Gabriela's Enslavement

Instead of paying down the debt on their very successful tire shop, her brother and uncle invested the profits in a meth lab. Which exploded and destroyed the business. It had also destroyed the value of the real estate and voided the insurance contract on it... leaving Gabriela's body as the sole remaining collateral to be seized. She HAD been seized and now she had been sold. Hopefully to her former boss. Or maybe not. She lied to him, he was certainly angry with her, and now she might be his slave for the next five years. Or the slave of someone else, but she just couldn't imagine Justin allowing that to happen. She still had no idea what was really going on.

Her scattered thoughts followed her as she mechanically obeyed the commands and shoves of the slave handlers as they moved her around. First she was showered, then scrubbed, then taken to back to the beauty salon. Realizing that this was not normal, she looked around for a clue.

"Umm," she asked, "wasn't I just here? Haven't I already been sold?"

The slave wrangler's response to unauthorized talking was swift. Gabriela found herself shoved up against the nearest wall, knocking aside a pair of handcuffed teenagers waiting their turn. She found herself looking into a very, very cold pair of eyes as her head was painfully tilted back. During her frequent visits to the auction house, Gabriela had learned that some slave handlers were just regular folks who wanted to do their jobs with a minimum of fuss and drama and then go home. But - as with every authority figure ever invented - there was also a second type. They reveled in their power and took every opportunity to exercise that power. This was clearly the second kind of slave wrangler.

"Listen to me, you stupid little slit," he hissed menacingly with his face inches from her own. The opportunity to slam her up against the wall must have excited him, because he was breathing heavily, his foul-smelling breath washing over her face. He was also smiling, and Gabbie could see that he was enjoying the opportunity to manhandle an attractive young woman and get away with it. "You're not a free woman anymore, strutting up and down these halls wearing those tight skirts and treating us like we're beneath you. You're a naked slave now, and slaves don't get to ask any FUCKING questions!"

He sneered as he continued, "Yeah, I know exactly who you USED to be, little miss oh-so-important. Not so important any more are ya? Just another two-legged FUCK hole that needs to learn her place."

Gabriela could feel the sharp horns of his taser being shoved into her ribcage, grinding painfully against the bones beneath her skin. It wasn't the only hard object making its presence known. Lower down, she could feel his erection pressing into her hip as he pinned her up against the wall. She had never been so terrified in her life.

She had been to the Big D many times over the past few months; as a new hire, before that as an intern, and even before that as a student. Mr. Bellefleur frequently assigned her the task of traveling to the Big D to check on his property that was being processed or to deliver paperwork. She was also quite familiar with the more industrial environment of the big HCI Cattle Market in Fort Worth. In both places, she frequently encountered men like this who didn't consider her fully human, just future slave meat that hadn't been seized and processed yet.

Now, viewing it from her new perspective at the very bottom of the social ladder, she realized that he was right. She HAD responded to the stares and leers she received by... strutting, just like he said. She put on a show of confidence that was 90% false bravado and 10% pride in her status as a free woman among slaves. If a man had done it, nobody would have even noticed. But when a woman strides down a hallway with confidence, especially one of THESE hallways, she's instantly labelled a stuck-up bitch who thinks too much of herself. With a sinking feeling in her heart, she knew that, no matter how vile he was, this man was completely correct. She HAD strutted through the halls while trying desperately to be perceived as someone better than her surroundings. Those "surroundings" had included this slave handler. He had taken notice. And now she was entirely at his mercy, an emotion that she could see that he completely lacked.

She needed a new strategy and she needed it now. Casting her eyes downward submissively, she said meekly, "This slave was wrong to act that way, Master. Please let her make it up to you by sucking your huge cock."

The man smirked and backed away from the wall to give the handcuffed slave room to slide down onto her knees as he fished out his erection. "That's right," he said cruelly, "how easily they fall to their knees when they lose their fancy-ass clothing. Just proves what I always say," he grunted in satisfaction as he thrust his already-hard penis between the kneeling girl's lips, "...they're all whores on the inside, and they need a real man to put 'em in their place. Well, you found your place in the natcheral order of things, slut. On your knees with a real man's cock in your stupid pie hole. Mmm, that's good. I always knew you were a natcheral-born cocksucker. You just needed the right motivation to prove it."

On her knees, Gabriela took the hard member in her mouth and was gratified to discover that the man's bodily hygiene was a lot better than his bad breath indicated. She desperately put her inexperienced tongue to work while striving to ignore his self-congratulatory gloating and the presence of other slaves and slave wranglers watching her voluntarily debase herself.

Unlike some free women, Gabbie didn't have an aversion to sucking cock. She had done it for a couple of her college boyfriends. But she noticed that if she did, their attitudes toward her changed. They started seeing her less as a peer, and more as a sex object. It was one of the many effects of legalized slavery. "Cock sucking is a slave whore's job" was a common perception of both men and women. As a result, free women refused to do it. And, as Gabriela had learned through bitter experience, free women who DID do it lost the respect of the men they serviced. Instead of being grateful, they became scornful and dismissive. After her second bad experience, Gabriela joined the "never again club". That was three years ago. Now she was desperately trying to remember how to do it right.

"But that was then and this is now," she thought as she justified her actions. "I needed to avoid a painful shock and this is the best way to do that. Since I AM a slave girl now, cock sucking is expected of me."

So focused was she that she failed to notice Cici, a supervisor that she knew from her previous life as a human being, walk into the room, take a quick look around, and walk back out into the hall. Then, moments later, she came back in. "Gus!" she called out, "Is that 5993?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So we need her in the smithy pronto. Get off her so I can get her cleaned up. There's a VIP down there chatting with Mr. Henry and he wants his slave right now." She turned to the clinicians as Gus reluctantly released Gabriela. Slave handlers usually wouldn't interrupt another handler from getting a slave tip -- it was one of the perks of the job -- but apparently the name "Mr. Henry" had worked its magic. Jake Henry was the founder and general manager of the Big D Auction House. Gus may have been fantasizing about this specific blowjob for months, but he wasn't going to finish it in Gabriela's mouth.

Cici guided Gabriela over to a now-vacated seat and the clinicians got started. They cleaned her face and set to work with foundation, mascara, and lipstick. The two girls that Gus pushed aside earlier were wearing pink grading collars and he simply shoved one of them to her knees with a squawk. Then shoved his unsatisfied stiffy into her mouth without a word while giving Gabriela and Cici the evil eye.

It had been Gabbie's previous experience that temporary slaves wearing pink grading collars -- especially the younger ones -- were more-or-less off-limits to the staff. Apparently, that rule was a little bit more flexible than she realized, she thought as she watched the man ravage the 18-yr-old's unwilling throat. The other girl looked on in sympathy and revulsion, but did nothing. She was obviously scared stiff and there wasn't really anything that she could do, anyway. Even though women being slave-graded were not technically slaves, they WERE under slave discipline, and they could be punished as slaves while that was true.

In the past, Gabriela had seen similar sights but had looked away with her eyes and her heart. She told herself that wasn't Gabriela on her knees in a slave auction house. She told herself it was never going to be Gabriela on her knees in a slave auction house. And yet here she was, a naked, collared and cuffed slave. Livestock sold on the block... at the slave auction house.

Gabriela tried to look away from the distressing sight of the young girl being forced to service the cruel slave wrangler in her place. Even though she was utterly powerless to influence events, she felt a stab of guilt watching the scene.

"Stop squirming!" snapped the makeup girl as she forced Gabriela to look straight ahead at the tableaux in front of her.

Cici was standing over Gabriela with her arms folded. She turned and glanced at Gus and his new victim. "Hurry up Gus," she said in a bored tone, "then go find Harry, he needs something. Dunno what he wants."

The nude makeup artist shifted positions so that Gabriela's view was thankfully cut off as Gus grunted his way through his orgasm, snarled something at the girl, and walked out. Gabriela was glad that he was gone and hoped to never see him again... fingers crossed.

Once the primping was finished, Cici hauled Gabriela bodily out of the chair and led her toward the door. The two teenagers in grading collars were standing next to it. Both looked like they were about to start bawling. The face and chest of the one on the right was smeared with what appeared to be semen.

Cici paused, made forceful eye contact with the other slave wranglers in the room, and turned to the makeup girls.

"Minh!"

"Yes, boss!"

"Get this one next, she's been contaminated. Hop to it."

"Yes, boss!"

Cici then guided Gabriela out the door. Mentally, she wished the two younger girls luck. Slave grading was a traumatic and important life step for them, and she hoped that the experience hadn't been ruined by a horny and brutal slave wrangler.

Gabriela's guide was a middle aged Black woman about 20 years her elder. She strode along easily next to Gabbie with her hand on her butt. She slipped her index finger into Gabriela's crack without actually penetrating her sphincter. Several previous handlers had done so today, and Gabbie was grateful for the forbearance.

"It's a little different on the other side, isn't it, honey?" Cici said in a sympathetic tone as she guided the slave toward her next assignment.

"Yes, boss."

"Don't worry, you'll do fine. Word is that original gangster Justin Bellefleur just bought his first sex slave... that being you, honey. There's a lot more going on here than most people know. There was a real commotion in the C-suite when Mr. Bellefleur's two-digit icon appeared on the auction board. Nobody even knew he was in the house. Stay strong, do what he says, and come out on the other side smiling, you got that?"

"Yes, boss."

"Good girl. Just for the record, I never hated you. Lotsa people here did, but I didn't. Woman's gotta make her own way in the world somehow and 'hotshot slaver' is one of 'em. On the other hand, everyone has at least one downfall in life. Live through it, live WITH it, make it your own. Here we are, good luck."

The smithy had its own dedicated venting system. Powerful fans sucked the air through vents in the ceiling. As Gabriela was led through the doorway, she felt the air currents on her nude body as they pulled air in from the hallway. She noticed this a few times before as her hair fluttered while passing through this door. But today she wasn't wearing a skirt suit. With her entire body exposed, it created an entirely different sensation. She shivered... and then the smell hit her.

Gabriela had been in this room several times. Not "many", but "several". Occasionally, the firm sold slaves to buyers in other states. They purchased their new slaves remotely, and wanted their new property to receive the full Big D experience before being shipped to them. That meant branding. Someone from Bellefleur Financial needed to physically inspect the new brands in order to ensure that it had been done properly. That somebody was often Gabriela, the low woman on the totem pole.

As a result, Gabriela was ready for this, or she thought she was. She had been here before. She had smelled the combined scent of burning charcoal and burning flesh. She graded Prime. She understood from the beginning that she was going to be branded with the "Big D" corporate logo burnt into her flesh as soon as she was sold.

She did her best to ensure that she was as mentally prepared as she could be, but it wasn't good enough.

As soon as she walked in the door, the smell hit her and her body recoiled. This was HER flesh they were going to burn! Her mind was ready, and her heart was resigned, but her body had NO INTEREST in being burnt. She bolted... and slammed directly into the open arms of the slave handler who brought her here.

"Whoa there, honey, whoa there! I gotchu, you're not goin' anywhere. Hold on there, I gotchu, c'mon honey, lemme hold you."

Cici, who had been doing this for many years now, caught the bolting slave in a wide-gripped bear hug. Braced for impact in advance, she hardly shuddered as she stopped slave 5993 well before the skinny White girl could build up momentum. Then she dug her legs in and began to force the slave through the door.

Gasping in panic, Gabriela looked around for salvation. There! Justin Bellefleur was already in the smithy, talking to Jake Henry and another man named Joseph Do.

Mr. Henry was, of course, the proprietor of the Big D, with the exclusive Dallas County auction house license. First time slaves were required to be sold on the block at one of the county-licensed auction houses. This ensured that the seller received a fair price. The Dallas County sales territory was incredibly lucrative, and the Big D made a name for itself early-on with a reputation for quality and professionalism. Jake Henry was a wealthy man, and his profits were driven by the sale of attractive, young pleasure slaves.

Mr. Do was a good friend of Mr. Bellefleur who specialized in resales. Mr. Do's sold used slaves... often, VERY well-used. When slavery was reinstituted, he owned a chain of successful used car lots. Realizing that the sale of human beings was little different from selling cars, he quickly added slave sales to his existing business. In the beginning, he simply sold them out of cages on his lots. But, over time, he gradually eased out of used car sales and focused directly on used slaves. Gabriela only dealt with him when Bellefleur Financial repossessed a previously-owned person who wasn't eligible to be sold as freshly-enslaved.

Justin really WAS bidder B9! He would save her, he had always been so kind to her, he would never let her be hurt! Alerted by the commotion, Justin turned around and saw what was happening. A brief look of annoyance and disappointment crossed his face and he pointed an unlit cigar at the row of badging benches.

That look pierced Gabriela's heart. Not because he reaffirmed that she was to be branded, but because she could see that he was disappointed in her. She had embarrassed him. That was unacceptable to her. She could never willingly disappoint him. All resistance ceased, she reversed course, and walked willingly over to the empty branding bench. It was a padded steel frame covered in attachment points to hold slaves still as they were kissed by red hot iron. Gabriela managed one final glance over her shoulder as the slave handler laid her stomach firmly on the bench. Justin wasn't smiling and he wasn't angry, but she saw a sadness in his eyes for a moment before the disinterested mask of a professional slaver reasserted itself.

As with any position of authority, being a slaver requires a significant component of performance art. The slaver must always project an aura of unimpeachable authority, an image of invincibility. It was one of the things that drew Gabriela to him so strongly. Justin's masterful aura wasn't an act, he really WAS that person. At the same time, because he wasn't acting, he also had the ability to care deeply for the people whose wellbeing was responsibility. Gabriela had seen the compassion for the less fortunate hidden inside his armored shell and knew that there was a beating heart in there. A lonely one. Justin's enemies would never believe its existence, but it was there.

Gabbie realized now that Justin had to put on his "cruel slaver" act for the crowd of onlookers. He had an image to maintain. His firm had a major security breach and one of his employees had been enslaved. His image of invincibility had a hole in it right now, and he needed to patch that up. He was going to do that by burning a hole in Gabriela's ass while he watched, calmly smoking a cigar.

Cici draped Gabriela's willing body over the platform and began to bind her to it, making adjustments in order to ensure that she was too securely bound to harm herself when she started thrashing. Not "if" she started thrashing, "when" she started thrashing. All the while, she kept up a patter of encouraging, sympathetic talk as she forced the frightened girl toward her ordained meeting with a white-hot branding iron. By the time Cici was satisfied, Gabriela was so securely tied that she couldn't move a muscle.

"There we go, honey, you just wait right there until we're ready for you. Don't go anywhere, now," Cici told her, chuckling at her own joke.

Gabriela experimentally shifted in her bonds a bit. Absolutely nothing moved. Her limbs and torso were completely locked in place, and she at the mercy of Merle, the smith. Only her head and neck were free to move. Gabriela had always been too squeamish to attend a branding personally, but she knew that freshly branded slaves often bucked from the pain and any attempt to restrain the head could result in injuries to the neck. So her head was free to move and she looked around.

In front of her was a camera pointed directly at her face. Badging Faces was a popular insert in the Big D's monthly "The Sandyfoot" magazine. Gabriela had never looked at that, either. She was afraid that she would see the face of someone that she had worked to enslave. Or even worse, someone that she knew personally.

Plenty of girls had gone missing from campus over the course of her college career. Some people looked away, pretending that the missing girls had simply dropped out of school or transferred. Other students reveled in it and treated the topic as their favorite gossiping point.

Gabriela realized with a sinking feeling that the camera was going to capture her "badging face" for all the world to see. And those nosy campus gossips were going to see it and entertain themselves by gleefully chatting about her destruction.

"Nothing to be done about it now," she thought. This was her current place in life and the only possible trajectory was upward. So at least there was that small comfort.

Behind the camera was a plexiglass wall. The Big D auction house charged gawkers five dollars apiece to come in and view the proceedings. Some of them had even groped Gabriela while she was on display for public viewing. Now they were staring at her through the wall from a few feet away, eager to witness her branding. The excited looks on some of those faces churned her stomach. How could people be so vile that they actually enjoyed seeing pretty girls suffer? She looked away, trying to pretend they didn't exist. It was better that way. Instead, she decided to see who was sharing her ordeal.