Accidentally On-Purpose Pt. 01

"That makes sense" Michelle said. "I guess invols means involuntary enslavement?"

Sandy replied "Yeah, exactly, that's probably the most common—"

Shouting and loud laughter erupted from the Wholesale section, and both women turned their heads to find the source. In one of the big pens some warehouse guys in coveralls, led by a very big white guy, were pulling a woman out of the cage, and she was protesting loudly: a young white woman, thin with long dark hair and small breasts with oval-shaped areolae and long nipples, was shouting curses and calling the men all kinds of names in a harsh East Texas accent. The men laughed at her impotent anger, and the leader, a tall, brawny man, unshaven with curly brown hair peaking out from under his cap, attached a leash to her collar, produced a small can from a pocket and sprayed devoxer down her throat — she was rendered silent instantly, like switching off a radio, much to the amusement of his followers. He pulled her toward a set of double doors labeled "Employees Only"; one of the men pushed a button on the wall that swung the doors open. The leader pocketed the spray and pulled on her leash so savagely that the brunette stumbled forward, and he slapped her hard on her naked ass as she passed. The doors closed behind the group, cutting off the sound of the men's laughter.

"Is what I think is happening, happening?" Michelle asked.

Sandy looked back toward Michelle. "Yeah, they're gonna 'borrow' her during their break. I guess they would call it a 'perk' of working here. As long as they don't damage them or interfere with operations, they can 'borrow' as many as they like."

"Why didn't they each take one?" Michelle wondered.

"You know why as well as I do," Sandy said. "It's not about sex."

Michelle stood still, wide-eyed, shocked, clutching the mop handle with both hands. Sandy stopped mopping too.

"Don't worry, Ed and his crew know better than to mess with us. They'd be fired, HCI would prosecute them, and Ms. Steiner would probably murder them, literally. And slowly. If that's why you're upset, don't be." Sandy glanced back over to the Wholesale pens. "Still," she said, "you're better off if you stay out of Ed's way."

Sandy returned to mopping. Michelle felt one last shiver, then joined her.

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At lunch Michelle told Sandy about her encounter with Ms. Steiner that morning, and how Sandy had been volunteered to teach her the various control positions.

"Sure" Sandy said. "How about we start tomorrow night right after work? Bring gym clothes and we can use one of the training rooms."

"Really?" Michelle said. "I thought it would be more like you just showed me a few things during a break, not a whole thing where I have to change clothes."

Sandy shook her head. "Believe me, with Ms. Steiner it's about more than just knowing the positions, it's about performing them quickly and well; she wants to see that you took the assignment seriously. You'll need someone to demonstrate and then check your form if you want to please her. Here," she said, fiddling with her phone, "I sent you a link to a pretty decent video series on the positions. Watch it tonight, and we can go over it tomorrow."

Michelle felt her phone vibrate, looked at the text and said "Thanks, I appreciate it."

"No problem."

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At home that night laying in bed, Michelle was having a hard time processing all these new experiences. Michelle knew a little bit about slavery: she had taken the required introductory class in high school, had been chipped and privately graded when she turned eighteen (necessary for certain college applications and internships), and had watched the usual popular video series on YouTube.

She had seen slaves, of course: the company that maintained her family's yard and swimming pool used slaves, as did some of the shops and restaurants in town. But she didn't know any slaves, much less talk to any, so she had to admit that she knew nothing about their lives and experiences. Her family was prominent and well-off, she was never expected to go near that world.

Maybe that's why working at HCI had been such a shock to her. But it was also true that she had never in her life been in a place where sex and nudity and, um, "adult situations" were literally all around her all the time. She had power over women who were older than herself, she could tell them what to do and they just had to take it and say "yes ma'am" or she could have them shocked, and next week she was going to be certified to use a shock prod herself. She watched them humiliate themselves in front of her, glowing red-hot with shame, unable to hide their faces or cover their bodies in any way.

But it wasn't the power itself that was attractive, though it was certainly fun. It was something else, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. What she did know was that she had been constantly sexually aroused since arriving there. She had masturbated four times in two days, which was more than she had in the entire previous month, and each time she had come fast and hard.

What she thought about as she rubbed herself was bothering her a little, though. The first time was at work after meeting Cal, which was awesome of course, but at one point she pictured him using the catch pole on her, and it was sort of hot even if it was a bit strange.

The second time was at night after her first day at HCI: she was thinking about the lady in Shipping running her hands all over the fleshy, sensual body of Prisha the Indian slave, and the idea of Prisha's curvy bottom being whipped, but what pushed her over the top was remembering the sound of that whip crack over in Wholesale, and imagining her own naked, vulnerable body being subjected to the evil thing.

The third time was after lunch this afternoon, and was really horrifying her: she was thinking about the gang of warehouse guys dragging off that woman to be raped. What if I had been in the cage that guy Ed and his friends opened, and they took me out? Would I have to fuck him? Would I have to fuck all of them? Naked, handcuffed and collared there's not a lot I could do to stop them. Is that what it means to be a slave, having no control over anything and being at the mercy of even a bunch of warehouse workers who want to blow off some steam? She wondered some more: would they fuck me quickly in a break room, or take me somewhere no one could hear me scream? Would they put me on my knees first and make me suck them all? I'd have no choice but to take their smelly cocks and sweaty balls in my mouth. They might even make me beg for it...

Michelle shuddered, then recalled the fourth time, which was just a little while ago. She had watched the slave position videos Sandy had recommended. The same channel also had videos on something called slave yoga, and Michelle had watched a few out of curiosity. They appeared to be exercise videos, of course, and they were introduced and narrated by a statuesque white woman with glasses and dark hair piled on top of her head. But what interested Michelle was the subject performing the yoga: a physically fit white woman, completely naked (not even athletic shoes) except for a black nylon hood without any holes in it, and a leather slave collar. She followed the instructor's orders quickly and accurately without making a sound.

Michelle was convinced that the performer was Sandy.

And Michelle had cum and cum and cum.