Accidentally On-Purpose Pt. 04

Accidentally On-Purpose Part 4.3

————————

Part four of a multi-part story about a young woman working as an intern at a slave market. It is set in the same world, city, and place as my previous series Three Sisters so it may be useful to read that first.

————————

Note that this story contains bondage, slavery, power exchange dynamics, threats of physical harm including electric shock, non-consensual sexual submission, lesbian sex, bodily fluids, and a character's struggle to come to terms with it all. All characters are at least 18 years of age.

————————

"...they went out of business, so now it's up to us to liquidate the inventory" Michelle said. "No Primes, apparently, so it won't affect my workload directly, but the wholesale side is slammed, which means the auctions are all theirs for the next few days, maybe all week."

"What kind of business was it?" Billy asked.

Having lunch with Billy Ferguson, the acting head of security for HCI, was becoming a regular thing for Michelle. They ate together several times a week and talked about a thousand different things.

"One of those cleaning services where they'll bring slaves to your house and you get to watch them clean the place while naked, and have sex with them for an extra fee. I assume there was just too much competition for a new company to make it, especially one without Primes."

"Wow," Billy said, stirring his protein shake with a metal straw. "So they just declared bankruptcy, loaded all the women into some trucks, and drove them here?"

"The court ordered them to do it," Michelle said, unaware that she was stirring her salad with her fork. "The interesting thing is that the owners of the business are female, so there's a real chance that they may be sold into indenture to pay off their creditors."

Things had been going pretty well the past few weeks. She and Billy had been spending time together, first lunches then the occasional workout at the gym, and last Friday he had asked her to dinner. She almost suggested Opal's, so she could show off her big, bald, powerlifter maybe-boyfriend to Jason Le and his court of admirers, but decided against it; when she told Lena, she said she was proud of her.

"I hope they treated their former staff well," Billy said. "Otherwise they might have a very, er, ah, unpleasant time of it. Man, I wouldn't want to be a former owner reduced to slavery, and processed in the same place as my former property." He let out a low whistle.

"For a company that was less than two years old, they sure had a lot of slaves," Michelle said. "So they probably had some investors, which means they can ask the court for ownership of the former owners as invols in lieu of repayment."

"That seems kinda messed up," Billy said.

Michelle shrugged. "The law is the law, what are you going to do?" She glanced at the clock in the cafeteria. "Cripes, I gotta get back so Sandy can go to lunch" she said, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin. "Ms. Steiner is making us take shifts so that someone is always available to evaluate a possible high-end Choice or even a Prime if the wholesale crew comes across one in the lots. Oh, before I forget, any word on Mrs. Fisher?"

"Her husband called this morning, looks like she's going to be out for a while," Billy said with a frown. Mrs. Fisher was the retired Houston PD detective who had become HCI's local head of security. Billy was filling in for her while she went through surgery for stomach cancer. It didn't look good.

Michelle stood, gathering her dishes onto her tray, and shook her head. "I'm sorry, that sucks."

"Yeah, it does," Billy agreed, but then brightened. "See you tonight?"

"A study buddy never leaves a buddy behind," Michelle said as she walked toward the dish return, and Billy chuckled.

————————

"How does it look?" Michelle asked Sandy as she surveyed the wholesaler's side of the receiving area. They were trying to run the women through a sort of assembly line, but there were so many of them that small groups of slaves were sitting on the concrete floor, just waiting; Michelle had never seen so many naked women in one place before.

"All quiet here. They haven't brought anything over, and from what I've seen I don't expect them to either." Sandy said.

"Well, go to lunch, I got this," Michelle said. Sandy nodded and left.

Michelle appreciated the quiet, it gave her a chance to study on the clock. She and Billy were taking the HCI-sponsored prep class for the Federal Basic Slave Handling license, sometimes called the "Level One Exam." The company was willing to pay the licensing exam fee for anyone who completed the class, so Michelle figured why not?

But at the moment she was having a hard time getting started, because she was nervous about making a decision: this week was the ideal week to initiate Operation Federico. Michelle sighed unconsciously. The code name had been Lena's idea, after her late chinchilla Federico. Before Michelle could object, Sandy and Kiara had agreed to it, thinking it was adorable. Why did everything Lena touch become tinged with the absurd?

But otherwise the planning meeting at Lena's house had been a success, if a little weird: Lena charmed Sandy and Kiara, Sandy and Kiara thought Lena and her zoo were wonderful, and everyone agreed to their roles when it came to inserting Michelle into the overnight holding pens and recovering her. Kiara would handle the computer records, Sandy would do the physical escort, both would handle overwatch via the surveillance system, and Lena would be the safety in case something went wrong and Michelle needed to be bailed out by someone with a great deal of money.

Michelle sighed again, took out her phone and opened up the class textbook. She picked back up in the chapter entitled "Federal Laws Pertaining to Servitude":

"The Service Reform Act, passed by Congress under the Democratic Republican Party and signed into law by President Wells (DR) created the US Department of Involuntary Service (USDIS) which is..."

Michelle closed the reader app and opened her text app. Operation Federico is go she typed, and hit send.

————————

Friday night, and while others were out having fun or resting up for the weekend, Michelle and her friends were at HCI preparing to disguise her as a slave.

Sitting in one of the A-Ops rooms, Michelle had already stripped down to her underwear (unremarkable panties and a sports bra) while Sandy prepared the restraints. Kiara sat in front of a console containing several video displays, and Lena attended via video call on Michelle's phone, propped up next to Kiara.

"Hotel Two," Kiara said, pointing at a monitor, "that's the one. Unoccupied, and once you're in Sandy will get 9126 and put her in there with you."

"Yes," Michelle said, "Only one at a time will give me a chance to interview her, without overwhelming me with numbers — not all of us are that brave." Sandy looked up and blushed.

"Do you remember your cover story?" Lena asked over the phone.

"And the trouble signal?" Kiara added.

"Yes and yes," Michelle said. "Let's do this before I lose my nerve."

Sandy stood up and moved in front of Michelle, holding up the restraints; "Time to strip," she said.

Is she smirking? Michelle wondered.

Michelle took off her bra and placed it on the seat next to her, and saw that her small nipples were already stiffening; then she lifted her legs and skinned off her panties, placing them with her bra. She had shaved off her pubic hair last night in anticipation, leaving her vagina completely smooth; her eye caught Kiara's as she snuck a look before quickly turning back to the monitors.

"Collar," Sandy ordered, and Michelle automatically slid off the chair and onto her knees, one hand on her thigh and the other holding her hair up off of her neck. Sandy unsuccessfully suppressed another smile and said "Nicely done," then closed the metal collar around Michelle's neck with a click that gave Michelle a tiny thrill.

"I learned from the best," Michelle murmured with a slight smirk of her own, and Sandy chuckled.

"Up and ready," Sandy continued; Michelle quickly stood, turned around, and clasped her hands behind her back where Sandy expertly handcuffed them.

"Turn," Sandy finished, and when Michelle had turned to face her she clipped a leash onto Michelle's collar.

"Good luck boo-boo!" Lena said from the phone.

Michelle felt strange, standing "slave naked" in front of her friends. She wondered how they felt about it; would it change how they viewed her, how they acted toward her, how they thought about her? For Michelle, the collar was just a disguise so she could have an adventure, but for lots of women it was all too real - and permanent.

The only one she could guess with any certainty was Lena, who probably viewed it much like she did: as something akin to a costume at a fancy dress party (but much more revealing) and didn't change who Michelle was to her. Sandy was a cipher, very good at hiding her thoughts and feelings. Kiara? She'd probably prefer that Sandy take Michelle to her family's farmhouse for the weekend so she could practice her whip handling on Michelle's virgin, unmarked body.

"One last thing," Sandy said, and released Michelle's hair from its ponytail; her fine, dark hair spilled down around her shoulders. With that, Sandy tugged once on Michelle's leash, and led her out into the corridor.

————————

Michelle had always felt uneasy in the "cage maze," the HCI nickname for the twisting jumble of pens and cages where the individual (non-wholesale) stock was kept. From what Sandy said, the maze had originally been only a dozen cages arranged in a neat grid pattern, but as HCI had expanded and their volume increased, more cages of different shapes and sizes were added haphazardly: some crowded in next to others, still others placed in the middle of (now blocked) walkways, a few others actually crammed on top of existing pens, blocking out lighting and video cameras, until the place resembled a cross between a dog pound and a rabbit warren.

Her uneasiness certainly stemmed from her past encounter with Ed, but there was more to it than just that: the sense that she could get lost, that she was outnumbered, and very vulnerable even with a goad, contributed. Now that she was naked — not even wearing shoes so she could run! — and handcuffed and wearing a slave collar, that feeling of vulnerability was magnified a thousandfold, and so was her uneasiness.

It didn't help that the nighttime lighting protocol was in effect so that the inventory could sleep, making the maze fairly dark except for dim lights on the pathways and single lights over each door.

"You look really hot, by the way," Sandy said over her shoulder. "You should try going slave naked more often."

"Are you trying to make me laugh? Because it's not working," Michelle hissed.

"Just making an observation, babe," Sandy chuckled.

"So do you think I'd bring a good price?" Michele asked, jokingly, trying to keep things light.

"I don't know. I'd have to get a better look at you."

To Michelle's surprise, Sandy gave her leash a sudden jerk and pulled her into a doorway directly under a light.

Sandy unclipped a small flashlight from her belt; turning it on, she took her time looking Michelle's body up-and-down with a cold, appraising stare. Michelle blushed as the light lingered on each of Sandy's areas of interest.

Michelle noticed that Sandy was smiling, but it wasn't the smile of her friend Sandy: it was the smile of Miss Preston, a woman relishing her position of power.

Michelle's breath quickened as Sandy inspected her slave naked body. Trying to regain control, and hoping once again to make a joke out of the situation, Michelle asked, "So, would you bid on me?"

"Maybe," Sandra said, walking around Michelle and shining the light on her naked ass. Michelle could see the light beam shining on the floor as it emerged from between her legs.

"What do you mean, maybe?"

"I mean, with some training you might be a good little... pleaser," she said. "Now bend and spread."

"What?" Michelle choked out.

"You heard me. Bend and spread," Sandy said. "How am I supposed to set a bid price on you if I don't see what you have to offer?"

Michele wasn't sure how far Sandy was going to push this, and maybe she didn't want to know.

"I think we should go," she said.

There was a long pause as Sandy let her sweat it out. "Okay," she said finally, returning the flashlight to her belt. "But next time you disobey, I'm using the shock collar."

Michelle laughed nervously as Miss Preston (Sandy she corrected herself) casually yanked on her leash and resumed leading her through the maze.

They halted in front of a wire mesh door with "H2" painted on the floor in front of it. Sandy unlocked the door and opened it. She stood aside and as Michelle stepped through the doorway she slapped Michelle on her bare butt. Michelle stopped and turned to look at her, her expression spelling out "WTF?"

Sandy laughed: "For good luck. And also I couldn't resist."

Michelle gave her an annoyed look, but Sandy kept snickering. "This was all your idea, remember?" she said.

The cage was considered a "medium", roughly three meters on a side, with wide plastic benches against two of the walls and a drain in the center of the floor. Sandy took Michelle by the arm and guided her toward the end farthest from the door.

Turning Michelle around in front of the bench, Sandy gazed at her for a long moment before ordering "down," the command for a slave to fall to her knees.

"What?" Michelle said, surprised.

"Getting you into character," Sandy replied. "Now down, slave."

Michelle knelt, her knees uncomfortable on the bare concrete floor. In spite of herself, she was starting to get into the role; she demurely lowered her gaze like a proper slave, focusing on the toes of Sandy's boots. What was going through Sandy's mind? We're friends, but the temptation of having an attractive slave girl naked and helpless in front of her might prove too much for mere friendship.

But it was also true that Michelle found herself becoming aroused by the situation — her pussy had been growing warmer since she had stripped in the control room. Not having a choice was... interesting.

I can't believe I'm thinking this Michelle thought, but if Sandy orders me to kiss her boots, I'll do it.

Michelle looked up to see Sandy still gazing down at her, the end of the leash wrapped around her left hand, and her right hand lingering over the fly of her work pants. Then Sandy appeared to make a decision: she reached down and took both of Michelle's small, erect nipples in her fingertips, squeezed them gently (Michelle still gasped) then pulled them upward until Michelle was standing.

Sandy leaned forward and kissed Michelle full on the lips. Michelle closed her eyes and kissed back.

Sandy ended the kiss, looking in Michelle's eyes before looking down. "I just wanted to know what it would be like," she said.

Sandy unclipped the leash, gently turned Michelle around and removed her handcuffs, and gestured at the bench, which Michelle sat on.

"Good luck," Sandy whispered. With a glance overhead at the camera, she gave a wink to Michelle and left, closing the door behind her.

————————

The maze was quiet, in that nobody was deliberately making noise. But it was far from silent: benches groaning, wire doors shifting, bodies moving around, murmuring, muffled crying, the occasional sound of pleasure.

It was very strange being on the other side of the leash, Michelle thought. I've had some degree of control over my life for, well, pretty much my entire life. I can only imagine what it must be like to be a new slave and go from being an independent adult to being a prisoner who stripped of her dignity, knowing that you're on your way to being someone's plaything and there's nothing you can do to stop it. Sitting here in a cage overnight with those thoughts would drive me crazy, she reflected.

On the other hand, she thought, letting go of control has been interesting so far. She got a little taste of that in her hallway interaction with Sandy; would she be able to go on without control, and see where it led her?

Michelle was jolted out of her reverie when Sandy opened the steel-framed door and deposited a slave into her cage.

The woman was a little older than Michelle, a little shorter, and very much Latina with tan skin and strong Aztec Indian features that made her look like a princess from an old painting about Montezuma. She was attractive, Prime certainly, but Michelle would have said she was striking, almost handsome, with big firm (surgically augmented) breasts, long dark hair shaved on the sides of her head, painted nails, and a body as tight as a drum. But her most readily apparent feature was her tattoos: intricate black-and-white designs completely sleeved her right arm and her left leg, and she had a huge black, white and red portrait of Santa Muerte ("Our Lady of Death") on her back. She walked with her head held high and her back straight, and appeared completely unconcerned as Sandy removed her restraints.

Michelle thought the woman just oozed sexuality and desire, and she squirmed a bit on the bench.

The woman looked around, saw Michelle sitting on a bench, then walked over and sat down next to her, rubbing the handcuff marks on her wrists.

"Hey," she said, nodding, "my name's Ximena, but everyone calls me Zim."

"Hey, I'm Michelle."

Zim laughed. "I'm glad you're not buyin' into that no-names-just-numbers bullshit. What brings you here?"

"Parents," Michelle replied, "Decided to enslave me because they didn't like my boyfriend."

Zim looked at her out of the side of her eye. "For real?"

"Well, I might also have been in the car when he killed a couple of guys drag racing."

"Daaamn," Zim said, "That beats my story. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time too, but in my case it was my ex's place: it got raided and the cops found a buttload of crank and me asleep on the couch."

It was Michelle's turn to look at Zim. "So what happened?"

"Cops couldn't actually prove I had anything to do with it, so my lawyer got me a deal. No judicial enslavement, no admission of wrongdoing, but two years on ice for being an accessory. And here I am."

"On Ice?" Michelle asked.

"Involuntary Service, that's just what we call it; for me it means I'm an indentured servant so I have some protections — they can't sell me, can't take me out of the country, can't alter my body, stuff like that. And in two years automatic manumission; my lawyer will be watching to make sure that happens."

Michelle was surprised. "Two years, huh? Will someone actually buy you for two years?"

Zim laughed. "Oh yeah, you'd be surprised. I'm pretty sure I'll get bought by one of the dance clubs downtown — my lawyer called some of them, so they should be here for the inspection. I've done it before so it shouldn't be a big deal. And the clubs like it because it puts the turnover on their terms, we can't say no to special requests and stuff, not to mention that they get all the money."

"You're a dancer?" Michelle asked.

Zim nodded. "Among other things. I actually learned in college, believe it or not. I was gonna be a ballerina but I discovered I really liked modern stuff better. Still, I did once get to dance with the Ballet Folkloricó, which was amazing." Zim sighed. "Other than that, all of my professional experience has been at adult nightclubs. Made good money though," she laughed.