her.

"Is this the one holding out?" A male guard asked.

"That's her" The female replied.

Jeanine groaned as she felt gloved fingers invade her vagina. After probing around, the process was repeated on her narrower hole.

"I got nothing, give me that thing."

Without warning, a cold speculum slid into her vagina. Jeanine gasped at the sensation. The device sounded several clicks as it spread her open, and again she was violated with fingers. After a fruitless search, the device was removed and Jeanine was again ordered to stand.

"Open up. Say Ahhh" The guard ordered.

Jeanine opened her mouth and the guard forced his fingers deep into her mouth, gagging her. The glove had a sour taste.

Satisfied that she was not hiding contraband, her hands were cuffed behind her back and the corresponding cuff on the long chain was closed around her ankle with an audible snap.

She watched as the process was repeated on the girl in front of her, using the same gloves.

Suddenly a commotion broke out next to her, in the yellow line.

"THE FUCK IS THIS?" The guard shouted, holding up a condom with a handcuff key in it.

"Please..." The terrified girl whimpered.

An enormous guard appeared and, grabbing her by the red hair, dragged the girl out of the line. Her screams continued, fading into the distance down a hallway, until a slamming door left the warehouse silent again.

Despite the commotion, the guards finished searching and securing the girls and ordered them, starting with Jeanine's line, to march. Several of the girls stumbled until the line fell into a cadence, the rattle of the heavy chain filling the warehouse with each step of the line.

At her place, Jeanine followed the girl in front of her along the painted line and up to the driverless bus. Stealing a glance at the ceiling, she noticed several cameras that must be recording her ordeal for the national audience.

Inside the bus, a red line continued down the side. There were no seats and the windows were all blacked out. Her line continued to march down the line until the girl in front of her stopped abruptly. Jeanine crashed into the girl in front of her and then felt the breasts of the girl behind her smash into her back.

With her row now aboard the bus, facing the rear, the chain was locked to the floor at the front and rear and the girls were ordered to kneel. She watched as the other 3 lines of girls were loaded into the bus in the same fashion, the redhead's cuff on the yellow line remained empty.

With the last of the now 39 girls kneeling, and 3 baton wielding guards aboard, the door closed and the bus began moving.

The sudden acceleration caused several of the girls to fall forward, unable to catch themselves with their cuffed hands. The guard's batons quickly reminded them that they were to remain kneeling. None of the girls, not even Jeanine, were spared the shock of the baton as the bus accelerating, braking, and turning sent the nude girls tumbling, with only their ankle cuffs to secure them in place. She noticed welts like mosquito bites beginning to form from the cruel device on the girl whose bare backside had been her only view throughout this ordeal.

After what felt like an hour, the bus came to a final stop and the engine shut off. Several minutes of silence followed, only broken by the guards shouting "EYES DOWN!" at anyone thinking it was okay to look around.

Without warning, the back door of the bus swung open, suddenly filling the dark enclosure with bright sunlight. Jeanine instinctively tried to shield her eyes with her hands, but her cuffs frustratingly prevented that.

As her eyes slowly adjusted, one of the center rows rose, and with their chain unlocked from the floor, they noisily marched out the back door. The other middle row followed, then the blue row, then the girl in front of Jeanine rose and she took that as her cue to stand as well. A moment later, the chain pulled her left foot forward and her row marched out the back of the bus into a large dirt courtyard.

Jeanine took the opportunity to quickly look around. The yard was at least 50 yards square and surrounded by concrete walls at least 30 feet high topped with spotlights and cameras. The only opening was a single steel door, large enough to drive a car- or bus through. It was currently shut.

She heard the yelps of other girls falling victim to the shock batons and quickly focused her attention on the dirt in front of her before her transgression went noticed. The coarse ground was filled with sharp pebbles that painfully assaulted her bare feet. She could tell by the limping of the legs in front of her that she was not the only one struggling with this torture.

Her line continued marching, seemingly randomly, guided by an unseen leader for at least 30 minutes. Several times she saw other lines of shackled slavegirls pass in her periphery. The rattle of the chains echoed off the concrete walls and filled the courtyard.

Suddenly the constant tug at her ankle stopped. Her line stopped. The rattle of chains stopped. Her ears still rang with the sound. She peered around the courtyard without moving her head. The four rows of shackled women were now perfectly lined up facing the lone door of the courtyard. The bus was gone.

A sturdy woman stood in front of the lines ready to address the new trainees. She wore a military style uniform with her hair pulled tightly back in a bun. Unlike the guards with their shock batons, she held a bullwhip, coiled in her right hand ready to deploy against the nude flesh of a terrified victim.

She cleared her throat and brought the megaphone to her lips...