Accidentally On-Purpose Pt. 04

Michelle nodded. "I was in the dance corps in high school, it was pretty okay. But I'm not good enough to do anything with it."

"Yeah?" Zim said. "I wouldn't have guessed from your body, it looks lean and strong like a dancer's."

Michelle blushed. "Thanks, I was a swimmer mostly." Changing the subject: "What if someone else buys you, aren't you worried?"

"I'm not. Most don't want the hassle of dealing with the restrictions on an indenture, not when there's slaves to be had. Sorry, no offense sweetie."

"No problem," Michelle replied, but she shuddered involuntarily. "So what happens next?"

"Depends," Zim said. "Are your parents selling you?"

"I don't know," Michelle replied. "I mean, I think they want me to think they are, y'know, do that whole "Scared Straight" thing but before I'm actually on the block they'll have their lawyer stop the sale." Michelle tried to look uneasy, which came naturally right now. "At least, I hope that's what's happening."

"Well, the process itself is really no big deal," she said. "In the morning, we'll get some kibble and water, then they'll take us to the hair salon and get us cleaned up if they feel like we need it, then we go out for buyer's inspection where all the creeps get to drool on us, then right after that is the auction. So you might be going home in less than twelve hours."

"Inspection?" Michelle said, trying to sound clueless. "What's that like?"

"Depends on what you're used to," Zim replied. "I've been exotic dancing most of my life, so I'm used to guys staring at my body and talking about it and even touching it. But the important part is to put on a show for them."

"A show?" Michelle asked.

"Yeah, make 'em think that being bought by them is the greatest thing that could ever happen to you, and you get really turned on just thinking about it. Make them want you as much as they think you want them."

"Seriously?" Michelle asked, genuinely curious. "How am I supposed to do that?"

Zim looked right into Michelle's eyes: "Let me ask you something, and you gotta be honest with me now: since you got collared, have you at any point found yourself turned on? You know, sexually? Even a little bit?"

"Yes," she admitted. "What difference does that make?"

"All the difference in the world, honey," Zim said, laughing. "Getting turned on makes you a part of what's happening, rather than a victim, having something done to you. Being into it gives you back some of the, I dunno, standing that you lost when you were collared. There's lots of ways to do it." Zim placed her hand on Michelle's thigh.

"Umm..." Michelle started.

"Don't worry, I'm not coming on to you," Zim said, smiling. "I know this is your first time, so I'm going to show you a technique that trained slaves know. It helps your chances of getting bought, and it's especially important during the inspection when buyers are going to be very close to you."

Michelle continued to look at her, frozen with indecision. But the heat in her privates (not-so-privates now, she thought) was growing.

Just let go, she thought.

"It's called juicing and is really just a form of edging masturbation," Zim explained. "Trained slaves get very good at doing it quickly, not just for inspections but as protection, in case a man wants to use your pussy without warning: the idea is to postpone insertion briefly, usually by blowing him, while you self-lubricate. In order to do it quickly, you have to learn how to focus on what feels good and what turns you on, and let your fingers do the rest. The key is to focus. Ready?"

Michelle hesitated, pursing her lips, then nodded very slightly; was this actually happening?

"First, you have to think about something that really lights you up; y'know, really gets your motor running. And keep a few things in the back of your head as your go-to. But for now, think of the last time you were turned on," Zim said. "A time with your boyfriend, a time with your girlfriends, a porno you watched..."

Michelle could think of a lot of things; she picked the first time she had seen Sandy doing slave yoga in those videos.

"Got something?" Zim asked. Michelle nodded. "Listen to me and I'll get you started. Spread your legs." Michelle hesitated again, but then opened her legs. Zim slipped her hand over Michelle's pleasure mound and started rubbing it lightly.

"Just focus on what you're feeling," Zim said, and used her other hand to start stroking Michelle's inner thigh. "Feels good, right? Now take that memory and run with it. Don't jump around, focus. Take what you're thinking and tie it in to what you're feeling. Tell yourself it's really happening."

In Michelle's head, Sandy was kneeling in front of her, sweaty from her exertions, wearing only a collar and leash, which Michelle held, pulling Sandy's beautiful face toward her own naked body; eat my pussy good, white girl she thought.

"Next you'll want to use both hands," Zim said. She kept one set of fingers on Michelle's clit while stroking her vaginal lips with the other. Michelle concentrated hard on her fantasy, which transitioned to seeing herself next to Sandy, also doing slave yoga naked, while Billy watched her; he held a sparking goad in one hand. Michelle started rubbing both of her nipples with her fingertips.

"Yeah, that's it," Zim said. "I can feel you getting wet." Michelle leaned backwards slightly, looking up at the ceiling before closing her eyes. She felt Zim start to insert a finger inside her, then two. Her breathing got faster and heavier, and Michelle felt goosebumps popping up on her skin when a pair of lips lightly brushed the side of her neck.

"That was quick!" Zim said, holding up two fingers. "See? Nice and wet. You did good, just do it again in time for inspection; if you have juices visibly running down your legs, so much the better."

Michelle looked at Zim in disbelief, eyes wide, almost panting: "Could we — could I..."

"Cum?" Zim finished for her. "Normally no, you want to stay aroused as long as possible without climax." Zim smiled. "But since we have a few hours to kill..."

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Some time later, Michelle and Zim were lying in each other's arms on one of the benches in the cage. Zim was dozing lightly as she spooned Michelle, their metal collars touching.

"I officially lost my lesbirginity," Michelle thought, "in a slave cage to an exotic dancer covered in tattoos. If my mother saw me right now, she would literally explode."

Michelle ran through the things she was feeling, but mostly it was a mix of exhaustion, relief, and happiness; catharsis was the word that kept coming into her mind. Zim was an amazing lover, she wielded her touch and her tongue as skillfully as a surgeon wielded a scalpel, or an artist a paintbrush. Michelle's first orgasm had racked her body in a series of spasms, and she momentarily lost the ability to speak. Once Michelle recovered she reciprocated, with Zim giving gentle encouragement and advice (it was pretty obvious that Michelle was a virgin) and she tasted another woman's pussy for the first time. In fact, she got so carried away, and was so determined to impress Zim, that she had licked the older woman's tight brown anus, thrilling as Zim moaned with pleasure, whipping her long black hair backward with a jerk of her head.

They had spent a long time exploring each other's bodies, giving and receiving pleasure. She had lost track of how many orgasms she'd had, but one thing she knew for sure: she felt a connection with Zim that she had never felt with another human being before. She was completely out of control. It felt wonderful.

The door to their cage rattled, and Michelle woke Zim in time for them both to sit up and see a member of the HCI night shift (a white lady Michelle didn't recognize) place another slave into the cage.

Stumbling inside was a tall, thin, beautiful, white girl with disheveled light golden hair cut in bangs, small breasts, pink nipples, pale skin, and some bruises; she looked like a fashion model who'd had a rough night. She stood for a moment, confused and staring into space as the door closed and locked behind her, then without appearing to look she walked over and sat down on Michelle's left side, her handcuffs clunking on the plastic bench, and she let out a sigh.

"How much longer is this going to take?" she said, to no one in particular.

"How the fuck would we know?" Zim answered.

The white girl seemed to snap out of a trance, glanced over at the other two women and said "I'm sorry, it's been a long day and I'm really tired and out of it and kinda just want to get this over with. I'm Haley by the way."

"Michelle, Zim," Michelle said, inclining her head toward the woman on her right. "Long day?"

"Got caught on the horse at my brother's little league game, cops busted me in the lady's room with a whoooole lot of smack in my purse, parents got pissed, enslaved me on the spot, sent me here for processing," Haley said. "Everything happened so fast, in a few minutes seems like. Kind of a blur."

"Wow, that is pretty pissed," Zim said. "They're really gonna sell you off over that?"

"They're not selling me, I'm still owned by them," Haley said, "they're just having these guys" — she nodded at the cage door — "process and transport me to obedience school. Hoping it will clean me up, I guess."

"Why are they so pissed off about some drug use?" Michelle asked.

"Because my dad is some kind of big deal executive, and my mom is Doctor Leslie," Haley said as her eyelids started to flutter involuntarily.

"Oh shit!" Zim shouted. "She's that psychiatrist lady! I watch her on Celebrity Lovematch Island all the time. Damn, she's famous as hell!" Zim stopped short. "Oh man, no wonder they're pissed. If this got out she'd be pretty embarrassed, huh?"

"Guess so," Haley replied. "Now I get to go be shit on for a couple of months at some ranch out in the hill country."

Michelle straightened up. "Ranch in the hill country? Where are they sending you?"

"Some place with a stupid cowboy name, like 'The Bar Something'—"

"Girl," Zim interrupted, "that sounds like the Bar-S Ranch; if that's right, then you're fucked."

Haley turned her head and looked directly at them for the first time. "Why? What do you mean?"

"What she means," Michelle explained, "is that the Bar-S Ranch has been all over the news for abuse of their trainees. And not accidental abuse but deliberate abuse, so deliberate that it's obvious that the abuse is the entire point. And from what I've heard, it's bad."

"Like locked in a iron box out in an open field and the only water you get is being hosed down once a day. Stress positions, whippings, staking out, all kinds of evil shit. The girls I've met who made it through are seriously messed up," Zim said. "I heard from one girl that they keep a gang of male convicts who work the grounds but are really there for, um, punishing hard cases. They're not an obedience school or a training academy, they're slave breakers."

What little color Haley had in her face had drained away completely, and her mouth hung open. She slumped back against the cage wall.

"Holy shit," she muttered.

"I'm so sorry Haley," Michelle said. "I hope we're wrong."

"Yeah, there's lots of training places with bullshit cowboy names, it might be some completely different school," Zim said.

The three women fell into an uncomfortable silence.

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A short while later, just before "dawn" (i.e. when all the overhead lights came on) two night shift workers opened the cage door. The first one, a heavyset white woman with short brown hair, said "9126, 5850, on your feet," and Zim stood up.

The woman looked at Michelle, annoyed. "5850, that's you," she said, pointing at Michelle.

"But my number is 1399; 006-94-1399," Michelle said, then quickly added, "Mistress."

The woman looked at her data pad, then held it up so her companion (a tall thin black man with glasses and a bald spot on the crown of his head) could read it. He said in an impressive baritone voice, "266-65-5850, Asian female, 19 years of age, that's you. Now shut up and stand up." For emphasis, he flicked open his slave goad.

Michelle, panicked, looked around at Zim, who looked back at her with a puzzled expression. Eyeing the goad, Zim nodded her head at it and mouthed the words stand up. Michelle stood, trembling and wide-eyed.

"Turn around, both of you," the man said, and when they did he handcuffed them behind their backs.

Something has gone wrong, Michelle thought. No one but me, Sandy, Kiara and Lena even know that I'm here, and only Sandy is supposed to come get me. And I know my fake SRN like I know my own name. What is happening?

"Turn around," the man ordered, and clipped leashes to their collars. As he led them toward the cage door, the woman held up the data pad again and said "Oh, I see what happened. Some idiot assigned little Miss Smarty here the wrong number, that '1399' one is from the reserved training blocks. The overnight audit system must've caught it and reassigned her to a proper number." She tapped the pad, showing another screen to her companion. "And someone put these two in a hold cage instead of a processing one," she said. "Geez, two screw-ups in one day, the Intake section really needs to get it together."

The man hmphed and shook his head. "Always making more work for us. Come on you two," he said to Zim and Michelle, and led them out the door.

"Good luck," Michelle whispered to Haley, who didn't seem to hear it.

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I'd like to extend a special thanks to Joe_Doe_Stories for his help, advice, and inspiration, and to Mateo for his insights and honesty.