Shanghaied Ch. 01-02

"Let's not make this any harder than it needs to be ma'am," the first guy said as he moved behind me to cut off my escape to the back door.

"She's telling the truth," Sandy said. "She's just got allergies, that's all."

"Don't worry ma'am, this'll only take a few hours," the second guy said as he reached for me.

I yelped as the first quarantiner lunged for me and grabbed me from behind

"Got her," the first quarantiner said.

"Come on, ma'am," the second quarantiner said. "Let's go."

The two men started leading/dragging me toward the door while the environment suit clad woman with a backpack sprayer began spraying everything I down with a chemical smelling disinfecting mist. Even I got a couple of squirts.

"Where are you taking her?" Sandy asked but the men ignored her.

"What did she touch this morning?" the female quarantiner with the disinfectant asked Sandy. "Did she touch you?"

"Can you just call my doctor?" I asked as they led me out. "He'll tell you, it's just allergies."

"Go ahead and get in," one of the guys said as he opened the door to the van.

I half stepped in the van and was half lifted in. Moments later they whisked me off to a quarantine facility and locked me up. I don't even know how they found out about me, I'd only been sniffling for a couple of hours and I didn't think any of the customers noticed it.

Of course, all the crap about that quarantiners said about this was just going to be a few of hours for tests was bullshit. I was forced to spend almost a month and a half locked up in a small cell in solitary confinement at a quarantine facility just outside Charlotte.

The facility took every precaution, sliding my food under the door, filtering my air, allowing visitors only by video, dressing me in just a thin paper hospital gown, disposable undies, and paper slippers, feeding me off paper cups, paper plates, and plastic forks, they incinerated everything that I touched, even my paper sheets and pillow cases.

With all the feverish hysteria surrounding the deadly virus, there was no chance of me getting released early. So, although my sniffling dissipated in only hours and the doctors were certain that all I had was allergies, not the virus, the political bureaucracy was so cautious about letting anyone out of quarantine that it still took me 41 days to get released.

By then, I was nearly three months late on all my payments (I was already a month behind when I went in), I'd been evicted from my apartment, my cell service was terminated, the bank had repo'd my car, the interest rate on my credit card got raised to unaffordable, and the bank threatened to repo me on my student loans, the deficiency on my car, and on my credit card balance unless I got them all caught up in the next two weeks.

In order to get better interest rates and more credit, I'd signed a six year general slave contract (instead of a limited agreement) with my bondage banker, Ultra Financial. It meant that Ultra was willing to give me lots and lots of credit at very reasonable rates but, if I ever got repo'd, Ultra would literally own my twat (and every other orifice on my body).

If repo'd, I'd be Ultra's naked sex slave. They could sell me to an African bordello, a Las Vegas porn studio, a fetish house in Bombay, or to a harem in Morocco, and there'd be nothing I could do about it. Unfortunately, I was only a couple of weeks from that occurring.

I was super screwed. Under the slavery laws, Ultra Financial, could repossess me once I got three months behind and I was only a few of weeks away from that occurring. Unfortunately, after being quarantined, my situation sucked. I was broke, homeless, without a car, and couldn't possibly come up with all that cash. I didn't even know if I still had a job.

I'd never be able to borrow all the money I needed. My mother cleaned houses for a living and I hadn't seen my father since I was 10. My friends were nice but penniless, often bordering on getting repo'd themselves. They probably couldn't come up with $1000 between them.

Frantic, I came to the realization that the only way to avoid being repo'd by Ultra and having to endure a long term servitude commitment as a sex slave was to sell my ass into slavery for a short stint. A market had developed for people trying to sell themselves into slavery for cash. Often, like me, they were attempting to avoid a long term of general slavery (including nudity, fetish work, and the sex trade) by a limited slavery contract for a shorter period of time.

Having access to a computer and my phone in my cell, I responded to every ad for slaves in the area that didn't involve the sex trade: waitresses, nannies, cooks, maids, janitors, etc. and tried to sell myself. Although, I kept lowering my price and raising my servitude time, nobody wanted me at all. Most wouldn't even give me a call back after they got my application.

With the Brazilian flu still threatening, all the applications asked if I'd ever been quarantined. Unfortunately the words: "Yes, but I'm getting out soon," wasn't the answer they were looking for. So, even though a vaccine was already being distributed in mass quantities and the end was in sight, I was still a pariah.

I marked myself down to rock bottom but I still wasn't selling. It was humiliating. The truth was, I couldn't give myself away; I couldn't even have paid people to take me. It was as if I was a leper. Despite being given a clean bill of health, no one wanted my diseased ass anywhere near them never mind pay money for me.

I'd kept in touch with Sandy; we talked and texted every day until they cut off my cell service and then we emailed. She'd kept me from going insane. I'm sure that Sandy would have even loaned me money if she could. However, although Sandy's heart was big, her bank account wasn't. Neither Sandy nor her husband Larry had any money, they were young and just starting out. But perhaps she could talk Janice into having the store giving me a huge advance. It was a longshot but it was all I had.

I emailed Sandy. "They say they're going to let me out in a couple of days if I still don't have any symptoms."

"That's FANTASTIC!!!!! Let me know when and I'll come and pick you up."

After telling her how amazing a friend she'd been and how much I appreciated all she'd done for me, all of which was true, in desperation, I made my pitch."

"Do I still have a Job?"

"Absolutely, we've held it for you. It's yours just as soon as you get out."

"I know I'm asking a whole lot and I feel really guilty about this but, as you know, I'm in a serious jam and I really, really hate to ask for this, and I know it's asking for a huge, huge favor but I really, really, really, really, really need it. Do you think you could talk to Janice and ask her if she could give me a six month advance on my salary? Please, please, please. I'll work it off. I'll work every weekend; I'll work overtime; I'll clean her house; I'll wash her car; I'll do her laundry; I'll mow her lawn. Whatever it takes, I'll do it."

Although there were four partners, and although they were supposed to be equal, in reality, Janice ran the place. None of the other partners would stand up to her. Not a penny was ever spent without Janice's approval. This was a problem as, not only was the store suffering financially, Janice was downright greedy by nature. For her, the money was always more important than the people. I wasn't optimistic at all.

Although Sandy promised that she'd do everything she could to get me the advance, it was going to be really hard for her to convince Janice to advance me even a $100, never mind six months' pay. You can't imagine my relief when, the next day, Janice sent me an email saying that she and Sandy would be coming to the quarantine facility to visit me at 10:00 am the next day to talk about my advance.

Both Janice and Sandy visited me (by video of course). I was concerned. Although Janice was cool and aloof as usual, Sandy seemed decidedly disappointed, quiet, and even regretful. If she'd talked Janice into loaning me the money, Sandy would've been elated; she'd have blurted out the good news the moment she saw me. I had a sinking feeling that I was doomed and I could all but feel a slave collar closing in around my neck.

After the usual pleasantries and some beating around the bush, I finally just had to ask.

"Did Sandy talk to you about my job?" I asked Janice.

Sandy grimaced and looked away while Janice looked serious and pondered what to day next.

"I'd like to talk with you about that," Janice said.

"And?"

"Well, of course we're prepared to offer you your old job back," Janice said.

"Thanks, I you don't know how much I appreciate that."

An awkward silence followed as no one wanted to be the one to bring up the subject of the a massive advance that I'd requested. Sandy wouldn't even make eye contact with me. Finally, I couldn't stand the silence and asked.

"Did Sandy talk to you about an advance?"

"Yes, we talked about that."

"I know I'm asking a whole, whole lot and I know..."

"We can't offer you the advance," Janice interrupted. "I'm sorry."

"I see," I sat back in my chair, trying not to act as devastated as I really was.

"We just can't take that type of risk," Janice said, shaking her head no. "You could just leave and take another job, and we'd be out six months' salary. Besides, if we advanced you six months' salary to pay to catch up on your loans, what would you live on? We just can't do that."

"I understand," I said, suddenly feeling dizzy and weak, I struggled to hold myself together. "I appreciate..."

"We're here to make you a different offer," Janice said, interrupting again.

"Different?"

"Something that, if we pay, will bind you into working off your indebtedness to us."

"You want me to be your slave?"

"Yes, that's what we're here to offer. We'll catch you up on all your loans so you won't get repo'd, give you're a place to sleep at the store, feed you, and pay the minimum on all your loans until you can work off your advance."

"It's the only way," Sandy said, sounding apologetic.

I should have expected Janice would want me as a slave if she were going to give me an enormous advance. Not only did it mean that I couldn't just take the money and run, it meant that she could work me seven days a week for 12 hours a day without having to pay me any overtime.

"How much time would you want?" I asked.

"Three years."

It was like someone punched me in the face. I was stunned, utterly speechless. It was three times what I'd expected. With as little as it'd take to catch up my loans and as much as young, hardworking, attractive slaves were bringing nowadays, I'd expected to serve a year at most.

If I was willing to agree to do a little cheesecake, like cleaning houses in just my undies, working as a live mannequin at an upscale lingerie shop, or waitressing in a sports bar in just a thong bikini or skimpy lingerie, even six months of slavery might do it. I'd probably even enjoy the sports bar, wiggling my ass and flirting with all the guys -- that'd be fun -- a lot more fun than working 12 hours a day selling auto parts.

"Three years?" I mumbled, still dumfounded. "Wow, that's..." My voice trailed off as I was so shocked, I didn't know how to finish the sentence.

"I understand that you were hoping for better but we're a small store with limited resources," Janice said. "And you know sales have been slow lately."

"Well yeah, but..." I still struggled to find words. "Three years?"

"I realize that you're probably a little disappointed," Janice shrugged, "And, if you have a better offer, I'd take it but this is the best we can do."

The problem was, I didn't have a better offer and Janice knew it. She had me over a barrel. Nobody wanted me at all; the store had become my only option. So, even though the store's offer, just catching me up and paying the minimum on my loans, being a paltry sum for three years slavery, it was the only offer I had. Bitter in knowing Janice was taking advantage of my misfortune, I gritted my teeth and tried not to show any emotion.

"Can I see the contract?" I said reluctantly.

Janice messaged me the contract and I read it. It was the standard fill-in-the-blanks slave contract on a pdf format. It was drawn up by the Department of Slavery for use in all general enslavements. Just seeing a slave contract with my name on it seemed shocking.

The terms were that, in exchange for the store catching me up on my loans and making all the minimum payments, I immediately and irrevocably agreed that for the next three years I'd be:

- Giving up all rights I had as a citizen and agreeing to being bound into slavery;

- Surrendering complete control of myself to my master as well agreeing to submit completely to her will in all ways, including sexually;

- Subservient, submissive, honest, obedient, hardworking, and loyal to my master at all times;

- Subject to physical discipline and confinement at the sole discretion of my master;

- Subject to rigorous training;

- Subject to being dressed in costume of my master choosing at all times including being semi-dressed.

- Subject to being publicly displayed, photographed, and/or physically disciplined while semi-nude or nude;

- Subject to hard labor of my master's choosing up to 12 hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year;

- Subject to sexual, pornographic, or fetish work;

- Subject to by all the rules and regulations of slavery as well as all orders and rules of my master or her designee;

- Exempt from all labor laws, nudity laws, sexual harassment laws, and any other laws granting me any rights, privileges, or protections other than those set forth in the Economic Recovery and Slavery Act of 2025 itself;

- Subject to jurisdiction of the Slave Court as to all crimes carrying a sentence of 12 months or less including escape, insubordination, conduct unbecoming of a slave, and minor assaults; and

- Subject to being rented, leased, or sold at my master's whim, even to a buyer in another country.

Although I wasn't excited about any of the clauses, the subject to sale provision really concerned me. Selling auto parts didn't bother me but I had no wish to be sold. God knows where I'd end up and what I'd be doing.

Worse yet, I could get sold overseas and, when my slavery was up, I'd be stuck in there. When a slave's contract was finished, if I wasn't in the U.S., I'd be considered a resident (but not necessarily citizen) of whatever country I was in. I'd have to apply for a US passport and find enough work to pay for my food and lodging as well as paying for the plane ticket home.

"You're not considering selling me are you?"

"Never," Sandy said. "You're one of us. We'd never do that to you."

Janice shook her head no and I looked back down at the contract and read it again. It was mind numbing. I couldn't believe that I was actually even considering selling myself into slavery but, out of time and out of options, working three years with the store seemed a lot better than getting repo'd by Ultra and sold off as a sex slave and I trusted Sandy when she said that they'd never sell me.

I signed and when Janice picked me up after I got released from quarantine the next morning, she took me to the Department of Slavery.

Chapter 2 -- My Bondage Begins

In order to complete my enslavement, I had to be titled as a slave and the store had to be registered as my owner. To prevent fraud, this could only be done by a licensed slave registration agent. While businesses in the slavery industry, slave auction houses and bondage bankers, had licensed slave registration agents on staff, for the average person or business, enslaving a free person could only be done at the Department of Slavery which had licensed slave registration agents that served the general public.

Janice and I arrived just before the Department of Slavery opened and were first in line when they unlocked their doors. There were two intake desks. Both had one chair in front of them and a yoga mat sitting on one side of the desk with a large trash can on the other.

Having arrived early, we'd barely sat down in the waiting area when a middle aged African American woman carrying a cup of coffee took a seat at one of the intake desks, sipped from her coffee, and motioned to us to come.

"Hi, my name is Doreen Washington, how can I help you?" the intake officer said as we approached.

"I'd like to register a slave," Janice said as she took the only chair.

"Is this her?"

"Yes."

Ms. Washington looked at me, "Go ahead and kneel down on your mat honey, we'll be right with you."

Obediently, I knelt.

"Has she been titled yet?" Ms. Washington asked.

"No," Janice said, "but she has a slave number, it's 01-CLT-3002629."

Since I'd taken out loans with Ultra Financial and pledged myself as collateral, I already had a slave number assigned to me and all my information was already in the slavery database.

"Yes, here she is," Ms. Washington said, finding my file on her computer. "Do you have her contract?"

"Yes," Janice said."

"Text it to me please," Ms. Washington gave Janice a phone number and Janice texted her the slavery contract that I'd signed.

"Girlie," Ms. Washington said as she quickly skimmed the contract, "is this your contract and did you freely and willingly sign it?" Ms. Washington turned her computer screen towards me so that I could see the contract.

A shiver went down my spine and I froze. The idea that I was really about to enslave myself suddenly hit me. With everything happening so fast, I barely had time to seriously consider what I was doing. This was the last chance for me to back out.

Everyone knew that, to prevent forgery, a slavery contract had to be either notarized, videoed, or acknowledged before a licensed slave registration agent, such as Ms. Washington. It hadn't been notarized or videoed so, if I didn't acknowledge the contract, I wouldn't be a slave. I didn't have to lie, simple silence would free me. On the other hand, the moment I said 'yes,' they'd be no backing out, I'd be Janice's bitch for the next three years.

Although I'll admit that I'd had sexual fantasies about being a slave (harem slave to a hunky sultan and the like), this wasn't a fantasy, it was real. Real slavery wasn't a couple of hours of sexy role play with a boyfriend (making poker bets on who'd be master and who'd be forced to be the naked sex slave), it'd be three years of 12 hour days and working hard with no weekends or vacations. If but the word 'yes' left my lips, it would instantly, and irrevocably enslave me for the next three years. I paused a few seconds to think it over.

I really didn't have much of a choice. If I didn't enslave myself to the store for three years today, in a week or two, I'd be getting repo'd by Ultra, sold at auction, and enslaved by strangers for six years, probably in the sex trade. I took a deep breath.

"Yes," I said, sealing my fate.

"Okay honey, you realize that means that, as of right now, you're a slave," Ms. Washington said as she started running my contract through a scanner, "and for the next three years, you'll belong to her and her store."

"Yes ma'am."

"And you understand, there's no turning back now or changing your mind honey, you're a slave now and I expect you to start acting like one, okay?"

"Yes ma'am."

Ms. Washington looked at her watch and typed the time and date on her computer, "Okay, your time starts now. It's 9:07 in the morning on Friday the 7th of March, 2031. So, your slavery will end exactly three years from today on March 7^th, 2034 at 9:07 a.m.

Ms. Washington turned to Janice. "How do you want her dressed?"

"Nude."

My eyes flew open in astonishment. I must've looked like I just sucked on a spark plug. Nobody said anything about me being naked.