Indenture -- The Magicienne

Sandy, Glen's escort, looked to Angie who passed the ruling to me, "Your first decision as Human Resources Chief."

I was being tested. I had to be careful. I too was a slave whose status depended on the good will and whim of the master. Although Glen looked to me with an appeal twinkling in her dark eyes, I strove to show no emotion. In the harshest tone I could manage, I commanded, "Barber says the slave's hair is short enough. Don't waste time. Cage her!"

Angie rocked her head back and forth. If it wasn't the ruling she would have expected, the reason I gave was acceptable. By contrast to Angie's confusion, a look of relief spread over Glen's face.

While Angie was undecided, I thundered an order to the guard, "Get this slave out of here, now, before I order you sent along with her to auction!"

Glen had taught me much about dealing with the Institute: one should arrive properly dressed as a respectable businessperson even if you had to take everything off. "It's part of the magic."

"And the boyish cut short hair?" I pressed her.

"You never know around here," Glenda explained, "when the Institute's Doc at a whim wants everyone showered before she is wiling to appraise you."

How I wished I met Glenda before I applied for a loan to bail my daughter out of her extravagant purchase of an automobile.

Branded on applying for a loan to purchase my daughter's indenture from The Institute, I passed out and slept the day away. Escorted out by that muscular guard Sandy after sleeping the day away, I learned my husband departed for an important business conference. I had been left behind.

"Not to worry," muscle -- bound Sandy informed me, "I'm to see you home. Before I'll take your foul smelling body in an Institute vehicle car with me, I need to put you through the intake shower -- but there's another indenturee, the director decided to grant an extension to -- See if she'll take you home." Returned to the basketball court, I found Glen standing by the bleachers on the far side of the room, unpacking her business suit, straightening out the wrinkles, and displaying her clothing on a rail. Glen beckoned to me. Retrieving my bag, I joined her. Placing the bag down next to Glenda. I stretched to shake off the sleepiness.

When Glenda smiled and complimented me on my appearance, I chided her, "It'd be an amazing feat, if an old antique," I sighed, "were admired for her physique."

"No," Glenda protested, "you're in good shape and it's cute the way you thrust your chest out in one direction and poked your bum in the other. Backfield in motion," Glen, giving me a friendly pat on my butt, exclaimed. "Be careful around here. They'll sell your indenture to a house of prostitution ..." Her voice trailed off. Looking at the pile of bags nearby, Glenda added, "The day is nearly over. A pretty rough one, I'd say! The Institute took about half the girls today. Had The Institute considered crating your corpus off to auction?"

A brief, intense blinding flash stunned me for a second. Were my eyes playing tricks on me?

"I passed out when I was branded -- ugh," I blurted out as I wobbled trying to step into my panties. Fully dressed Glenda caught me and helped steady me on my feet. How had she dressed herself so quickly?

"Ugh, I didn't realize how woozy I am," I shook my head, "I don't know how I'll get home -- no money -- no phone. No one to call anyway. Husband had to leave as soon as he was done at The Institute. He's out of town on a business trip." I smirked, "business."

I looked at her. In the time Glen had fully dressed, I managed to remain fully naked.

"I'll help you dress," Glenda declared. Pausing for a nano -- second, Glenda snapped, "Then, I'll drive you home. Right now, lean on me."

Grabbing my raggy panties, Glenda lifted one foot to massage the sole before she slipped one side of the panties over the foot and then the other. Glenda slowly drew the panties up my leg massaging my inner thighs in the process. Raising my panties to my waist she kneaded my butt. "Smooth as silk, Soft as butter," she cooed.

"Aren't they watching?" I giggled.

"Should we care?" Glenda softly whispered in my ear. Slipping my bra straps over my arms, Glenda rubbed my arm pits and my breasts as she fitted my bra, promising to loosen me up. "You passed out because you're too tightly wound. Your brain gets fogged, your thinking unsound. Easing the strain on gentle soul, your body unbound, soothing the psyche, making you whole. The magic of a touch you like, sweet words so refined. Soothing your body will ease your mind."

I had been so absorbed in the moment so entranced by her touch that I hardly noticed when my husband's sweatshirt floated over my head onto my back.

Suddenly I found myself fully dressed. "I -- eh -- never," I started.

Placing her finger on my lips, Glenda told me, "Some call me a Chiro, others a masseuse. I manipulate your mind, your body undressed, your skin to palpate, with subtle pressure and introduction of heat, any injury to treat, relieving pain and psychological distress. Come, take flight before the Institute takes us to keep."

Unlike my husband and me who hid our car on a side street and walked to the entrance to the Institute, Glenda had brazenly driven her car into the Institute's lot. As if answering my unvoiced question, Glenda remarked, "Caught up in the tempest, body seized to re-pay the debt, stripped naked for the debacle, why mourn the vehicle which drove me to financial distress."

The car waiting for us was a sleek flashy black metallic sports car. "Six speeds on the floor. I had to learn the standard to drive it and replaced the clutch in the process. The car was barely big enough to fit me and my adjustment table but pleased my well - heeled, monied customer list that craved my very personalized services," A gleam appeared in her eyes as she spoke, "liked to watch me pull up on their driveway. Then," Glenda sighed and shrugged her shoulders, "the credit boom crashed and I couldn't keep up my payments. That's how I ended up at the Institute begging extensions. And you?"

"My husband and I are bailing out our daughter. Buying a car was her road to perdition. We're buying her person," I sighed, "So she doesn't get sold to a house of eh -- assignations."

"I'll bet you're locked out of your house too?" Glen suggested, "You can set the chip the Institute planted in your boob and bum to open your doors -- car and house."

"The Institute makes it easy for you, all -- in -- all, to enable your repossession upon default," I commented.

"Regardless, hold your head high with a touch of class and pray your magic doesn't crash," Glenda declared enthusiastically, "But for moment, take no fright, crash with me, tonight? Let's share a little magic, alright?"

"In my field, HR," I told Glen, "the steely certainty of computer logic has replaced the human female as the source of magic."

The thought was not original. It came up during my orientation to The Institute. "Mechanized Magic of Artificial Intelligence?" Angie exclaimed in sarcastic disgust, as she pointed to the Institute's new computer system, "Dr Crenshaw, favorite expression, 'trust the science' was put to the test by this contraption."

"Reduced to mathematics," I observed, "rows and columns stark statistics, lost is the touch of magic, assets and debits systematic, dollars and sense deterministic."

"Trust the unerring science, with the right determination!" Angie sighed, "-- until the computer decided to send his sister, mother of his heir, to auction. Then, I got the order to find a real HR person -- and I found you under our Indenture. I was about to sign your notice for default."

"Oh, how tragic!" I exclaimed, "Computers are great tools in an orderly regime, but they're inert, soulless machines. Flesh and blood women make the magic."

"I'll be sure to work that line into my next conference with Dr Crenshaw. Speaking of the good doctor," Angie recalled, "Dr Crenshaw wants to chat with you once you've completed your familiarization tour."

When I nodded agreement, Angie led me down a corridor which ended at an electronic checkpoint. I stopped in my tracks. Ahead, Glen and her escort that muscular grey coated guard waited at the checkpoint. 150 feet beyond the checkpoint were the cages, the transfer point to auction. Had my luck and magic run out? I been misled?

Laughing, Angie pointed to a side corridor to what appeared to be a dead end. "A hidden vestibule, leading to Dr Crenshaw's private space, branches off beyond the checkpoint. A grey jacketed security officer manning the check point inquired, "Destination?"

"Hot tub," replied Angie.

"You too?" the checkpoint guard, a male in grey, snickered, "Is Dr Crenshaw throwing a pool party? Angie, you know the procedure," the grey jacketed checkpoint guard pointed to the table.

Shaking her head at the annoyance, Angie, after removing her blazer and carefully folding it, held it in front of her. Staring at the Institute's crest on her breast pocket, Angie sighed, "At the Institute, indentured slaves passing through its corridors wear only such clothing as the master permit. All persons, free or slave, approaching Dr Crenshaw must submit, to meeting nude beyond the hot tub's doors." In an instant Angie's blouse and grey skirt were swept away, neatly folded and placed on the table.

"Why does Dr Crenshaw require people approaching him strip naked?" I asked.

Ahead of Angie and me, the guard Sandy, Glen's escort, was reduced to a naked bundle of muscles while her clothes were inspected. The naked guard's eyes flashed with disgust at the order to "spread your legs, squat over the shiny patch on the floor. Hold your torso straight like you're sitting in a chair and cough. Just like your prisoner did."

Glenda with a devilish grin exclaimed, "It takes a lot of practice."

The male guard in grey, chuckling at Glen's comment, added, "I need to inspect your undercarriage."

"Just what the Doctor ordered," Glen's escort Sandy sarcastically posed a rhetorical retort.

While Sandy's muscles strained at teasing from the male guard in grey at checkpoint, Angie whispered to me, "You'll notice the heightened scrutiny imposed on female security personnel. When The Institute bolstered internal security, it decided to limit male Grey jackets, ie internal security to volunteers, of one body type tall, powerful burly men who agreed to castration. Sterile guys tend to be resentful of their female counterparts allowed to remain concupiscent."

"Damn you Glenda," Sandy complained as she adjusted her position over the scanning device, "How did you rate for Dr Crenshaw to call you to an audience? Why did your good fortune become my penitence?"

Placing a bony hand on my shoulder, Angie leaned forward to whisper audibly, "Dr Crenshaw believes in the magic of nudity. It promotes candor, prevents concealment and preserves a sense of equality. Without her uniform where is the guard's magic?"

Ahead of us, Glenda interjected, "It's not purely magic but logical certitude, a servant forced to strip, to present before him, in the nude, must conclude, that all depends on the master's whim."

When the laughter in the corridor died down, Glenda chirped, "Don't think all servants bow to the master's whip. Look at the magic! Can't you see that I'm already dressed for the part?" Holding up her arms, jiggling her breasts and wiggling her butt, Glenda presented me with a sensuous full frontal display of bare skin glistening under intense lighting and a captivating view of freshly shaven pubes, "Magic," Glen cried.

When we first met, Glen persuaded me to allow her to shave my pubes. "Women in service at The Institute wear a landing strip which focuses your attention on their magical slit," Glen had taught. "You keep the magic by blending in, rather than standing out. Woman employed by the Institute might regard an unshaven woman as unkempt, rowdy, even dirty."

Glen's pubic hair had been shaved clean except for an inverted triangular patch of brown hair with its apex pointed at her slit.

With a resigned breath, Angie snickered, "Laurie, you better get yourself eh--," Angie chucked, "undressed, soon it'll be," Angie took a deep breath, reached behind her, unhooked her bra, "your turn."

Pulling the string on the bow on her bikini bottoms, Angie unveiled a unveiling a cadaverous fat -- free, flat butt, a few wisps of light brown hair pointing to her slit and pin point raisin nibs standing erect on cupcake boobs. "Get ready, for some reason Dr Crenshaw wants you present when he speaks to the brunette ahead of us."

Glenda was looking at me. Her naked escort's iron grip fell on Glen's bicep. The word "Magic" voicelessly appeared on Glen's lips.

Was there a flash of blinding light that ran throughout the corridor? I laughed when the male guards in grey at the checkpoint wrote the bolt of light that flared through the corridor off to another power surge. As Glen was dragged into the sauna, I found myself naked holding Glen's business suit in my arms.

Rubbing her eyes as she directed me forward to submit to inspection, Angie remarked, "My! Are you fast."

"It's the magic!" I exclaimed as I placed Glen's clothes on the table for examination.

After branding in connection with my application for a loan to buy title to my daughter, Glen drove me to her house to spend the night. My husband's departure on a business trip left me locked out. I took note, "A fashionable address, a fancy car and expensive clothes, no wonder with such excesses, you need extensions."

"I'm a doctor of Chiropractic," Glen confessed as we entered her apartment, "I got into more intimate adjustments when working patients were driven from wage slavery into actual slavery. And I found a clientele that preferred the eh -- touch of magic. Let me show you how -- Mrs Laurie Bogan,." She addressed me in a formal tone, "I have had a busy day. Even so, I'll squeeze you in for a 20 minute release. Let's get ready. Get naked."

There was that flash again. I laughed. I was naked; the tattered clothes I wore to my loan application and appraisal were scattered on the floor near my feet.

Her business suit having vanished, Glen was now covered by a knee length white lab coat. Contemptuously, she picked up my tattered clothes. A disgusted grimace appeared on Gln's face at a whiff of my clothing. "I see you have had a tough day. A warm shower will wash the ordeal away."

Glen led me to the steam fogged up bathroom replete with a spa. Opening the glazed door, she beckoned me enter the walk - in spa where beads of water shot out from spigots embedded in the walls as well as one overhead. Her white lab coat having vanished, Glen followed me in. A lifelike strap -- on, the column just a few shades darker than her skin tone, the tip a dull grape purple, dangled from her pelvis.

Grabbing the dildo in my hand and squeezing it, I quipped, "spongy as an eel, a cute danglier, with a real lifelike feel."

"A dibbler miraculously adapted // at rest remaining flaccid,' cooed Glen with a smile.

Warm water pelted my belly, breasts and butt from all angles, while a gentle spray fell on my head from above. I took a deep satisfying breath. I marveled at the dildo in Glen's hands simulating an erection. Declaring "magic prosthetic," I felt the stiffening phallus.

"In relations sapphic," Glen continued, "between girls attracted // erection protracted // a night fantastic."

I wondered aloud, "What's coming out next?"

"A bolt of electricity // thunder crackles, current rushes, // brain short -- circuited in a trance // nipples tingling," Glen chanted, as she massaged my nips between her fingers, "breasts enhanced."

Gently spun around, feet nudged apart and bent at the waist, I gasped when Glen's hand guided the faux phallus toward my slit. Her incantations echoed off the shower walls, "lips parted wide as they must, ready to receive a lover's thrust."

I continued to ride that phallus. I wanted to see if I could see which would crash first: me or the battery. When I awoke, I found Glen in an open white lab coat hovering over me. "Quite a workout!" Glen exclaimed.

I looked around. I was naked on a fluffy rug on the bathroom floor covered in a blanket. "Had I spent the night here?"

"I tried to wake you to share my bed," Glen apologized, "So I dried you off and covered you. Let's shower, I'll dress and drive you to work."

I sighed when Glen adeptly massaged my muscles as she applied bubbly soap. "You'll feel like a million bucks," Glen assured me as nimble fingers entered me to manipulate my clit. I wished I could luxuriate with Glen in her spa shower, but I knew I had explanations at work. "Likely," Glen announced as I approached orgasm, "having to make up accumulated past dues, I face as busy a day as you."

Leaving the shower, Glen told me to finish myself off quickly, "Work summons."

Invited to pick clothes out of her closet, I chose a black skirt with a white blouse.

"Rather conventional skirt suit," Glen suggested, "why not wear a red cummerbund draw emphasis to that narrow waist -- with a white blouse. Afraid your husband will rip the clothes off you when he gets home from his trip? Maybe, my clothing will give you a part of the magic."

"A certain magic attaches to clothing," Tall lean Dr Crenshaw, standing in the center of his aquamarine tiled hot tub, addressed muscular Sandy and her charge Glen, "your garb imparts your identity."

When I entered Dr Crenshaw's private pool and sauna complex with Angie who plucked of her feathers was little more than bare bones, Dr Crenshaw posed the most telling question,. "Why do I hold court in the natural state?" Dr Crenshaw, nude, his dark scraggly pubic hair like the hair top his head bearing streaks of grey, asked rhetorically. "Even The Institute's highest level of security," Dr, Crenshaw pointed to two tall naked male guards, arms crossed over hairless muscular chests, both eunuchs, scrotal sacs emptied, penises shriveled, guarding either side of the steps leading into the tub, "presents in an unclothed condition.".

In front of the hot tub backs to us stood Glen and her guard Sandy. While Glenda appeared to be relaxed, Sandy's muscles were tensed. Was Sandy standing on her tip toes to make herself appear to be taller?

"Clothing confers a status," Dr Crenshaw continued his talk, "Glenda presenting in bare skin, who could know Glenda was a doctor? You are a doctor, Glenda?"

"Doctor of Chiropractic, restoring the psyche by working the bones and the muscles," came Glen's firm response. "Now, I'm limited to select clienteles."

Dr Crenshaw, his penis flaccid, his nut sac loosely dangling as he walked, emerged from the hot tub.

Grasping my forearm, Angie gasped. In a whisper, "Dr Crenshaw's easygoing approach to professional nudity, an uncircumcised danglier, dangling, isn't quite as dazzling as much as his mind's control over natural physiological reaction is amazing."

Placing a firm hand on Sandy's quivering shoulder, reassured her, "I'll skip extolling the greater virtues of social nudity practiced here behind the scenes: transparency, honesty, and equality. The purpose of holding my meetings, hearing reports, ordaining policy and made or confirming major decisions in the natural state within this magnificent complex is not to humiliate you or any other person by forcing them to remove all indicia of status, but to treat with each indenturee as an individual. There's the added benefit that I can identify the person in my mind, not their uniform "

"No cause for lamment," Dr Crenshaw turned to Glenda, "generous terms of a professional indenture would send you to school during your tenure to upgrade your degree to MD. Changing business patterns have made irrelevant your Chiro degree. Angie," looking up to recognize Angie, "care to comment?"