Gabriela's Enslavement Ch. 02

"I'm a good guy, though. I'm-a let you talk quietly. Sittin' two girls side-by-side and not letting 'em gossip is unnatural. But you need to keep it down and if I tell you to shut it, you shut it, got that?"

"Another rule, no fighting. No shouting, no name-calling, hair-pulling, or spitting. If you break THAT rule, it's straight into chains for you and you get to spend the rest of the trip on the floor. You will be unloaded last, and every OTHER girl gets a chance to step on you on the way out. If you've been a bitch, they will do that. No fighting."

"Me and Jimmy take turns driving," he said, waving a hand toward the younger man standing next to him. Unlike Slim, this man retained the lean, muscular form of youth. He was also very handsome, despite the patchy beard. "The one that ain't driving has a bunk behind the driver's seat. He can sleep on it when he's tired, or he can FUCK on it when he ain't. For that, I need two volunteers. Raise your hands if you want to get fucked."

Fully half of the women raised their cuffed hands. Gabriela was unsurprised. Utility slaves worked long hours and most owners didn't provide much in the way of recreation. And sex is fun!

One of the utility slaves with her hands in the air was the skinny redhead that had been trying to bully them earlier. Jimmy, the younger driver, immediately grabbed her and led her off to one side. The slave handlers and the older driver all laughed. Apparently, this was a man with a preference for gingers and everyone knew it.

Slim smirked at Jimmy, then walked up and down the two rows of nude women, checking each one carefully. It was probably an unnecessary step, since he had already inspected each of them before signing off on the paperwork. When he came to Gabriela, he did the same thing, even though she didn't have her hand up. He gently stroked each of her breasts as he tried to gaze into her eyes, which she kept averted out of fear and shame. Gabbie was starting to get worried, but he flicked her red "no sex" tag and moved on.

One of the documents strapped to Gabriela's thigh was a Bill of Lading, which is a legal contract between the owner of merchandise and a shipper. Gabriela being the "merchandise", of course. Gabriela had personally filled out dozens of them herself. She knew that it included detailed information regarding the shipping destination, the goods, and how they should be handled. Someone, somewhere, had specified that Gabriela was not to have sex while being shipped. That was the only protection she had. Apparently, it was good enough. She suspected that if those instructions hadn't been there, Boss Slim would have chosen her. Her suspicion was confirmed when he chose a woman who was similar in appearance, although older and less attractive.

As usual, Master Bellefleur's protection held up. She was slowly gaining confidence that it would continue to do so. Even here. It was one thing to believe that something is (hopefully) true, and yet another to see it demonstrated.

The two volunteers were moved to the back of the line to stand with Bethany and Gabriela and the bosses began loading the bus.

Red sniggered cruelly. "Hey Cassie," she said, "we're princesses now, too. I hope we don't find any peas under our beds."

When the group of four privileged slaves entered the bus, they saw that the interior was divided into three compartments. The main compartment in the back held the majority of the slaves. The middle compartment held a cot and a couple of benches. The driver, of course, had his own locked compartment in the front. Any attempted uprising from the rear would require the rebellious slaves to break through two sets of locked gates in order to reach the driver and the door.

After sitting Gabriela and Bethany down and securing their harnesses, Slim told them, "Just so you two understand, you are not special in any way. You are no better than these other tramps. You are not getting better treatment than them. But I pay insurance. And the two of you cost more to insure than all the rest of these critters put together. So, I'm putting you two up front to keep an eye on you."

Then he turned to the two volunteers. "And you two, you're no better than anyone, either. But we like enthusiasm, which is why we ask for volunteers. If you're extra cooperative and enthusiastic, good things will happen, do you understand that?"

Both women nodded enthusiastically, and he seated them in the two front seats of the main compartment. Gabriela tried to smile at them through the wire in a friendly way but received only evil scowls in return. It appeared that her protected status might mean preferential treatment from the bosses, but it alienated and angered her fellow slave girls.

Instead, Gabbie turned to Bethany, who gave her a sympathetic smile and squeezed her hand. It made her feel supported, but still bereft. It was Gabriela and Bethany against the world now, and Bethany had no more power than she did. But... they were still together, and they could still support one another. Gabbie gave her slave-sister a supportive smile in return. They were allowed to talk right now, but no words needed to be exchanged. The two of them had been unexpectedly thrown together by unkind fate. That didn't mean that the world contained no kindness. It just meant that they needed to seek it out and cherish it when and where they found it.

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

Gabriela Reflects on the Warehouse Experience

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

After her second effort at friendliness was rejected by the utility slaves, Gabriela sighed and stared at the floor instead. It was dirty. The rubber matting was worn, and it smelled vaguely of urine and vomit. Gabriela had never been a fan of slave romance novels, but she read a few. What girl hasn't? They never depicted slavery like this. Dirty, dangerous, and abusive places were always kept offscreen as a hazy, ill-defined menace. The main characters were always swept immediately into a world of luxury, glamour, and passionate sex... lots and LOTS of passionate sex.

When she was being in-processed the day before, she was too focused on her immediate environment to reflect on her expectations. She realized now that she really didn't have any. Throughout the entire ordeal, Gabriela held out hope that Master Bellefleur would come to her rescue. He had. But she hadn't really given any thought to what happened next. She still had no information to work with here. She didn't know what Master's plans were. She didn't know where he was sending her... and she didn't know why he was shipping her there via ground transport instead of air express. The normal practice for high-value slaves was to ship them as air cargo. Gabriela knew that for a fact, as she had personally shipped quite a few.

Back when Gabriela was a Slavery Studies student, she had the opportunity to go on a field trip to a transshipment warehouse like this one but took a pass on it. She had already had a successful internship at Bellefleur Financial and Mr. Bellefleur offered her an opportunity to attend a weekend slavery finance retreat instead. It was a great networking opportunity for a mere college student, and Gabriela gladly accepted. At that point, she had already decided that the finance side of the business was what she was interested in, rather than the nuts and bolts of actual, hands-on slavery operations. Gabriela was growing uncomfortable with the fact that she was participating in the dehumanization and degradation of fellow human beings, but at least the financial aspect was relatively sanitized. The world of spreadsheets and contracts allowed her to keep an emotional distance from the suffering of those caught up in the system.

There was no hiding from it now, though. She was in it; she was part of it... she was the object of it. Gabriela was a slave now, and there was nothing she could do about it. Slaves obeyed or they suffered. There was no in-between state.

Thinking back to the slavery finance retreat, she had learned so much. All of her dry, boring classes became so real to her. It was so satisfying to sit next to Mr. Bellefleur at one of the conference tables. While the presenters droned on about the various details of current case law and regulatory changes, Justin would occasionally turn and smile at her as they conferred about the presentation. He knew so much!

Gabriela was wearing a new suit that Mr. Bellefleur purchased for her just for this conference. She was SO grateful for his presence. She would never have dared to attend this conference alone. The lustful and acquisitive gazes of so many slavers had been emotionally draining her all day. But all she had to do was glance at Justin, and it all went away. He would NEVER allow one of those monsters to defile her!

Mr. Bellefleur was an insurance agent before the Re-Institution. Dry contract language and how to work around it were his primary skills. When slavery returned to the world, he saw all the loopholes instantly and quickly moved to profit from them. He freely shared all the details with Gabriela over drinks in the evening and she was so impressed! I mean, how often does a mere college girl get to spend one-on-one time with a wheeler-dealer like him? He saw the world the way it was, not with judgment, but with steely-eyed calculation. And when he judged that the timing was right, he charged ahead boldly, daring the universe to strike him down. It did not. It let him win. The world bent to his will.

This was the first time that Gabriela had been alone with him in a relaxed, social setting since their initial job interview. That job interview had, of course, been far more sedate and professional than the salacious dream she awakened from this morning. Mr. Bellefleur always treated her with the utmost chivalry and respect. It was obvious to her that he was attracted to her, but something held him back. It was that very reticence that, ironically, excited Gabbie the most. He was so unlike that ham-handed college boys that she was familiar with. Those boys thought only with their penises, but this man -- "man" being the operative word here -- he thought with his big head, not his little one.

Seated across from Mr. Bellefleur, no, "Justin", Gabbie began to feel warm. Her body was somehow lighter than it had ever been as she said something funny that made him smile and laugh. "Now," she thought, "now is the time."

"Justin," she asked, "can you escort me to my room now. I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed at the moment."

Justin immediately called for the check and escorted her to her hotel room. Obviously, it would have been terribly inappropriate for him to book one room for the two of them. After all, he had a daughter her age! No, that wouldn't do at all. Nobody blinked an eye at an older man with a much-younger slave girl on a leash, but Gabriela was a free woman, and her rights, privileges, and boundaries needed to be respected.

When they reached her room, Gabbie impulsively turned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She wanted so much to bury her face in his shirt, but she was wearing make up and didn't want to stain it. It was a Charvet, one doesn't do that. The various alcoholic drinks, combined with Mr. Bellefleur's dominating and protective presence by her side all day long, had seriously lowered her inhibitions and self-control. "Thank you, Sir, for guiding me here. I feel so safe on your arm. You really are the best, you know!"

Her face was aglow. She knew it, she could feel it. She reached for the kiss - and was denied. No, that's not true. Instead of kissing her on the lips, he laced his hand into her hair, cupped the back of her head, and tipped it forward. Then he kissed her on the forehead. It made her feel safe, it made her feel precious, it sent a shock of lustful desire through her abdomen. It also made her, in her half-tipsy and fully-aroused state... feel rejected.

"Goodnight, Gabriela," he whispered with gentle finality as his lips withdrew from her heated brow. "I've enjoyed this conference immensely. You make everything better just by being here."

Then he turned away and headed for his own room. Gabriela watched him go, astonished. She was equally astounded by her own utterly inappropriate flirtatiousness and the unexpected rejection. She also couldn't help but admire how great he looked in that suit now. It wasn't a new suit at all, it was just better maintained since she came into his life. As his intern, she was determined that he would always look his absolute best, and it was fresh from the dry cleaner. She skipped class yesterday morning in order to pick it up for him. Tonight, it would probably end up on a hangar in his hotel room, rather than crumpled on the floor next to her bed.

Gabbie fished in her purse for the key card, then glanced down the hall to see what Mr. Bellefleur was doing. He was waiting patiently by his door in order to ensure that she entered her own room safely. She obediently did so, waving goodnight to her benefactor before entering her room, and with a disappointed sigh she locked the door. It clicked shut. She checked the mechanism. Slave rustlers didn't only target actual slaves. More than one free woman had vanished from a hotel room and then reappeared in a collar sometime later.

That night, as in all nights, Gabriela practiced her slave yoga before bed. But every time she said "Master", she thought "Justin". That night, as was becoming common for her, she finished her block routine in what was becoming her signature move; on her back, legs spiraled together and pointed at the ceiling, fingers buried in her honey pot. She never came so hard.

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

End Part Two.

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