The Cost of My Dreams Ch. 04

This is a work of Erotic Fantasy. As such, it is not real and does not depict real events or any real person. All characters, businesses, institutions, places, publications, and events in this story are either fictional or are used fictitiously as you might expect in a story where slavery is legally enforced throughout the modern United States. All characters are adults.

I had intended to cover the whole five months between their training at the Sharks and the departure to mars in this chapter, but it simple wasn't possible, so they'll be another chapter before the journey finally gets going.

"The Cost of My Dreams"

Chapter 04 - Identity

By LoyalHound

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I knelt on a slave pad in the warehouse, waiting to have my collar changed. Erin and Denise were lined up with me and each of us was shackled by our left ankle to eye bolts next to the pads. Master Peterson and Mistress Springfield, who represented the Martian Exploration and Colony Company, had our new collars, which seemed quite high end, but we were not told what features they supported, nor why we weren't being fitted with transit tags. The ideal curiosity of slaves was not being indulged by our masters.

They did me first. Master Crenshaw ordered "Collar," and I lifted my hair out of the way with my left hand and kept my right hand on my thigh. He unlocked my collar and removed it and, just for a second, I felt free. Then Master Peterson placed the new collar around my neck and snapped it closed, locking it in place. He calibrated the collar and then signed off on some paperwork for me. Then they did Erin and Denise.

Erin, Denise, and I would be doing the first leg of our trip in a transport van. Angela had been held back a week, and Cheryl and Susan were being sent south via the regional transportation market formally known as The East Coast Slave Transport Market LLC or more informally as the East Coast Local.

Since the Sharks was an end node of the East Coast Local, they would prepare Cheryl and Susan for shipment. Each woman would be fed and watered and made to brush her teeth. Both would be given a large enema. Their collars might be replaced by transport collars, though they could also ship locked in the collars of the Sharks or even of the Martian Exploration and Colony Company. Each woman would have her source node ID and destination node ID and the last four digits of her SIN written on her left breast in three colors of removable ink. A transport order specifying shippers, waypoints and treatment at those way points, would be finalized in the system. Transport tags would be prepared for both each woman with her SIN, her owner's name, her package ID, and her routing information and the tag would be attached to her left ear. After that, the Sharks would take both women to City of Frederick Slave Market and likely the Frederick Market would transport both women to the Baltimore Slave Market themselves. They'd then be held at the Baltimore Market, fed and watered as necessary, and loaded on whatever transport carrier the East Coast Local had approved for the next leg of their journey south. If a shipper failed to appear or canceled a shipment, the East Local would use a shipper of comparable rating and adjust the schedule to move the slaves on thru in good health. A slave might go thru several carriers and would have bio breaks and kibble and water at stops along the way as required by the rules of the East Coast Local. An enema might be scheduled at one her intermediate way points if the trip took long enough. They would deliver both women to the Jacksonville Slave Market, which would arrange the last leg of their journey to the to the receiving docks of the Martian Exploration and Colony Company complex in Cape Canaveral.

A certain distain for the comfort of the slave in transit and a complete distain for their dignity is, of course, not just traditional but considered necessary and desirable. It helps keep slaves in their place. The safety of the slave in transport, on the other hand, has become increasingly important as slavery has become more ubiquitous and both Cheryl and Susan would be heavily insured. There would be hell to pay if either woman arrived injured or didn't arrive at all, but there was pretty much no chance of that.

Was it really necessary and desirable that I be kept in my place? While I was a slave, I understood I was a slave and accepted that I would be treated as a slave, which I expected and felt competent to deal with. Being treated as a slave and kept in my place affirmed my understanding of the world and my place in it and yes, it also often gave me a sexual thrill. Treating me any other way would have felt like gaslighting. I did not, Beyond the Thirty-Fourth Amendment: The Origins and Doctrine of Modern American Slavery notwithstanding, believe I deserved nothing better; I believed I deserved to eventually rejoin the human race as a free woman but, while I was a slave, it felt normal for me to be treated as a slave. It made me feel safe, like those big cats at the zoo who supposedly think that their cages protect them from the humans, not the other way round. It was being an engineer and an astronaut and having to explain to my masters, as an engineer and astronaut, why they were wrong that made me feel exposed and at risk. Yet being an engineer and an astronaut wasn't just why I had agreed to my indenture, they were two of the things my owners needed me to be. I would serve my masters, in part, by opposing them, which is an uncomfortable situation for a slave to be in. I tried to think of myself as a trained service animal that will, if they judge an action they are being directed to take dangerous, practice "intelligent disobedience" and refuse that action.

Master Peterson was a thirtyish man but Mistress Springfield was young, about twenty. There had been college age people in the club but those were guests I'd known how to serve. She was slim and athletic and with short blond hair like I had. Now I was going to get bossed by a wrangler who could be my younger sister.

"She's a mistress," I thought. "You're a slave. She gives the orders. You obey the orders. She's a human; you are an animal. Give her attitude and you'll deserve the punishment you will receive, no matter how she treats you. Just hope she doesn't have too big a chip on her shoulder."

Mistress Springfield held herself well and I started to relax a little. She was, it seemed, an experienced wrangler in spite of her young age. She projected confidence and self-control.

Master Crenshaw secured a leash to my collar and used the shocker to release the shackle on my left ankle. He led me thru the side door of the van, which had a row of two kennels stacked two high for a total of four secured at the back of the van. They were rather small, being only about four foot long, three foot wide and three foot high. I was directed into kennel in the bottom row at the left side of the vehicle. I crawled into the kennel, pulled the leash in after me, and heard the gate close and the click of lock being set behind me. The kennel contained a clean slave pad that nevertheless had a slight smell of urine and there was no slave litter. With any luck, we weren't in there for the long haul, but if not to Cape Canaveral, where were we bound?

Master Crenshaw loaded Erin beside me, and Denise on top of Erin and then said "You're all fine slaves but you're still new to the collar. What is your duty?"

"To serve the pleasure and convenient of our master," we all said together.

"Make me proud of you," he said, and left the van.

We understood, without being told, that we were not to speak unless spoken to. After perhaps fifteen minutes, we were joined by two handlers not associated with the Sharks. Master Miller closed the side door of the van and got into the passenger seat. Master Lee got in the driver's seat and, coordinating with two other vehicles that were accompanying us, started our trip. Master Miller and Master Lee occasionally communicated with the other vehicles, but they mostly talked shop, and stories about various slaves and slave handlers. While they never talked to us directly, it became clear that they were taking us to a rented business jet.

We arrived at our destination after about an hour and a half. Once we were parked, Master Miller and Master Lee got out. A minute later, Master Miller opened the side door of the van, got in back with us, and opened my kennel.

"Leash," he commanded and I passed him the end of my leash. Then he gestured and I crawled out and stood up. He led me to the side door, passed my leash to Master Lee, and went back for the next slave.

I looked around and thought I recognized the area. We were at Temperance International Airport near Baltimore, though along the periphery rather than at the huge passenger terminals in the center of the airport. It hadn't occurred to me that there had to be a private terminal at Temperance but it made sense. Where else would you land a business jet the size of an airliner?

Master Miller brought Erin out and secured her leash to the back of my collar and went in for Denise. Eventually, Master Lee held my leash, Erin was leashed to me, and Denise to Erin. The two handlers led us thru automatic doors into a building marked Temperance Specialty Access.

The lobby was large and well-appointed and we were led slave naked, while other people in the building stared at us, to a baggage check in and inspection station. Master Lee passed my leash and a clipboard with our paperwork to a baggage agent and he and Master Miller left us. There were no visual barriers at the baggage check in and inspection station and people throughout the lobby could see us clearly. Well, it wasn't like I could get any more naked than I already was. The baggage inspection agent led me to a table where he secured my leash, took a comb and searched my hair. He put on fresh gloves and then he fondled my breasts. That damned horny juice was having its way with me and I started to become aroused. He had me open my mouth and inspected the inside with a flashlight. Finding nothing out of order, had me bend over the table and lift each foot in turn so he could inspect the underside. He put one hand on top of my waist and slowly inserted a finger on his other hand in my pussy.

At first, I focused and was going to try to hold myself still, horny juice notwithstanding, but that was just wrong. The man didn't want me to hold still like a hunk of meat; he wanted me to react. I moaned and thrust back against his finger like a proper slave. He pushed down harder with the hand on my waist and finished his check of my pussy. Then he inserted that same finger up my anus and pushed down on me hard as I thrust back again, panting slightly. Finding nothing, he removed his gloves, unhooked Erin's leash from my collar and another agent unhooked my leash from the table and led me to a holding cell where I was secured. There were piss grates at the back of the cell and some slave pads in a row between the grates and the bars at the front of the cell. Having no other orders, I knelt on one of the pads with my knees spread, my hands with my fingers laced behind my neck, and my head held up straight with much of my leash piled between my thighs and waited for the others.

Two college age men wandered over and started to speculate about my slave grade and what I'd be like in the sack and suggested I demonstrate my oral skills thru the bars. A baggage agent interrupted them when he brought over Erin and caged her with me. He pointed out a sign on the cell forbidding sex in the terminal.

"I'm sorry but this is a public area. You want that, go there" he said, pointing to an establishment that opened into the terminal. "They'll treat you right. Good food and high-class slaves in there with private alcoves."

One of the two nodded and said "OK, but I am curious about these two. What's their story?"

"Property of the Martian Exploration and Colonization Company. Astronaut slaves, they were all over the news. Somebody thinks a lot of them and staff has been warned to keep our dicks holstered with this lot. No private inspections in the back room if you know what I mean."

"You see that mark on their asses?" he continued "That's the mark of the Sharks. Slaves from the Sharks can be men or women, pretty or ugly, high grade or low, but they all have one thing in common: They're smart."

"Slaves with intelligence." The young man shook his head. "There's something wrong with that whole concept."

The baggage agent smiled. "Nothing better than a smart girl who has to lick your feet and thank you for being permitted to blow you. It's extra special humiliating for them and some of them love it. Whenever we get a load from the Sharks, we know they're smart enough to truly appreciate how far they've fallen. A little insider trading or a lie during an investigation, and suddenly the go to company officer is in the collar. A couple months ago, we processed a high state government executive. Top of the world one day; he was a needle dicked little bully who thought he could get away with anything. Next thing he knows, he's in the collar but still working for the government. He may never be free again and his agency has lotteries to see who gets to fuck him every night. One bad decision and the collar waits for all of us."

Erin smiled and knelt down next to me. When the men had gone, she said "I see someone's a proper slave, shoving back against probing fingers. The baggage agent told me if I did the same, he'd give me a smack."

"You did it anyway, didn't you?"

"Of course, he didn't tell me not to do it. He only told me I'd get a smack for it," she said, rubbing her buttocks. "He wasn't mad about it or anything. I'm guessing that it's just terribly routine for him."

"Yet you had to do it. It was expected of you."

"I'm too am a proper slave. I have to be, if I want the fourth crew slot. You were right. At the Sharks, we were broke the best."

"It's only been a month, but it all seems so normal," I said. "I've just been led slave naked on a leash thru the terminal and my first thought was 'I've never been to this part of the airport before; it's pretty nice.' If those two young men had been able to have their way with me, it'd have been another day ending in y."

She shrugged "Weren't you the one who kept insisting we were in the Temple of Persephone? While we are slaves, we are slaves. Besides, those two would be a step up from the commonplace slaves."

Just then we heard Denise make a yipping sound.

A couple of minutes later, a baggage agent led Denise over and locked her in with us. Her buttocks sported a welt.

Denise said "Well, after you two I had to up the ante. I didn't wait for him to stick his finger in. When I bent over the table, I backed into him and rubbed my ass on his crotch."

"Outstanding," I said, smiling. "Naughty but not disobedient. We are, all of us, proper slaves. Master Crenshaw would be proud."

"Think we'll make the tabloids again?" asked Erin.

"For this?" asked Denise. "It's not enough for a story unless big foot is joining us on our flight."

"Maybe aliens," I suggested. "You know, probing us good and proper, just for our own good, of course."

"I could use a good solid probing just now. Do you think Mistress Esmerelda's rules are still in effect?" asked Erin.

Our collars beeped and we were all gifted with an attention shock. The voice of the then AI from the Aries 3 interplanetary transport vehicle, who we knew as Michael, spoke out of our collars. "You will address me as Master Michael said the AI. "I have reviewed Esmerelda's rules and her records of your behavior at the Sharks. The no masturbation rule will continue to be enforced for the duration of your indentures nor will you have sex with each other except as ordered by your masters or during free play."

"Master Michael," Erin asked "this girl wonders if you are running on the Michael 2 prototype hardware in Florida. May this girl inquire about the location of your hardware, master?

"You have guessed correctly. Until you are moved off planet, I will run on the Michael 2 hardware. At that point I will be reintegrated with Michael aboard the Aries 3 interplanetary transit vehicle."

"Thank you, master," said Erin.

"It's going to be a business jet," said Denise. "Various executives and former colleges may want to test our new skills."

"A girl can only hope," said Erin.

Indeed, this girl did hope for a good, solid, probing but that was no longer my decision.

In a bit, Master Peterson and Mistress Springfield came over with a basket of wrist and ankle bands and locks to go with them. When they opened the cage door and passed them inside, we put them on and locked them in place without being ordered to do so. When ordered to coffle ourselves, Erin clipped her leash to my collar and Denise clipped her leash to Erin's collar. We were well accustomed to our position as slaves, too well accustomed. Sometimes it seemed like we were enslaving ourselves for our own reasons and the masters were just there as a public service; because slaves need owners.

Master Peterson took my leash and led us out of the terminal and up mobile stairs to be door of a business jet as big as an airliner. With any luck, we were about to become the inflight entertainment for a bunch of company bigwigs.

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Denise, Erin, and I were locked in our slave aviation transport seats, which have fewer straps than the car version and were set up to automatically release our hands, so we could release the rest of us, in the event of a passenger alarm or if power failed.

When we'd boarded, Denise, Erin and I were led to adjacent seats. We adjusted the seat and strap heights of each seat to our needs, clipped our ankles in place, adjusted and buckled the two belts that ran over shoulders and to our crotch, buckled the lap belt and then, after making sure all else was well, slipped the rings of our wrist bands onto the remote release rings built into the seat and pushed the button to lock the rings. We were well secured, like the valuable slaves we were. As slave meat alone we were beyond most peoples' means. As top-rated slave astronauts, we were almost beyond price.

After we reached cruising attitude, Master Peterson and Mistress Springfield unlocked us and we freed ourselves. They also removed our leashes and we heeled them into a conference room where Master Marshall was meeting with several people who I took to be investors in his companies. I recognized one of them from the private club at the Sharks.

One of the men said "I've seen the layout for the Ares III toys and playhouses and mockups for the action figures. When do we get to see the Manga?"

"We need to have a final choice before we do the final plot revisions and figure choices for the first three volumes. We also have to have that contest to pick slave names for them. I will show you some sample art, minus some key figures, in a few minutes. We can finish the first volume when we've made our final choice and the second volume once they're on their way."

Master Marshall passed out several decks of cards and said "We are issuing trading cards with the manga drawings of each potential crew member and biographical information on the back, as well as cards for the various hardware, such as the lander, the gerbil cage, and the maintenance vehicle. We're also looking at an Ares 3 branded dog whip. 'The only whip approved by the crew of the Ares 3' we'll call it."

"When are we going to see a final name for the thing? asked another man."

"Traditionally, that's something the crew selects. For the lander, 'Eagle' may be the top choice for obvious reasons. I've suggested 'Beachhead' as being suitably bellicose for a lander on the red planet. Marketing is making some suggestions too but the final choice for both transport and lander, unless they really screw it up, will be with the crew. We'll have a final name before they move the Ares 3 from Earth orbit to the lunar gateway station."