Gabriela's Enslavement

Author's note: This story is set in the fantasy world of legal slavery created by Joe_Doe_Stories and expanded by many others. This story describes events a few years after the Reinstitution of slavery. Criminal slavery has been around for some time. Due to the inadequacies of criminal slavery (i.e., too few sexy young female slaves who were not tooth-rotted meth-heads), debt slavery and voluntary slavery have been added to the mix. But it's still the "Wild West" years of slavery and most of the institutions and controls of modern slavery have yet to be instituted. But the outline is there. We will follow it to the best of our ability.

Many thanks to: Avicia, Carl_Bradford, MrSmith27, and EroticStorySpinner for their edits and guidance.

This story contains no characters who are, or who appear to be, less than 18 years of age. No real girls were enslaved to write this story.

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Here And Now: I bring you a tale of star-crossed lovers!

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There she is, terrified and alone. She waits in darkness. Her life is in ruins. Her budding career in slavery finance is destroyed. She is on the hook for literally hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt. The maximum indenture for debt is seven years and she is almost certain to serve all of it. She has provisionally been graded "Prime", but that won't matter if she can't put on a dynamite block routine. If a girl doesn't sell in the Prime range, she isn't Prime.

She knows that. She accepts it. She is ready.

She is objectively beautiful. She knows that, too. She has had a target on her back since her early teens when the outline of her future maturity began falling into place. Every girl in the modern world knows that the prettier you are, the more people there are who want to seduce or enslave you. It's a fact of modern life with slavery legal again. So she was careful. She was clever. She learned all the rules, she learned all the tricks, she even made enslaving people for debt her profession. And none of it saved her. It had happened anyway.

The door of the cattle chute opened. Her handler pushed her forward, and she rushed out into the sands of the auction arena. The bright lights blinded her... but didn't faze her, she knew it was coming. She didn't need to see them, she knew they were there. She herself had been in this exact crowd many times. The roiling crowd of onlookers and gawkers made their presence known by roaring their approval from the darkness beyond the halogen lights. Somewhere out there was a Man, somewhere out there was THE man, the Man who would buy her, the Man who would save her. He was out there. She had hope. She had confidence. He would find her, buy her, and she would be his. He would care for her, protect her, value her and perhaps even love her... but he would absolutely and unequivocally value her because she would be the best and she was going to cost him a LOT of money. She was worth it, and she knew it.

She skidded to a halt in the sand, transitioning gracefully into the "present" position. First impressions are important. Here and now, at this time and place, demeanor means everything. Some girls stumbled out of the chute sobbing and confused. Others came out terrified but determined.

Gabriela Chavez, currently known as "slave 5993", came here to make a sale.

"MASTER!" she shouted. "Here I am! Buy me!"

Gabbie smiled her brightest cheerleader smile while she did so. It was a false smile, and the bidders knew it was a lie. But it was a lie they liked, so it was worth telling.

She struck a second pose, and then another, moving seamlessly between the lewd and demeaning positions of slave yoga, all with a level of gracefulness and poise rarely seen on the auction block.

"Here I am, Master, this is for you! I am TIGHT, I am READY, I am WILLING!"

After each mantra, she shifted to the next outrageously revealing pose.

"Master!" she shouted, slapping her round bottom while displaying her ass, "fuck my asshole, it exists for your pleasure!"

The rabble and riff-raff roared their approval. As she spun and turned and whipped her hair at the crowd of unseen onlookers, she occasionally caught a glimpse of the bidding screen above the auctioneer, the auctioneer who was SELLING her - no time to think of that now -- and she saw the same icon appear again and again. Every time someone bid, G422 topped them. Every time someone upped the ante, G422 struck again like a rattlesnake. Whoever G422 was, he was not to be denied. He would OWN her.

"Master!" she cried, "this is your pussy, I brought it here for you! It is yours!"

With each bid, the term of her slavery and the cost to Gabriela in suffering and lost youth ticked slowly upward, driven by the harsh calculus of net present value and financial derivatives. Gabriela had excelled in the math of computing the value of human lives. She understood exactly what was happening and why. The more a buyer paid for a slave, the more service he expected to receive. The algorithms were driven by uncaring mathematical analysis. The government actuaries who wrote these formulae were technically human, but their souls were not.

"Master," she pleaded, "my mouth is yours, use me as you will! I exist to serve you!"

The bidding ticked upward. The years of service ticked upward as well. The auction price approached the total debt that Gabriela's no-good relatives had put her on the hook for. Gabriela's term in bondage was approaching the magical 7-year mark. The debt would be paid in full and the banks would be satisfied. The seven-year limit on debt slavery was a holdover from pre-Reinstitution law when individuals were permitted to declare bankruptcy. And THAT in turn came directly from the Bible. Deuteronomy 15, to be precise. At that point, if the bidding continued, the years of service would begin to inch downward... slowly.

The bank would still continue to reap the sole profit from the transaction, but Gabriela would be rewarded for overcompensating them with the quality of her collateral. "Collateral" meaning her naked body.

For every undeserved and unjust dollar that her enslavers extracted from her downfall, Gabbie would receive a small bit of freedom in return. She meant to regain as much of her life as possible. And if her enslavers profited thereby? Fuck 'em, the Lord knows they were trying to fuck HER.

At this point, having reached the "magic mile", the bidders were paying more money for less service. If Gabriela had been a Prime Plus slave, bought for millions of dollars, her term of service might have been driven down to three and a half years. But that wasn't likely to happen. She wasn't a famous model or actress; she was merely an extremely attractive young woman. The bidders' enthusiasm would wane rapidly now.

Gabriela couldn't let that happen. Gathering the remaining shreds of her ability to influence her future, she sprang into action. Already sweating under the harsh lighting, she pivoted away from the crowd, dipped into a deep crouch, tossed her hair over her right shoulder, and looked back over her left. Then she began to twerk.

"Look at this ass, Master! Don't you want to own it? How much do you want it? Because it wants YOU! This is YOUR new ass! Your new playtoy! Come and get it now!"

The bidding started to pick up again. The buyers were realizing that this was no mere pretty face, resigned to her fate. This was not a common pleasure slut born with the right combination of physical traits; she was something else, something special. Wealthy men often bought pretty faces so that they could use them, abuse them, and then... after they grew bored... dispose of them. But this girl was special. She could keep a man entertained for months... years even, with the right incentives. She was spicy.

The bidding picked up again but then began to level off. Bidder G422 regained his dominating position but began to hesitate. He seemed to be growing bored of this competition. The Big D contained easier prey. Sensing weakness, the sharks gathered, and G422 lost ground.

Gabriela had two more tricks. Most girls abandoned slave yoga once they reached the magical age of 18 and submitted to their first slave grading. Most women never slave-graded again. Why bother? They had achieved the minimum legal requirements. Anything further was unnecessary effort and risk.

But not Gabriela. Her course of study made the risks clear to her. She wasn't about to show up on the sands of the Big D auction house carrying "freshman 40" pounds of unnecessary fat combined with years of stiffening ligaments. She practiced her yoga routine every night while her roommate was out. The narrow space between their dorm room bunks wasn't an obstacle, it was a challenge.

Gabriela pivoted into her second-to-last bold move... her penultimate attempt to attract the wealthy and powerful protector she needed. Slavery has many bad endings and few good ones. Gabriela was determined to be one of the lucky - and deserving - few.

Taking up the same semi-crouched pose as before, only now facing the crowd, Gabriela began to twerk again. But this time she wasn't just bouncing her booty, she was bouncing her breasts. She had seen it once on an old black and white newsreel as a teen. The unnamed burlesque dancer had somehow managed to simultaneously twirl her breasts in opposite directions while dancing. Gabriela had eventually learned to do the same thing alone in her dorm room. In her mind, it was the raunchiest possible display of sexual availability.

"Master!" she screamed while giving the unseen crowd her most dazzling smile. She was excited to be here, she wanted to be here, and she needed her future Master to know that. "See me, know me, love me... these are your boobies that I am bouncing for you! Buy them and love them and know them as only you can! I am yours, Master, come and get me!"

Bidder G422 struck down yet another rival as the bidding pool narrowed. That was it, this was He, bidder G422 was the worthy one! He was the man who would own her; she could feel it. As she began to run out of block moves, she began to despair. She began to accept that her youth was over and that she would become the plaything of the mysterious G422. Her heart began to empty, her slave heat began to cool... Gabriela's enthusiasm started to waver. She was losing momentum.

No! Not now and not ever! Gabriela would survive! She would make this unchosen fate her own!

She began the countdown to her final trick of the night. Her audience was male. Her potential buyers were men. It is and will always be the subtext of slavery. Masters are men, sex slaves are women. Variations exist, but they aren't important. They do not exist in sufficient numbers. Gabriela knew the numbers. She knew the odds, and she knew that they favored her. She needed the right Man, she needed the right Prince with the right price, and she needed him now. Right now, while her entire future teetered on disaster and destruction... she needed Him now, and she was going to call unto his power to save her.

The first time it happened, Gabriela was horribly embarrassed. She was terribly ashamed. She had spent the remainder of the evening furiously scrubbing away the evidence of her sexual crime with wet-wipes and Clorox bleach. When her college roommate returned, she only smelled scented cleaning products and saw Gabriela "asleep" under her covers. There was no evidence. Gabriela's secret was safe.

But now was not the time for hiding. Now it was time for the revelation of Gabriela's filthiest secret... she needed a powerful man to dominate and control her sexually.

Here under the bright lights of her own personal nightmare, she put a name on him. She put a face on him. The name was "Justin Bellefleur". The face was lined and carved with years of grief and stoic determination. It was a sad face, but a strong one. The face of a man with a wry smile and a twinkle in his eye. It was also the face of a man who would pause an important business meeting by raising a single finger in the air and answer a phone call from his daughter and only surviving child with a heartfelt "Hello my love, how are you today?"

Holding onto that vision, she blocked out the sound of the crowd, the glaring lights, and the ruthless and unforgiving bidding board counting down the step-by-step demolition of her freedom. Gabriela faced the lights, she faced the hidden crowd behind them, and with her entire soul, she cried out to the one Man that she truly believed in.

All her adult life, Gabriela knew that this was a possibility. All her adult life, she knew that she needed to prepare for this moment. And when it finally came... she did, too. Sliding her hand down her sweat-slicked stomach, she hit her outer core, she hit her inner core, and then... like so many times in the privacy of her dorm room... she hit her innermost core and erupted. Gabriela collapsed on the sands of the Big D auction house, spiraled her legs together, pointed them at the ceiling, and plunged into a mind-destroying, screaming orgasm.

Cued by their experience filming thousands of prior orgasms, the Big D's professional videographers caught it all on HD video and picture frame... the nude, twerking slave girl with her hand between her thighs as she gently rolled backwards into the sands of the auction floor... the graceful pose of feminine perfection as she impacted with the sands... and the erotic fountain of glistening droplets erupting from between her entwined thighs.

He was coming for her. She had seen cold and implacable fury behind his eyes when he saw her being led out of the front doors of Bellefleur Financial by the slave catchers, naked and terrified. She knew that the anger wasn't directed at her. She knew that icy rage was directed and whoever was behind her enslavement. He would save her... her burning slave heat exploded as she writhed upon the sand. "Master, save me! Where are you?" she cried out plaintively as the orgasm exploded through her body and the arc of glittering fluids erupted through her slender fingers, soaking the Big D's uncaring sands.

That was it. Gabriela had blown her last shot. Panting and sweating, she gave up on the churned sand in the middle of the auction arena. She was a spent force and had no more fucks to give at this point. Her boneless thighs gave way and her legs splayed out shamelessly on either side. Modesty was beyond her comprehension at this point.

Sand is dirty, sand is dusty, the dusty sands of the Big D auction house are plowed by the feet of hundreds of desperate horny women every day of the year. If Gabriela had been able to see herself, she would have seen a picture her widespread thighs framing a glistening pink pussy dripping with slave heat and the aftermath of an incredible "slave-gasm". On either side of her open folds was a brown stain from the dust sticking to the juices leaking from her aroused pussy and coating her thighs as she waited in the chute. It was known as the "Big D Dusterfly".

Gabriela didn't care about that because her True Master was Justin Bellefleur. She had been struck by his presence the day she first met him on Career Day at Texas A&M during her junior year. His perfectly coiffed silver-blonde hair, his gentlemanly demeanor, and the friendly twinkle in his grey eyes drew her in. At the time, she had begun to fear the career choice she had made. Slavers had a reputation for callous misogyny and the more she explored the options in her chosen career path, the more she had begun to worry. Several of her interviews had gone poorly, the men she met with were clearly only evaluating her as potential property and not an employee. But this man was special. He spoke to her and treated her like an actual person, not an object to place in inventory. He took her to dinner and set her at ease. She accepted a summer internship with his firm and finished her three months at Bellefleur Financial deeply in love with him. She knew it could never happen. The age difference was too great. He had a daughter the same age as she. It was impossible... and yet she was irrevocably drawn to him.

And now he would buy her. The one slaver that treated her like a person with human potential would soon become her owner. The bidding exploded again at her brazen display of unbridled sexuality, but it was dying down for real now, the increments were becoming smaller as the skilled auctioneer eked the very last bits of profit from Gabriela's destruction. G422 was staying strong, though. Gabriela hoped and prayed that G422 was Justin Bellefleur's icon. The alternative was too terrifying to contemplate.

"All right then," the auctioneer chanted into his microphone as he raised his gavel, "two HUNDRED and twenty SEVEN thousand dollars going once, going twice..."

The crowd had finally quieted down. The gyrating slave had fallen to the sands. The auction was coming to an end. Gabriela's life as a vibrant young professional with a bright future was coming to an end... "Bing!"

The auctioneer paused, gavel raised high. He squinted at the screen imbedded in his podium. Then he turned and looked at the big screen behind him, as though it might tell him something different. A new bidder's icon had appeared, one who had remained hidden until now.

Bidder B9 had appeared at the top of the pile. And he hadn't just topped the pile, he had crushed them all. Gabriela's term of enslavement had suddenly dropped to 5.2 years in one fell swoop. The auctioneer swiftly spun back around to face the audience. He knew a power move when he saw one. "RIGHT! Three HUNDRED and FORTY thousand dollars going once, going twice, a-a-a-nd... SOLD!"

The fateful hammer came down with a sharp crack. Gabriela had been sold. It was done.

Suddenly energized, she sat up and stared in open-mouthed astonishment at the icon of the man who had bought her. What kind of crazy low number was B9? It had to have been one of the first slave broker licenses sold in North Texas! It even had a little gold crown over it, indicating that it was the personal license of someone buying for their own account.

A pair of slave wranglers pulled her to her feet and led her away. It made sense to her now. Bidder G422 had been a cat's paw all along, teasing the price upward without overdoing it. Then, in an extravagant display of power and wealth, Justin Bellefleur sent a message. Every professional slaver in the room who was not a drooling idiot received that message loud and clear, "This one is MINE."

The Big D doesn't allow just anyone to bid on its merchandise. The average person or corporation seeking to buy a slave would need to work through a licensed bidder. But there were some people who had special privileges. It didn't shock Gabriela at all that Justin Bellefleur was one of them. Because of course he was.

As she was led stumbling and barefoot through the back passages of the Big D Auction house, Gabriela was still assuming that her former boss was now her new owner. She had worked closely with him for months now and she just couldn't see it any other way. The man didn't leave anything to chance. It was impossible that he would allow an enemy the opportunity to buy one of his own employees.

The average slaver is much like a shark, except with more teeth and less conscience. Within days of buying her, they would have had all of the secrets of Justin Bellefleur that Gabriela had ever learned. As a helpless slave under their complete control, Gabriela would have been able to hold nothing back. And once they wrung her dry, she would have been disposed of. Gabriela shuddered at the thought... "disposed of" could have so many meanings. The possibilities were endless and some of them were quite horrific.

On the other hand, Justin had to be furious with her right now. Gabriela had lied about the lien on her body. She was required to disclose it to HR, but she didn't. She deserved his anger. She earned it. At the time, she justified the lie by reasoning that she was not the primary collateral. She wasn't even the secondary collateral. She was the third-tier collateral. The only way that her body could be sold was if her relatives' tire shop failed, the assets weren't enough to cover the debt, and the insurance company didn't pay. Her protection was ironclad... until it wasn't.