Gabriela's Enslavement Ch. 02

In the meantime, though, she was under the power of a lesser man. Whatever he commanded, Gabriela would provide.

"Jordon," continued the supervisor in his bored-but-authoritative tone, "have yours do the same thing. Ease the butt plug out gently, just like this, and inspect her for anal tears. That's a big issue, because they can get infected and owners get pissy about it."

"Then," he continued, slicking a gloved finger through Gabriela's exposed vagina, "check her vaj for the same thing... bruising or skin tears. I don't wanna get blamed for that shit. Who knows what happens at the auction house? Either way, none of our concern as long as we don't get blamed for it. This here is, between the two of 'em, prolly a half mill in slave pussy."

Finally, after an in depth inspection, he was satisfied that neither slave had been damaged during shipment.

"All right, Jordan," the overseer said, "have 'em do some yoga moves to stretch out and warm up a bit. Feed and water 'em, then cage 'em. I'll do the paperwork. Let's see if I have everything... Certificate of Veterinary Inspection, Title, five years and some change for debt, SIN number matches, Certificate of Insurance, Permission to Import Human Chattel to the Commonwealth of Virginia... nice sales price, three hunnert and forty grand. Not a bad price at all. Let's look at the other one... nice, a half million dollar shipment total. See? I was right."

After a few brief stretching exercises, Jordan decided that Gabbie and Beth needed to jog in place while he supervised their bouncing breasts closely. It was obvious that this was a man who truly loved his job.

While the younger slave wrangler exercised the two girls, the supervisor sat at a nearby desk with the driver reviewing their shipping documents. Finally, he seemed satisfied that their papers were in order and signed off on the driver's copies. While she jogged for Boss Jordan's amusement, Gabriela noted that the driver pointed at the two slaves and asked the supervisor a question. He clearly didn't like the answer he received, as he scowled and turned away angrily, adjusting the front of his pants. Apparently, he had asked for a "slave tip", which is a normal perk of his job. Slaves, of course, have no money, so the expected "tip" usually involved oral sex.

Gabbie thought it was odd to see the man turned away like that. One of the unspoken rules in the slavery business was that slavers don't interfere with one another's fun. The jobs usually didn't pay very much, so the perks were an important part of their compensation. In this case, the driver clearly expected to be able to force a beautiful, Prime-graded slave girl to suck his dick. Gabriela's confusion was quickly cleared up.

"Wait up, Jordan, I need to red tag both of them," the supervisor said as he approached with a fastener gun and two red plastic tags. One of the many misconceptions about slavery is that all slaves are always available for sexual use by ANY free person. While this WAS theoretically true, in actual practice it was not. All slaves are freely available to their OWNERS at any time. But some owners don't want to share. Master Bellefleur and Master Do clearly didn't want anyone else playing with their new toys.

After attaching the red tags to their collars, he also affixed a pair of white tags with red crosses in the center. Those were "medical exemption" tags, probably due to the painful, third-degree burns on their butts.

Soon the two girls were lying down together on a foam mattress on the floor a wire mesh cage. The warehouse was chilly, so at Gabbie's suggestion they combined their body heat by huddling together under both blankets. Now they were finally able to talk. If they were free women on a road trip together, they probably would have extracted each other's entire life history by now. Placing two normally-chatty girls in close proximity for such a long time and not allowing them to talk to one another should constitute a form of torture, thought Gabbie.

"Are you okay, Bethany?" Gabriela whispered. They hadn't been ordered not to talk, but they were surrounded by sleeping blanket lumps and Gabriela assumed that talking wasn't permitted anyway.

Bethany gave a sad, rueful chuckle in the semi-darkness. "Yeah, my day is going great. How has your day been?"

Gabriela smiled. If Bethany could laugh about their predicament, then she was probably going to be okay. "My day was pretty awful," she said. "I didn't expect slave catchers to barge into my office, strip me, and march me out naked in front of my coworkers. Other than that, things have been great."

Her sassy response drew another snicker from the younger girl. "Do you have any idea where we're being sent?"

"I have some ideas. Did Master Do tell you anything at all?"

"Umm, no. If he had, I'm not sure I would have heard him or remembered it. I was pretty messed up mentally after getting a brand burned in my butt and then losing the auction. I really thought my followers would come through for me, you know?" she finished with a sob.

"I know, I understand, don't cry. We're both in the same boat, so we need to stick together and support one another as long as we can, okay? Your followers tried hard, I saw the whole thing. They didn't let you down, they just weren't strong enough, you got that? They love you and they fought hard for your freedom, so never doubt that for a minute."

"Thanks," sniffled Bethany

"All right, here's what I know," Gabriela continued. "Master Bellefleur, who bought me, is old friends with Master Do. We were up in the VIP seating area above the stands during the final minutes of the auction. Master Do said he was buying you as a present for his son and that he was sending you to the same school I'm being sent to. We also heard a few minutes ago that we're being sent to Virginia. I'm not as familiar with Virginia slave schools as I am with the ones in Texas, but I DO know that we've sent a few prime-graded girls to a consort school in Virginia called White Brier Finishing School. I suspect that's where we're headed. I don't want to get your hopes up too much, but White Brier trains high-end consorts, not generic sex slaves. We'll find out when we get there. But for now, there's hope, you understand? Master Bellefleur knows me, he was my boss before I was... well, he was my boss this morning. Now he's my owner. I know that he has no intention of selling me, he told me that in the smithy, so I'm pretty sure he wants me as his consort."

"What's a consort?"

"A consort IS still a sex slave, but of a very special type. There are even specific laws written into the Federal Uniform Slave Code that separate them from regular slaves. Most people think that "a slave is a slave", but that's not true at all. Not all slaves are equal. For example, there are "Extraordinary Talent" slaves who have some sort of skill that makes them far more valuable than a regular slave. Something like microbiologist, doctor, concert violinist, etc. They have certain protections and privileges, like being able to go out in public wearing clothing without a collar. Another category is nannies and wet nurses. Think about it, their primary responsibility is caring for babies and small children. Because they must be able to keep the kids safe, they also have a protected status and certain privileges like being able to drive, talk back to authority figures, and so on."

"Now," Gabbie said, "the whole purpose of the consort program is, to be blunt... slave brides."

"Slave brides, what's that supposed to mean?" Bethany queried.

"For now, it means that as long as you play along and follow the rules, you will have special protections and privileges. For example, if an ordinary slave like a housekeeper is shopping at the store and some random guy comes up and starts groping them, they have no right to object as long as he doesn't interfere with her duties. But a consort can't be treated that way. Her owner has exclusive access to her body. He can share it with someone else if he wants to, but in everyday life, the consort has almost the same level of protection from sexual harassment as a free woman. That's a huge benefit right there. Did you notice that our driver didn't get a slave tip?"

"I don't know what that is."

"Usually, the driver of a slave transport will order a freshly delivered slave to give them a blowjob after arrival. It's one of the perks of the job. He didn't get one. You are Master Do's property now, and you are under his protection. Believe me, Master Do is NOT someone that anyone in the slavery business wants to piss off."

"Anyway, that's what these red tags on our collars are for, it lets everyone know that we're off limits. Think of it this way, you're a wealthy man who just spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on a sports car, do you want anyone else driving it? Of course not. Do you think you might get upset if you had it valet parked and when you came out to get it, some stranger had shot his splooge all over the leather seats? Absolutely. We're valuable properties, and our owners don't want to share. So things aren't nearly as bad as you think. I saw who else was bidding on you, and you do NOT want to know who they are."

Bethany giggled. "Who were they?"

"Honey, I just said you don't want to know."

"Aw! You can't just say that and then not tell me, silly."

Gabbie sighed and gave in. "High volume slave brothels. If one of them had purchased you this afternoon, you would already be chained to a bed somewhere and be servicing your tenth customer by now."

Bethany tensed up and gasped in horror.

"Exactly, you didn't want to know that. It may not feel like it, but on the worst day of both of our lives, we both got very, VERY lucky. I was purchased by my boss, who I suspect has been in love with me for some time now. You were purchased by Master Do as a gift for his son, who I assume is unmarried. If Master Do wants you to be his daughter in law - don't get your hopes up too high, we don't KNOW that yet - then I'm certain that he will want you to be well-treated. So, whatever happens, we need to toe the line. We need to be the best consort trainees that ever existed. Just because we're slaves doesn't mean we're powerless to affect our fate. In theory, under the law, the master has 100% of the power. But that's not true and it has NEVER been true. You still have free will and that can never be taken away from you. I honestly and truly think that things are going to work out for both of us. We just need to keep our wits about us and have faith. Can you do that?"

Instead of replying, the younger girl just nodded. "Umm, Gabbie," she asked in a very small, sleepy voice, "can I take the first turn at being the little spoon tonight? I need a hug."

They rearranged themselves under the two blankets, and Gabriela listened quietly as the teenager in her arms slowed her breathing and went to sleep. Bethany whimpered a few times and then her body jolted as she finally succumbed.

A tear ran a tickling path down Gabbie's cheek. Why was the world so cruel? And why did this have to happen to her? There were no answers, only questions.

Gabriela lay awake for some time listening to the sounds of the warehouse. Although she was terribly sleepy, every tiny sound hit her ears like an electric prod, jolting her back into consciousness. A night watchman padded past, wearing shoes. In the olden days, the happy and haze time when she had been a free woman - meaning this morning - the fact that someone was wearing shoes would be taken as a given. Not anymore. Most slaves were naked and barefoot most of the time. The sound of pacing heels was now the Sound of Authority, and Gabriela feared it.

In a distant cage, there was a sudden outburst of broken-hearted sobbing that only gradually faded away. Another slave tried to sooth the distraught woman, and when that didn't work, there was a slapping sound and a sharp cry of pain. Gabbie listened, nerves stuttering with adrenaline, clutching her sleeping slave-sister for some time. There was a sound of rushing (booted) footsteps, then a loud banging noise and an angry male voice. Eventually the commotion subsided.

"THIS is slavery," she thought to herself. "THIS is what I was afraid of, and for good reason. If I get out of here - no, WHEN I get out of here - things are going to be different."

Gabbie held on to her hope, she reached for it and clung to it as a lifeline for her soul. Justin - no, "Master Justin" - would come for her. He would save her. He would protect her. Here in the darkness, here in the wilderness, she needed that. She needed to place her faith in someone or something, and she hadn't been to church in far too long. In her moment of crisis on the auction block, Master Justin's icon appeared on the wall. In her moment of fear and pain on the branding bench, Master Justin was there, soothing her. He wasn't here in this place, but she hoped that the aegis of his power would continue to protect her.

In the next cage over, someone periodically unleashed a hacking, gurgling cough. Whoever it was, Gabriela couldn't help her. She COULD comfort the sleeping girl in her arms, though, so she focused on that as she drifted off to sleep for the second time tonight.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Rise and Shine, Sluts!

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

"Cla-kla-kla-kla-kla!"

In the morning, the two girls were awakened by the sound of a wooden paddle being rattled along the row of cages.

Several slave handlers were walking back and forth in the walkway between the cages. Gabbie glanced up at the windows and saw that it was still dark out.

"Rise and shine, rise and shine, my sleepy little sluts!" one of the men shouted at them. "We got things to do and then YOU got places to BE! So, get up, fold your blankies, roll up your mats, and hand 'em through the slot. You're going for a little ride today and you don't want to be late!"

"Do as you're told, and you won't get swats," he finished up, while slapping a hard wooden paddle on his thigh.

It was the sort of paddle that Texas school teachers had been using to discipline students for generations. Gabriela had never, in all her years, been struck by one. But she knew a lot of others who had, and those things hurt! Her recently branded bottom was already transmitting a deep, throbbing pain. Gabbie had no intention of annoying this man even the slightest.

Two burly female wranglers were outside Gabriela and Bethany's cage, chatting and watching the two girls intently as they quickly folded their blankets and passed them through the narrow slot in the door. They also started rolling up the mattress, but one of the slave handlers said in a surprisingly-kind tone, "Not that one, honey, leave it there, it don't fit."

Gabriela looked into the neighboring cage and saw that there were several significant differences that she hadn't noticed the night before in the dim light. Not only did the other cages have about ten occupants each, but those women had been sleeping on what were clearly nothing more than thin yoga mats. They were just thick enough to provide some insulation from a cold concrete floor, but not enough padding to be comfortable. In contrast, Gabbie and Bethany's mattress, although still pretty uncomfortable, was an inch thick slab of foam.

"That's right, princess, we don't want you finding no peas under your bed," one of the handlers told her with a snicker. "Red tags, too. Someone's getting special treatment."

From the resentful glances that the girls in the other cages were throwing at them, Gabriela could see that the special treatment had been noted amongst the other slaves, as well. One of the things that Gabriela learned in Slave Psych 101 was that the less people have, the harder they are willing to fight for it. There is an old saying that, "Nothing is more precious and more fiercely contested than virtue among whores, and status among slaves." Gabbie and Bethany's "mattress" might have been something that a free person would reject scornfully, but it represented status... among slaves.

Gabbie hoped that their protected status wouldn't cause them any trouble, but it was worrisome none the less.

It was also obvious to Gabbie that the others were an eclectic mix of what were known as "utility slaves". The slave-grading system, which was pioneered in Texas by Master Do himself, was now the standard slave grading system nationwide. It weighted an enslaved person's, especially a female slave's, worth heavily on her visual appeal and sexual responsiveness. Brains, education and personality were mere afterthoughts... if they were thought of at all. Gabriela was an experienced slaver, and she could tell at a glance that some of the others may have graded Select while others were Cutter, but there were definitely no Choice- or Prime-graded girls among them. No, THEIR value wasn't based on their looks, it was based on the amount of work they could do, 60-80 hours per week. In other words, their UTILITY was their value, not their looks or sexuality. That didn't mean that they weren't used for sex, it just meant that their guaranteed sexual availability was just an added feature that didn't determine their sales value.

In contrast, Bethany and Gabriela both graded in the Prime range. That's why the Big D Auction House branded their butts with its corporate logo. It was a mark of status and quality, recognizable everywhere. It was also clearly visible to anyone nearby, due to the fact that both of them were entirely naked with the exception of their collars.

Bethany and Gabriela really WERE a different class of slave. And whenever different classes of people coexist, status differences do, too. And so does class resentment. They had clearly been segregated from the others for that reason. The shipping company didn't care about its charges' happiness one way or the other. What it DID care about was that the property entrusted to its care arrived undamaged. Master Do and Master Bellefleur may or may not have requested this special handling for them. It didn't matter. It was clear that they were going to get it. Both men were significant players in the slavery business, and neither of them was known for forgiveness. What successful slaver ever was?

Even if their owners hadn't requested special treatment for them, the dock supervisor from last night certainly took note of the owners' names on their titles and registration. When Gabbie was being sold yesterday, her goal was to become the valued property of a powerful man. She was successful. It was a bitter victory, as the price she paid was her freedom and her humanity. But she was going to pay that price anyway, so it was for the best that she received a good return on her investment.

One of the more-blatantly hostile slaves in the adjoining cage hung on the fence from her fingers and stared at them. There was zero warmth in her bright blue eyes. She was a skinny - not "slender" - redhead with a startlingly large forehead, kinky hair, hideous tatts, and a vicious scowl. "Lookit, lookit, lookit," she sneered. "A couple a' nasty little princesses. Someone call Mr. Disney and tell him there's two lost princesses in here. Hey, hey, girls, come check this out... tan lines!"

"Red" spit that last phrase out with such ferocity that Gabbie nearly checked the floor to see the splatter. Slave girls generally don't have tan lines unless they're being used as human ponies. Gabbie was a modest women -- "was" being the operative term now -- and generally wore a swimsuit with a full bottom at the pool. As a result, her butt and recently-shorn pubic mound were startlingly light in direct contrast to her evenly-tanned limbs and torso. She glanced over at Bethany. Bethany clearly had a preference for revealing halter tops and short-shorts. Even though they were all naked now, Gabriela felt a sudden sense of shame, knowing that her recent enslavement was inscribed on her body. Everyone who saw her would know for a fact that she had recently been a free woman. Being slut-shamed by an equally-naked slave girl was a new experience for her, and she hated it.