Westbound Pt. 02

This is my attempt at a Tracy-style story, but set in the HCI universe from my other stories on Literotica. Themes include bondage, slavery, bureaucracy, public humiliation, plot exposition, corporal punishment, lesbianism, extortion, interstate commerce, and not-completely-consensual sex. And of course, everyone is over eighteen.

This is part two of three, and is a bit shorter than the others; think of it as a bridge between the two.

We were having really lively conversations now that I was in the cage — even Brooke and Kenzie joined in — and I was a little disappointed when the truck began slowing for what Nicolaides called "turndown."

"More like kneeldown," Mary said, snickering at her own joke.

"What do you mean?" I asked her.

"You'll see," Linda interjected. "If I were you, I'd be out of that cage when we stop."

The rear door opened: it was dark and we were in a truck stop, on the far end of the lighted parking lot, where the overnight trucks parked.

"Last stop of the night, ladies," Nicolaides said, and he and Chuy marched the women to the public "rest area" while I trailed along. Like the earlier stop, this area had a concrete trough and water faucets for the women to use; like the first stop, a small group of truck drivers started to gather near the fence, but unlike the first stop this group had a couple of female drivers as well.

I thought this group was more subdued: no shouting, catcalls, joking and back-slapping. They all appeared to stare intently at the women, occasionally speaking quietly to one another.

I like to think I'm pretty astute, so I don't know why it took me so long to figure out what was happening. Returning the coffle from the trough, Chuy led them to the gate, then released each woman from the coffle one at a time so she could pass through the gate on her own. When she did, Nicolaides waiting on the other side would stop her, turn her to face the crowd of truckers, and wait for someone to stepped forward.

Indeed, a trucker stepped forward for each woman, spoke to Nicolaides briefly, Nicolaides handed him (or her) the section of chain locked to the woman's collar, and the trucker would lead the woman off to the lot full of idling trucks, a few so excited they were already groping their prize.

All of the women left in this fashion except Linda and Ruzanna, who remained behind; interestingly, curvy little Tracy was led off by the two female truckers who I had no idea were together. Like the men, they were large and strong-looking, wearing blue jeans and boots, and they towered over the smaller woman. Tracy looked nervously back at us as each of the female truckers slapped her behind before leading her away, leaving pink handprints on her flesh, and I wondered what kind of night Tracy would have.

I turned in time to see Ruzanna and Chuy headed for the sleeper cab of our truck (ain't no sleeping going on in there, I thought, for some reason) leaving me, Nicolaides and Linda standing near the gate.

"Is, is that legal?" I asked Nicolaides, who laughed.

"Of course it is, why wouldn't it be? They're just slaves, currently owned by HCI and under the direction of their agent, me. If I want them to service some hard-working drivers, I can do that, it's what they're there for, just so long as they reach their destination undamaged and on time."

I caught Linda's smirk before she suppressed it.

"The main store is up that way," Nicolaides gestured, "it's got a restaurant if you want anything. We'll roll in an hour. Now if you'll excuse me," he said, taking Linda's chain leash and leading her toward a darkened, covered pavilion with a couple of picnic tables.

————————

An hour later I returned from the truck stop that Nicolaides had so hamfistedly suggested I go visit. I took a seat at a table and called Marla (the range on my earpiece was limited so I used my phone) to check in and upload the video I had so far; from what she saw, she was very happy with the way things were going. And if she's happy, I'm happy.

Nicolaides must have seen me coming down the road, because he met me at the trailer door and let me in; all of the women were back in their cages. He had a plastic crate full of blankets ("Microfilament, almost impossible to cut, much less tear, and nonflammable" he explained) and proceeded to hand one out to each woman.

When he was finished, he walked back to the rear door and held it open for me: "I'm going to spell Chuy so he can get some rest. He sleeps in the front — old injury, he sleeps better sitting upright — so you can have the sleeper all to yourself."

"No, thanks," I said, "I'd rather sleep in here tonight."

Nicolaides gave me my second double take of the day. He consulted his data pad briefly, scratching his head, but then he shrugged and handed me a blanket. "Let me show you how to open-"

"I've got a key," I said, showing him the metal collar in my jacket pocket.

He raised an eyebrow and nodded, then hopped down and closed the door.

The blanket was shaped sort of like a butterfly, with an integrated foam pillow. Janet demonstrated how to wrap it around yourself for sleeping, and she looked a bit like a swaddled baby.

The truck rumbled to life and started moving; the lights switched from white to a dull red color.

I sat down inside "my" cage and asked: "So, who wants to tell me what happened?"

Some of the women chuckled or even giggled. "We had sex," Linda said. "It's what slaves do."

"It's pretty obvious to me that ol' Nicky put our photos up on a private ZipChat page that the truckers know about," Janet said, "they bid on us, and the winners paid him through VENDmore or CashPal or something. When we arrived, each trucker just had to give him a receipt number and presto! They get their dicks sucked."

"Is that what happened to each of you?" I asked.

"Oh yes," Janet replied. "Mine was so eager he couldn't wait to actually get inside of his truck, so he took me from behind while I stood and leaned against the cab. When he stopped, I heard clapping and cheering from some of the nearby rigs." She rolled her eyes.

"Mine wanted top and bottom," Mary said, "But I sucked him so good he busted in my mouth and couldn't get it back up before his time ran out!" Everyone laughed at that one.

"I have to admit," Rhonda said, "Mine was old and fat, but he could fuck like a jackhammer. Who'd have guessed? Wore me right out. I'm going to sleep tonight."

"You're all taking this really well," I said. "Aren't any of you upset at being rented out like prostitutes?"

"Spoken like someone who hasn't been in our shoes," Linda said. "First, you get over the sex-whenever-someone-wants-it thing really fast after you're collared. It's a coping mechanism, plus you keep getting reminded that you don't have a choice anyway."

"Second," she continued, "When you go through obedience school or slave training or whatever, you are immersed in sex, getting fucked several times a day the whole time you're there, and you either let it break you or you learn to love it. They are very good at making you learn to love it."

"And third," she looked around at her fellow slaves, "it's kind of liberating to be honest. I don't have to worry about getting a reputation as a whore or a slut, because I'm a slave! I can have sex all day long and it doesn't matter, because it's not my decision. I'm just doing what I'm told."

"Besides," Ruzanna said, "It's mostly a lot of fun."

"Easy for you to say," Linda laughed, "Chuy is a very cute boy!"

"Yeah, his pecs and shoulders are amazing, and he was all kinds of pent up from working and driving, his thing was kinda numb so we went at it for a long time," Ruzanna sighed, grinning. "I'm sorry you got old Nick."

"Eh, at my age one cock is pretty much like another," Linda replied. "Still, I could do without all the thick black body hair," and she stuck her tongue out.

More laughter, then Linda shouted down to Tracy: "Hey Trace, how'd the dykes work out?"

"I'm actually kinda sad it ended so soon. Not only did they reciprocate with the muff diving," Tracy said with a sheepish grin, "but they took turns on me with strap ons. I came at least four times!"

Her friends woo-hoo'd at her score, and even Brooke and Kenzie joined in with applause.

"Are you all really okay with doing this for the rest of your lives?" I asked, a little surprised.

"What do you mean, the rest of our lives?" Linda replied, then stopped herself: "Oh my God, you really don't know anything about slavery, do you?" She turned to the rest of the women and said: "How many here are lifers? Raise your hands."

Only Linda and Mary raised their hands.

"We call full-on, for-the-rest-of-your-life permanent slaves lifers," Linda told me. "They're actually pretty rare these days. Mostly the lovestruck and perverted dumbasses like me who volunteer, or convicts like Mary. And even they are eligible for commutation after a while, as long as they behave and the crime wasn't too serious. What've you got, Mary? Something like five years before you can apply?"

"More like eight," Mary said; everyone groaned in sympathy. "It's 'cause of the whole accessory to manslaughter thing, otherwise I'd have had four or maybe three 'fore I can apply."

I looked at the two of them, stunned. "Does that happen often? Getting released early from a judicially-imposed sentence?"

"Believe it or not, yes," Linda said. "When the slave laws passed, they eased up on sentencing a lot at the same time." She shrugged. "For a number of reasons, but the point is that only the worst criminals actually spend their entire lives as slaves."

"I don't understand," I said. "What are you if you aren't slaves?"

"We're indentures," Janet said. "Everyone calls us slaves because we're exactly like slaves in every respect, except that our period of service is limited by a contract. In our case," she nodded at Rhonda and Tracy, "We bargained down the bank to three years when we agreed to take the loan. We also got a no-international clause, so we can't be taken outside the US, and we paid extra for a national firm to monitor our indenture so no matter where we are, in three years they will send an agent with our manumission papers."

Rhonda added: "Nobody in their right minds would risk a lifetime of slavery for a loan. And if they did, they could probably be released on mental incompetence grounds."

I asked the others, and found that the longest was Ruzanna, with six years ("I needed a lot of money") and the shortest was the two students, Brooke and Kenzie, with only six months each.

"I had no idea," I confessed. "So there are pretty good odds that for most of you, this is a short-term slut-a-thon and afterwards you pick up your lives and carry on."

"Slut-a-thon," Linda repeated to the group, chuckling. "So tell the truth, Frankie," she asked, turning to me. "When was the last time you got laid?"

I felt my face flush, and stammered, "I don't think that's-"

"That long, huh?" Rhonda said.

"Well, lately I've been focusing on my career-"

"Haven't we all!" Linda said, and the laughter lasted for several minutes.

At this point I was burning with embarrassment and, honestly, irritation, so I decided to end the interview for the night. I took off my boots and put them in a corner of the cage, and then folded up my jacket and put it on top of my boots.

I tried wrapping the blanket around me like Janet had demonstrated, but it wasn't as easy as it looked — I kept getting tangled in it, and it felt like it was snagging on parts of my clothing. I wrestled with it and finally got it sort of like I wanted it, then laid down and curled up. Part of the darn thing was still catching on my socks, so I tried kicking it loose...

...and knocked my boots over, spilling my jacket right out of the cage.

Where Linda reached out and picked it up, pulling the collar out of a pocket.

The collar that opened the door to my cage.

"So, Frankie," Linda said, "When was the last time you got laid?"

————————

I sat upright. "Can you give me that back please?" I said, sounding angrier then I meant to.

"Answer my questions," she said, "I'm sure that'll put me in a more receptive mood."

I looked around at the other cages; they were all smiling at me, a couple were barely stifling giggles. This is part of a game, I thought, and I need to play along.

I sighed. "I broke up with my boyfriend last October."

Most of the smiles vanished.

"You haven't had sex in almost a year?" Brooke said, sounding astonished.

I shrugged. "I really have been busy."

"Okay, I didn't expect that," Linda said. "How about women? Do you swing that way?"

"Not since college; that was a one-time thing, and I was drunk. I have nothing against lesbian sex, but if I'm going to make the effort it needs to be for a guy."

Linda raised an eyebrow and looked over at Ruzanna and Janet, then back at me. "How about taking care of yourself? How often do you Jill off?"

My face must have been glowing bright red by then. "Once in a while, maybe once a month? I mostly go running to let out my frustrations."

Shocked silence. "Jesus, what are you, a robot?" Mary muttered.

"This still doesn't add up," Linda said. "I don't think you're being completely honest with us." She tapped a fingernail on a cage bar and Ruzanna leaned over, presenting her right ear to Linda. Linda put her face directly up to the ear, murmured into it, then Ruzanna leaned the other way and did the same to Janet. In this fashion, they had a brief conversation no one else could hear and any lip-reading software couldn't decode.

"I think you being in a cage has helped us open up to you," Linda said. "But now you need to open up to us. Take your clothes off."

"No," I said.

"I'm not asking," Linda said.

"And I'm not agreeing," I replied. "I'll just wait in here until morning, and either Nicolaides or Chuy will let me out."

A ripple of chuckles went through the cages. "That's not how it works," Janet said.

"Do you have any idea," Rhonda piped up, "How easy it is to enslave a woman? Especially one who's already in a cage?"

"And on top of that," Ruzanna added, "We'll all testify that after the last rest stop, you told us out loud that you were so horny you wished you could be a slave just to get laid. That'll be enough for a judge."

"Certainly for the kind of judges you find in El Paso," Linda said. "Plus it will keep us out of trouble for blackmailing you, and Nicky and Chuy would split a percentage of your sale price."

"You know I'm recording all of this, right?" I said, growing more alarmed by the minute.

"Again, not how it works," Linda said with a shake of her head. "Most state laws, including Texas and New Mexico, state that an enslavement is only invalid if all parties to the sale knew it was fraudulent - it's literally called the Three Party Rule. What we say here on video won't matter, because we're not one of the parties, the testimony of slaves is always suspect, and besides it would be too late to save you."

My face had changed from bright red to pale white. "Are you serious? You bitches would help enslave me? Because you think I'm lying about something?"

"No," Linda said, her voice calm and steady. "We don't want to enslave anyone who doesn't want it — we've all either been there, or know someone who has — we're just warning you that waiting it out isn't an option. All we want is for you to take another step closer to our level, so we can maybe find out what is going on with you."

"Aaaaand we're obviously kind of bored, too," Tracy added.

I sat and thought. On the one hand, I could get out of trouble any time I wanted with my emergency tooth-beacon, so they did not have the leverage over me they thought they did. On the other hand I was smelling a story: these women were testing me for some reason, probably to see if they could trust me. But why?

Hell, I've done worse for a story.

"Okay," I said, "you win." I shrugged off the blanket, pulled off my socks, then my pants, and finally my shirt.

"Everything, please," Linda said. I bit my tongue and unfastened my bra, then peeled off my panties, so that I was now completely nude in a little pile of my own clothing.

"Fold it all up, nice and neat, and place it outside your cage. Boots too." I hesitated, but did what she asked. Predictably, Linda reached through the bars and grabbed the clothes, pulling them into her cage. I covered my breasts with my hands and clamped my thighs together.

"Happy?" I asked.

"It's a start," Linda said, smiling.

"You're a very attractive woman," Janet said. "You have nothing to be ashamed about."

"Yeah, you're hot," said Kenzie.

"Seriously," Brooke said, "You look like a cross between a 'girl next door' and a 'hot teacher.'"

"Thanks, I think," I replied.

What was strange, I realized, was being fully clothed around people who were not. Being naked among other naked people, while it might be uncomfortable, was at least more... I don't know, polite?

"What's your grade?" Rhonda asked.

I should mention that at slave markets, slaves are graded prior to being sold, and the grades are similar to those used by the meat industry, with Prime being the highest, followed by Choice, Select (called Good in some states), Standard, and Utility. But you can be graded without being a slave: it started off as a fad among wealthy women, to see if they stacked up against top-of-the-line pleasure slaves, and it quickly became as common as a credit score, to the point that (for example) banks demanded certified grades before making loans. Ask Janet, Rhonda, and Tracy how that worked out.

I was lucky: my parents were able to pay for my education, and I was accepted by a college based on merit alone, so I never needed to be graded. But most women are not so lucky - grading is a humiliating process and I don't regret skipping it.

So I lied: "When I was eighteen I was graded Choice, mostly because I didn't have any training and didn't know any commands."

"That's gotta be it," Ruzanna said, "because you're a solid Prime if I ever saw one. You said you run? I can tell, your body is tight, if you added some weights to your workout you'd have the body of a goddess."

I actually blushed. I have to admit, it was flattering to have my body evaluated as Prime by an attractive, sexually confident woman like Ruzanna.

"Look at her, she's blushing. How adorable!" Tracy enthused. Lots of aaaaws from the other cages, and I saw Ruzanna grin.

"Back to the questions," Linda said. "Why did you split with your boyfriend?"

I shifted uncomfortably in my cell. "It wasn't working out."

"Elaborate, please," Linda said.

"It turned out we weren't compatible. He wanted things I wasn't prepared to give, so we ended it."

"Things like...?"

I sighed, then just took the plunge: "We were sharing an apartment, one thing led to another, and he asked me to wear a collar at home. When I dug in my heels, he told me what he really wanted was for me to be his personal slave, but only in private. Nothing formal, no papers signed or anything, just pretend, but seriously — if I agreed, how long would it be before he started pressuring me to make it official? Would he secretly record me acting like a slave and present it to a judge? Then I poked around on his laptop and saw he'd been researching some of those camps for free women."

"Camps?" Kenzie asked.