Indenture: Recycled Property

THE INSTITUTE RECYCLING INDENTURED PROPERTY FOR RE-EMPLOYMENT

I was ushered into Angie's spartan office. I had been dragged out of a steamy session with the Cosmetologist, a nubile woman who just depilated my pubic hair and leaving me with a color landing strip.

"Why had I been waxed?" I asked the attending Cosmetologist.

The stark answer that came off her lips, "recycling" spoke volumes. Officially, recycling recovered the energy of used property and converted its essence suitably to devotion to a new use. In the process a recycled indenturee would remain property, and asset on its owner's books.

"Consider yourself lucky to have been beautified by an accomplished artistes, a master of the trade. You are to be prepared for recycling in a transaction the Institute regards as important. You were not left to the uncertain hands of the trainees." The cosmetologist boasted.

"Tell me about the undependability of trainees," I exclaimed.

That very morning breaking up a mutiny among my training crew, I referred Stacy, a newly indentured volunteer to Dr Crenshaw for 25 whacks with the paddle. Her offence was protesting that my order to recommend two girls for punishment. "That would be unfair!" Stacy found her voice to protest. "They all disobeyed."

"A taste of the paddle might prod Stacy," I told Dr Crenshaw, "To grow up enough to merit assignment in the professional caste as a teacher or governess."

Escorting me to the shower to wash the goo off, the Cosmetologist reflected on the undependability of trainees, "What would you expect from debtors recently rounded up off the street after default, subjected to a body execution, stripped of their dignity and compelled to work for a master? They must learn the obligation to obey."

"But what is the point of waxing me?" I asked.

Slipping out of her white scrubs quicker than turning the faucet of the shower. in the aquamarine shower, the attending cosmetologist answered, "Because the Institute Director Dr Crenshaw has ordered it. That doesn't mean we can't have a little fun in the process."

Washing away the depilatory cram, the attending cosmetologist cooed "The goo warms your insides up like a man, but the mess left behind is easier and more fun to clean up." As the cosmetologist with circular motions washed the gunk off my mound and began to reach my labia, she murmured in a soothing voice, "Working my way down your ventral side may be more fun but I have to clear the dorsal side as well." Her voice turned sharp with an order, "Turn around bend over."

Sensuous strokes and gentle stretches massaged my backbone from the joint which connects my collarbone to my shoulder blade reaching into my crack to palpate my tailbone, The attending cosmetologist, in soothing, seductive tones, assured me of her purpose to ease muscle tension and promote circulation.

The crack of a gentle slap landing on my wet butt told me that our session was over. "The administrative assistant Angie wants you upstairs. No need to dress." The attendant held out the promise in a seductive voice, "I want you later."

"A servant," I chided the Cosmetologist, "even one with the most favorable terms of indenture possible remains a servant, subject to the will of the master."

Our master Dr Crenshaw who held meetings, ordained policy and made or confirmed major decisions from the repose of his hot tub in a magnificent pool complex tiled in shades of blue and white. Audiences with Dr Crenshaw in the hot tub were attended in the natural state while two tall naked male security, arms crossed over muscular chests, both eunuchs, with shriveled penises guarded the entrance to the tub. Principal staff joined Dr Crenshaw in an early morning nude run through the woods and a cold shower in collected rainwater. What made Dr Crenshaw's enchanted life of detached reflection possible was his tall, lean administrative assistant Angie, prepared to crack the whip figuratively as well as literally.

Who was it who said `you'll find a dictator is invariably thin' was thinking of Angie.

Clothed in her grey business suit, Angie raced from behind her desk to place a towel over a chair before she invited me to hate a seat. Resuming her place behind the desk, Angie thanked me for coming by so quickly. Taking the towel covered seat, I apologized, "My instructions were to report as I was."

"Navigating the corridors naked is not deemed offencive. Dr Crenshaw meets everyone in the nude," Angie replied. "I'm the lawyer; Dr Amy is the physician, Meg is his sister, but we all meet him in our natural state. It indicates that what we have comes from him.. We hold our positions, whatever they are at his pleasure."

Turning to the matter at hand, Angie, the Institute's tough blonde administrative assistant, drew out the Indenture I signed seven years ago and placed it on her desk. "Your indenture expires at midnight. If you don't accept recycling into new Indenture, I have no further authority to hold you."

"Recycled as used property or release into uncertainty is an interesting way of putting my predicament," I griped. Angie was too smooth to blame me for creating this difficult question in which every answer would be wrong by some measure.

I might have kept a position in training at The Institute, but I was offered this non -- professional position as supervisor of a work -- gang because I had too swiftly put down a mutiny among the trainees in my care and even identified potential supervisory personnel who could replace me.

Following a successful performance of my crew in training as household servants at Crenshaw's family breakfast that morning, I had been invited into Dr Crenshaw's hot tub. Acknowledging my presence, Dr Crenshaw turned to me, "Ellen, kind of you to join us. You handled, this morning, a difficult situation well."

"I was set up," I almost qualified that statement, but I surmised Dr Crenshaw would prefer an un-temporized firm statement.

"Set up, no; Tested yes," Dr Crenshaw conceded, "However, in my defence, I did provide you with an important hint as we concluded our run through the woods. I reminded you to take the paddle with you when you returned to your crew you were training as household servants."

Presented with a proposed recycling into a non -- professional position as property supervisor, Angie assured me that professional caste provisions could be added, giving me immunity from corporal punishment, arbitrary withdrawal of privileges, and sale at auction. There would be, continued acknowledgement of my marriage to Jack and my right to wear clothing on and off duty. "At the Institute, we gather naked in Dr Crenshaw's hot tub or sauna to present reports illustrates the significance of the concession I would gain for you," Angie quickly scanned my body with a smile, "A servant wears only such clothing as the master requires."

"A modified indenture," Angie presented the package, "would put your husband in line for Estate Manager at his recycling in three years."

Oh yes, my husband Jack. Guys had to commit to a voluntary indenture for 10 years; girls for seven. In my former assignment right up to the day I was packed up for return to the Institute for out -- processing or recycling, I was led to believe the Manorial Lord would extend my commitment to expire with Jack's.

At the meeting in the sauna, Angie explained advantages of the Indenture for me and my husband, "A working husband wife team fits within the Lord of the Manor's design. His Lordship prefers to present the caretakers of the estate as a working couple."

Angie's eyes widened when I daringly proposed additional conditions: "every weekend off, permission to wear my own clothes off duty, provided with on duty seasonal appropriate work clothes, a car with gas money, I have permission to get pregnant and give birth to free born children and I'm promoted to Property Manager and restored to professional caste in three years -- and of course private quarters and a waiver of pre-purchase private exhibition."

Angie looked at me in disbelief. Tall muscular, Dr Crenshaw laughed so hard I would have sworn his balls danced in his scrotal sac. "Angie, maybe we should look for a law school to send Ellen to. She'd become a master at Indenture Law."

Still chuckling, Dr Crenshaw assured me, "Ellen, I'll bet Angie, as brilliant as she is, will fight to get you every one of those conditions, just to make sure I don't keep you for myself by sending you to law school. Angie doesn't like rivals."

In Angie's office, I was offered an indenture basically on terms I dictated, essentially the virtual freedom of wage slavery excepting the right to quit.

"The conditions you have placed on a new indenture," Angie rocked her head side to side, "for the most part have been accepted by your prospective purchaser." Reading off her electronic notebook, "Two full weekends a month in winter; two Sundays off in summer. His Lordship will not grant you private quarters. His Lordship would like to project an image of you and Charley a married couple watching over the grounds. His Lordship consents to your engaging in reproductive sex. There is a reservation with respect to first born.. That's the best I can do for you."

"I'm not sure how my husband will take rooming with another man," I protested.

"An altered male like Charley may be housed with females," Angie responded, "there's no risk of insemination which would violate your marital vows."

"Do I get time to consult with my husband?" I asked.

"Your husband, Jack is it?" Angie continued, "receives quite a benefit under this Indenture. Jack would be at the head of the list for Charley's replacement when Charley's term expires in three short years."

"This is thrust upon me all of a sudden," I felt overwhelmed. Now I faced the alternative of real freedom. Taking the risk of walking out the door in an economic upheaval and perhaps joining the vacant faces of repossessed naked debtors arriving daily at the Institute did not seem quite so attractive,

The gleam of the gilded cage I was offered was dulled by the prospect of sharing quarters with a man, gelded like Dr Crenshaw's bodyguards, but a man nonetheless for a period of three years until Charley's indenture expired.

"Either you accept recycling into this new Indenture," Angie presented the stark choice, "or I'll escort you to Dr Amy to complete your termination physical. You came with a trunk filled with clothes your former Mistress gave to you. Where should we ship it?"

I was overwhelmed. I cried out, "Jack, I pray, would understand why I accept this new Indenture."

I agreed to allow The Institute to sell all but two of the outfits my former Mistress gave me. "They should fetch a good price," Angie assured me, "The yield less The Institute's 10% will be added to your account."

"Stand," Angie ordered, When I shuffled to my feet, Angie barked, "Turn around. Hands on your head! We still have a little ritual to go through."

"Don't I have a right to wear clothing in this indenture?" I protested.

"You have a right under the clause you authored, to wear clothing on and off duty. Exhibiting an indenturee in the natural state for purchase is neither on nor off duty. Inspection of the undraped body, "Angie reminded me, "assures the purchaser of the indenturee's state of health, physical attractiveness and strength as well as subordination to the will of the master."

At that a grey jacketed security officer entered the room. My hands were secured behind my back. A hidden door opened in the wall and I was whisked away to the viewing room.

I expected to find myself face to face with the prissy lord and lady of the manor in formal clothes enjoying my humiliation. Instead, I found myself viewed by a robust 50 year old man with faded blond hair in a checkered cowboy shirt, dungarees and boots. It was Charley, the Estate Manager, who had been authorized to act on behalf of the Lord of the Manor.

"You're looking at Ellen," Angie announced, "She's 27, 5 ft 2 in, 125 pounds, breast size 34c. This would be her second indenture. Her professional indenture authorized a marriage. That privilege continues. This indenture authorizes reproductive sex. You can see from the color strip on her pubes, she's a natural brunette with red highlights. We have another candidate, if Ellen is not suitable...."

Circling around me to inspect, Charley growled, "she'll do. Secure her blindfolded standing upright to the rails of my truck. I have to visit the auction to pick up a few more field hands. "

Even the grey uniformed guard looked to Angie to confirm for an order. Angie expressed concern about such an order. "She's entitled to be clothed on duty and off duty."

Charley replied firmly, "Her indenture says nothing about transit. Master's discretion. In transit, non - professional indenturees are held naked and in bondage. I speak for the Master."

"Since," Angie replied, "cuffing Ellen was more for symbolic purposes than for physical restraint, I'm releasing her from the cuffs." To me, as the grey guard cut the cable ties off my hands, Angie promised, "I'll walk you down. After I see you off, I have to meet a bus."

Downstairs newly arrived naked repossessed indenturees were lined up with males facing the females. Between them, Grey jacketed guards held three girls Stacy, Holly, and Janie, who had violated my orders when The Institute put me in charge of girls to be trained as Household servants. They stood bound hand and foot awaiting punishment.

Smiling as she wished me well on my journey, Angie looked at the incoming indenturees. "A taste of the paddle is the best introduction to the obligations of the new status f servitude: absolute loyalty and complete obedience. With a kiss on my cheek, she left me to welcome new arrivals. Calling for silence, Angie began her address:

"Your person was repossessed to enforce a debt secured by your body. Capture reduces you to servitude. The major obligation of servitude is absolute obedience and unwavering loyalty to your master. Disobedience strikes at the heart of the master -- servant relationship. It will be punished."

Janie was marched out bound hands in front of her. Her butt was still reddened from the blows I administered yesterday. Angie announced the offence, "refusing to get out of bed and report for work." Her sobs and promises to do better ignored, Janie was lifted off her feet. She shuffled her feet attempting to keep her toes in contact with the ground.

"Females generally receive a paddling," Angie continued her welcoming remarks, "when this more genteel form of suasion and correction fail, males receive stripes."

At a nod, a hooded right-handed female guard with a paddle began to paddle the Janie's bare butt.

The guard escorting me told me, "For a guy with no balls, your new master is certainly a prick. I better get you to his truck or Angie will have my ass whipped and enjoy it."

Secured to the rail of the cargo section of the truck, blindfolded with a hood over my head, I quipped, "off to my execution."

A pat on the butt for good luck, I was left in darkness. I heard the roar of the motor. Choking at the whiff of soot thrown up, I felt the lurch of the truck. I wondered not so much how long the trip would take, but whether the soot belching truck would withstand the trip. We had been going for less than a minute when the truck ground to a halt.

I heard Charley's booted feet climb on the bed of the truck. My hood was lifted. My wrists were freed. I might have feared rape, but of course Charley lacked the equipment.

Thrown my clothes, Charley said, "In the future if you want something just say so. Don't quote me your indenture."

"Why are you suddenly being nice to me?" I asked as I started to step into the red panties and latch the matching red bra my former mistress had given me. What do you expect in return?

"Much as you look much cuter without your clothes," Charley snickered, "We have to pick up new members of your crew. I can't have you shackled naked with them and expect them to take your orders."