The Institute Pt. 05 - Tits and Ass

Thomas Dean The Institute: Pt 5 Figures on the Ledger: Tits and Ass

When Father surrendered me to the Institute to secure a business loan, Dr Trystan Throop, an energetic, young physician with a fringe of grey hair creeping into her scalp who examined and accepted me into the Institute, explained the law, "Your person, your body, your mind is The Institute's property. You're just another bare ass on our books with one right: to accomplish the task The Institute assigns you."

Then surrendered as property to The Institute by Father, I had been caught in a downdraft, one of many victims of the collapse of the era of freewheeling spending and liberal bankruptcies. Now with personal guarantees of loans backed by a commitment to servitude, I found myself on a crew sent out to enforce The Institute's rights to repossess delinquent debtors and runners whose obligations the Institute had bought. In my position on the crew, I had a right to accomplish the task by whatever means possible. I had neither the right nor the opportunity to moralize.

I may have been thinking of that when we, my crew, arrived at our forward base in River Bend in two vans. On our first stop, at an isolated farmhouse outside town, we exchanged our double trailer truck which would bear our cargo back to the Institute for these less conspicuous vans and a sedan. Our forward base was hidden in an old house on a tree lined side street surrounded by towering, neatly trimmed hedges. A button on my electronic notebook opened the hidden doors to access the basement of the house. We drove straight into an underground chamber far larger than the house above. When the vehicles came to a stop alongside a heavy door with an eye slit, the access gates closed behind us.

The crew, dressed in a medley of fashionable styles taken off indenturees, hopped out of the vans to assemble on the sidewalk. Using recycled clothing taken from Indenturees on these missions saved the Institute money. Efficiency and economy were the Institute's watchwords. Eventually, these garments would be resold in one of the Institute's Thrift shops.

With my crew on this round up in River Bend of debtors and runners, I had two old hands my sister Jane and Cliff, both had been with me on this crew awhile, Mary, an old hand, reassigned to me and two newbies, Elm and Logan. A capture crew ferreting out elusive runners who escaped bondage and dodging debtors must as Mary told the newbies after a demonstration of handling an uncooperative subject, "depends on absolute loyalty to each other and the mission. We share everything. Our commitment to protect each other must be as strong or even stronger than our dedication to the mission."

How had Dr Throop during my intake physical put it in a cadence? "After a time // you may find // The Institute captivates your mind// You belong to The Institute// that is certainly true // but also that it belongs to you."

Certainly, however poetically put, the words were appropriately inspiring, but with half of my old crew transferred to other duties, I had to conceal anxiety as I looked over the team formed up on the sidewalk in front of the entrance.

Our boss Captain Tim arriving in the sedan waited for me to form up the crew on the sidewalk. Joined by Captain Tim, the only one of the elite crew assigned to recover Institute property wearing the Institute's grey security uniform, I explained or mission, "Listen up people!" I called for the crew's attention. Comparing petit Mary's rounding belly to my sister Jane's wiry lean frame, while I waited for silence, I was puzzled. Though Mary was an old hand, she was newly assigned to my crew. Why had the institute used security personnel in its Surrogacy program? I wondered, one of the many natty incongruities I had already encountered on this mission.

When silence fell, I continued, "We're an elite crew on a routine mission. Starting tonight we'll haul in the usual suspects, repossessing college students who overspent their allowance, single mothers who didn't surrender when requested, overextended businesspeople, no one special we expect a fight from, but still detained people can be unpredictable..."

Routine? I wondered. Before the crew set out in a truck pulling two trailers, Captain Jim and I had been briefed personally by Dr Philip Crenshaw, the Institute's chief medical director on the importance of our mission, "Officially your elite capture crew is out to round up runners, indentures and slaves who escaped from their terms of bondage as well as delinquents those debtors pledged their persons as security for a loan. In point of fact, you are on the trail of Bernie and Brigit, the elusive odd couple. You should train your crew accordingly."

I sighed. Our search for Bernie and Brigit in this college town of young people over-spending their parent's money enjoyed the highest priority. A security system which required absolute loyalty cannot brook betrayal.

Opening the inner door, we found ourselves in an airlock, a holding area. Once inside, I asked for a volunteer. Receiving none, I looked around and made a choice purely whimsically. Or was it made on intuition? I decided to appoint Elm, the short slender newbie on the crew. Despite a short stature, neatly coifed Elm, fresh out of the Institutes' security school, stood out. In the attire she had selected, a crisp business suit dark pants, jacket and even a vest over a white blouse, she fit the image of one of those bankrupted businesswoman gone bust we routinely haul in for non-payment of debt.

Noting the holding area created by a cyclone fence, I explained, "We place detainees in there, pending examination and identification. Mary, you show--uhm," I pointed to Elm, "Elm inside the accommodations for newly apprehended indenturees."

In a gentle tone, Mary simply took over. Requesting Elm's jacket and vest, Mary told Elm to "place your hands on the back of your head." A quick pat down followed.

In an aside to the crew, Mary, as she examined the jacket and vest, explained, "Before you pat down, have the subject remove outermost garments, jackets and vests." To Elm, Mary offered a compliment, "Those black boots go nicely with your outfit. I'll need you to take them off and the white anklets, too." In an aside to the crew, Mary, holding the boots upside down and banging them together, noted, "It's harder for a runner to run without running shoes."

I ordered Mary to secure the holding pen. "Ordinarily, we don't bind the hands of indentures who come along voluntarily, but never leave a detainee unattended. Mary, remain with your prisoner."

Behind the next door, led the crew into the processing area. "Here we inspect the newly detained person, confirm the identity of the detainee and photograph the detainee."

I messaged Mary to bring in the prisoner. Reporting in with barefoot Elm bubbling and giggling in tow, Mary at my signal from me demonstrated the intake procedure. While Mary explained the usual procedures, Captain Tim retreated to his office in the recesses of the building; I took up the desk in an adjacent office next to another office which boasted of a gynecological examination table.

"To safely inspect the detainee requires control over the person with a display of power. First," Mary introduced the topic, "Never in-process more than one detainee at a time. Groups are bolder than isolated individuals on their own. Second, never begin in-processing without another member of the team present for inspection and verification of the identity of the detainee. Jane, step forward."

Arms crossed, standing next to Mary, Jane looked on. Hugging Jane enthusiastically, Mary proclaimed, "our success -- and safety -- depends on absolute loyalty and dedication to protect each other."

Jane was a good choice. While Jane was my sister and I had inveighed with Dr Throop to get Jane on my team, Jane drew her share of the grungy, gut-wrenching work. Only yesterday prior to departure from Home Station at the Institute, during the crew's frolic in the shower, Jane had played the rambunctious detainee in an unannounced demonstration.

I wrestled Jane to the concrete floor of the shower. She kicked and squirmed. Squatting over her head to pin her to the rough floor, I found it hard to keep a grip on her slippery shoulders. Cursing and swearing, Jane bucked and attempted to rear up, curling her body to grab me between her legs, but my hold was firm.

I yelled to Mary to grab her legs and pull them apart. "Cliff, be a man," I ordered, "Teach her lesson. What do we do to a detainee who puts up a fight? Shoot her belly full of man -- juice."

As a capture team off on our own hunting down crafty runners and dodging debtors we depend on each other and share everything -- even each other. "Start licking," I told Jane as Cliff sat on the floor and slid his legs under Jane to make the connection. Mary alternated between began kissing me and kissing Cliff until Cliff's arms drew me closer. Mary was behind me licking down my backbone. When her tongue slobbered the upper reaches of my crack, my body convulsed orgasmically.

As I opened my eyes, Mary's round belly came into focus. Taking charge as she looked on, Mary explained the bodies sprawled on the concrete floor of the communal shower to two stunned newbies. The male newbie Logan stood next to Elm, her arms crossed over marshmallow sized breasts, "A capture team functions as one. We all take a share -- ugh -- undesirable tasks. We respect the Institute's property, the person of the detainee who submits. Those who don't submit must be reminded of the consequences of a servient status." I chuckled. Mary had a way of using inflated language.

In the forward base of operations, while I studied the dossier on the hidden mission, Mary began taking the detainee's personal information. "Your name?" Mary asked in a cheerful voice. Receiving the response Elm, Mary pressed for her full name. Elm's tone was guarded when she gave up her last name. "Elm Elmont, so good your mom gave you the same name twice," Mary spoke in a pleasant tone.

In an aside to the crew, Mary stressed establishing a rapport with the prisoner to gain her cooperation.

Rapport in handling a detainee is important. I learned that the day my father surrendered me to The Institute to secure a loan. Stung with shock from Father's betrayal in surrendering me, I was wretched from the fog of suspicion and mistrust by Dr Throop, the Institute's vivacious examining physician. Reaching through the cloud of doubt and wariness, Dr Throop after a glance at her electronic notebook, curtly dismissed Father, "Your task is done. You may leave us."

Turning to me, Dr Throop observed, "Jenny, hmm, a nursing student--final year. We're going to do a 'hands -- on' rectal exam. I'm sure you've seen one done, before." Gently guiding me to bend over the examining table and spread my legs to undergo the exam, Dr Throop avoided direct interrogation.

I docilly complied. When I spread my legs so far apart, I felt the strain on the muscles of my inner thigh. Dr Throop prodded me to spread them further, before she resumed chit -- chat..

Jabbering away about herself, Dr Throop assured me, "The institute can be a generous master, Jenny," pausing to glance at her electronic notebook, "though a jealous one. I was dragged in here in combative and resistant. I owed time."

"You owned time?" I asked while her fingers so gently wiggled their way inside me, I hardly gasped.

"Still do," Dr Throop shook her head, "Initially, to pay off debts my ex ran up and silly me, I gave guarantees for," Throop laughed, "He ran off when I was rounded up." She released a sigh, "Upon reception, The Institute filed for divorce," Dr Throop recounted with a chuckle, "and I got rid of him, but I still owed time for the debt."

"I guess you must have been pissed," I was so engaged in the conversation that her probing fingers exploring the folds of my vaginal lips and depths of my insides beyond didn't disturb me.

Dr Throop took a breath."Once I learned the folly of resistance and demonstrated initiative in the care of indenturees, the Institute offered to send me to medical school in exchange for a life indenture, ie complete slavery."

"You're a slave?" I asked.

"What would you give to be returned to school to complete your nursing degree?" Dr Throop asked, "Three more on top of the seven your father pledged for you. You'd owe The Institute 10 years and have a secure job upon graduation? Do you think you could accommodate yourself to that?"

At the time I was young and immature but smart enough to realize I was being tested.

In the forward base of operations, while Mary was busy establishing rapport with her "prisoner," I devoted my attention to the dossier. Why would Lt Bernie run off with Brigit? That was the troubling question. Brigit was merchandise. Bernie could sample the best of the Institute's merchandise. What rapport had Brigit established with Bernie to lure him into violating the Institute's trust?

About Brigit, the electronic record showed little. Brigit's debt was a minor one on a Capital Zone credit card for a couple of small purchases. Likely her default wasn't willful; she then age 18 probably simply forgot. Even with the additional interest and late charges, most people, even Brigit, probably could have redeemed herself from a bond this size. Why hadn't she?

Next of kin turned out to be deceased. No known friends, sporadic reported part -- time employment.

The dossier included casting photos, rarely taken with such a small debt, rare but not unusual. It was equally unusual to barcode a debtor for such a small debt. Sometimes the lender secured the additional security by offering the debtor a lower interest rate or expanded credit line. Crummy lenders made covered the cost of the procedure by selling casting photos to porn sites.

Brigit's `casting photos,' nudes, taken at age 18 when she obtained her loan showed a cute, young woman standing 4ft 11in, no more than 85 pounds, 24 -- 20 -- 24, trainer bra size. I inspected the photos carefully. Other than a noticeable patch of discolored skin on her butt, the photos were unremarkable. Discoloration was possibly an allergic reaction to that alcohol solute they coat your but with when they burn your identification code into your butt. Photos taken on capture had been deleted.

Now 21 years old, Brigit owed seven years on her Indenture, then another year for failure to surrender her person; then three more for escape. She had taken a dischargeable obligation into a major term.

In the adjacent room, Mary was showing the crew how to coax critical information, "alternate" names which might help locating an indenture who took to heels.

Chuckling Elm quipped, "When I indentured myself I was told, I no longer had a family name. I belonged to the Institute."

"Voluntary indenture, Ms Elmont?" Mary questioned. In aside to the crew, Mary reminded them to always treat a pliant subject with respect. Turning to Jane, Mary queried, "Jane was a voluntary. How does that work?"

I smiled when I was reminded of Jane's voluntary indenture. It came about wholly accidentally. Placed on my capture list, my sister Jane had been indentured by Father who was too embarrassed to turn her in himself. I persuaded her to voluntarily indenture herself for the Security team. Was her confidence in and loyalty to me a betrayal of Father?

A volunteer with a nest egg set aside for her, Jane might enjoy preference for promotion to Lieutenant and bonuses from successful missions. Institute security worked like a job with profit sharing.

In the forward base of operations, Jane, with a distant look, reflected, "It's similar to applying for a job." Turning to Elm Jane called for agreement, "Wouldn't you say so, Ms Elmont?"

After Elm nodded, Mary continued, "I suppose a voluntary indenture's upset price gets dumped into a managed account. Before you surrender, you'd entrust your personal effects, jewellery and valuables, to your Mom or best friend. Show up for a private physical exam. Sensible, orderly, controlled?"

Listening in from my cubbyhole, I mused, "Sensible, orderly, controlled?"

"It's sensible and orderly!" That's what I presented to my sister Jane as the reason for a voluntary indenture when I brought her into Dr Throop for a pre-indenture intake physical. I waited outside.

Unfortunately, Dr Throop introduced a degree of melodrama into an otherwise rational decision. Tail of her white lab coat flying behind her, Dr Throop rushed out of the examining room so fast she left door open. Inside Jane was left on the gynecological table naked, legs splayed in the stirrups, fully eposing a hairy pubis. The nurse at the desk jumped out of her chair and discretely closed the door. With Jane's clothes thrust into my hands, I expressed surprise, "Why are you handing me Institute property?"

"Think this over carefully," Dr Throop cautioned me, "Your sister qualifies, but -- your father received an advance on Indenturing her. He never surrendered her. She's free to Indenture herself. I would have to order him repossessed. The Institute never pays twice. The Institute will make out on the transaction. Have you considered what we might do before we shipped him to market as a household servant?"

"Jane qualifies," I handed Jane's clothes to the nurse, "Take charge of Institute property."

Exasperated, Dr Throop declared, "No wonder they promoted you to Sergeant, cool and calculating -- unemotional, all in the Interest of the Institute. Why are you so sure this is what you truly want?"

"Jane and I need to be sensible," I replied, "To Father, Jane and I were figures on a spread sheet, just another set of tits and ass. That's the only rational, logical conclusion."

"Sensible, orderly, controlled?" I reflected. That fit most of the officers in security.

When Dr Crenshaw explained the mission to find Brigit and Bernie, I was handed Bernie's official nude photos. My comment betrayed my surprise, "impressive hairy masculine body, imposing physique, looming figure, tall 6 foot 6 inches, surging with testosterone. If we catch him, his gears get stripped, too bad. I wouldn't mind eight seconds riding solid eight full inches of him inside me." Dr Crenshaw laughed when I attributed Lt Bernie's defection to testosterone poisoning. "Look at her photos," I held up her nudes, "she's cute, but that's not the body that sent 1000 ships asea. Definitely Lt Bernie came out behind on this transaction."

In our forward base of operations, Elm, in defence of her choice to indenture herself, asserted, "I came out ahead." Reflecting for a moment, she added, "I got my price. I owe no debt; my name is clear."

"Indentured for training in security, hmm--good profession. Don't you agree?" Mary inquired.

"I scored promising grades in my training for industrial security and counter -- espionage and leadership," Elm replied. "So, I drew this assignment."

"Leadership school?" Mary bore a pained smile, "I had the good fortune to go through Leadership School twice. What do they say: never, give an order you wouldn't obey in the same circumstances? Hold out your arms and spread your legs I need to pat you down."

"Didn't you just feel me up?" Elm protested.

"When you move a subject from one area to another," Mary advised the crew, "We pat her/him down again in case we missed something or the subject was handed something by another detainee."

Mary kept up the small talk as she felt along Elm's arms her boobs and up between her legs teasing her vagina. "Like girls or boys--maybe both?" Mary suggested with a seductive giggle.

Upon surrender or apprehension of an indenturee, that question is standard. At my surrender, I was surprised that Dr Throop included an inquiry about sexual orientation phrased in such a childish manner among other general medical and health questions. My response was just as silly, "Oh I have a boyfriend, but I haven't ruled out girls."