Westbound Pt. 02

"Private slave training for free women," Janet replied. "They range from slave yoga spa retreats to soft-core fantasy camps to not-at-all-subtle preparation for the real thing."

"I figured he wanted the latter," I said, "When I looked through his photo cloud, I saw he'd been visiting a suck bar and taking photos of young naked slaves performing oral sex on him while he held their leashes, which as far as I'm concerned was cheating. The worst part was that a number of them bore some resemblance to me."

"So you think he wanted to enslave you?" Brooke asked.

"Duh," Mary retorted. "Two a my ex-boyfriends wanted to do it to me, but the losers din't have no jobs so they couldn't afford the fees." She thought a minute. "But they prolly meant it as a compliment."

"Your ex probably meant it the same way, Frankie," Rhonda mused. "More and more young people are opting for indenture contracts or even slavery rather than marriage — we could see it coming in the industry journals. The suck-bar doubles are probably the tip-off that he was pretty serious about you."

"Well, I didn't take it that way," I said. "I knew women in college who dropped out and were sold because of their loans, and I didn't want that to happen to me. What if this was just a fantasy of his and he got bored with it? What if he got bored with me? If being with me as a free woman wasn't enough for him, then he could fuck right off."

"Really?" Rhonda asked. "You couldn't even try role-playing with him a little bit to see what would happen?"

"As I sit here and think about it," I said after a pause, "The problem was that I didn't trust him. I felt like he wasn't being honest with me, and I didn't want to take a step down a slippery slope with someone I didn't trust. I broke it off and moved out the next day. I moved in with my sister and immediately took the Central America gig. Haven't seen him since."

"Which leads me to my next question," Linda said. "What really happened in Central America?"

"I already told you."

"And I'm asking again, because I don't think you told us everything."

I sat and thought for a minute — really, I was steeling myself because I knew what had to happen — the replied: "If I tell you everything, do I get my clothes back?"

"We'll vote," Linda said. "If we believe you, then yes, you get your clothes back."

I took a deep breath. "Everything I told you was true," I said, "But I didn't go into a lot of detail on my part of it."

The truth was I thought I was well-hidden, but a soldier spotted me, and before I could slip away two of them had chased me down and grabbed me. They did strip me: everything, down to my boots, all left in a pile, with me shouting at them that I was an American and a journalist and demanded to see their commanding officer. For my trouble I got a rifle butt in the stomach, which sent me to my knees.

The guy who delivered it pulled some cord out of his pocket and quickly tied my hands behind my back, then ran a loop around my elbows so that I couldn't shift my arms. I struggled to catch my breath while he looked me up-and-down, and then grabbed my hair and yanked my head backward so he could see me better. I knew what he was thinking: I was a pretty hot guera and I was about to be raped.

Fortunately his avaricious companion had been going through my pockets, found my media ID and passport, and immediately took his friend's arm and cautioned him against doing anything rash — she might be trouble, better to take her to the comandante first. So I got a piece of tape over my mouth and a length of rope around my neck and they led me back to the village.

To say that I was worried and scared would be an understatement. I was naked, tied, gagged, and being led on a leash into a village being actively pillaged by slavers and sex-starved soldiers. If they decided I was trouble, I could expect to be killed — but not, I imagined, before being used by most of the regiment — or possibly "disappeared" into slavery somewhere (some of the slavers looked up from their work and were visibly interested, pointing at me and whispering to each other). I was marched past trucks loaded with naked women destined for the block, terrified that I would be among them shortly.

(The part I did not mention out loud was that I had my get-out-of-jail-free card, the emergency beacon, hidden in my mouth. At the time it took all of my willpower to not use it immediately, but instead to wait and see what happened.)

They led me past a group of soldiers — whistling and shouting at me, some reached out and grabbed my breasts or my ass, I was utterly mortified at being naked in front of a crowd of unruly young men to the point of having tears rolling down my face — to the house where their colonel was. He was just then occupied with a young girl, so they took me to his adjutant.

The adjutant turned out to be a tall, muscular young American military advisor, wearing a local government uniform with a US flag on the sleeve. He looked over my papers and untaped my mouth, I told him who and what I was, he nodded and said he would help me but I had to leave immediately because once the commander returned, if he decided to do something different there would be no stopping him. He untied me, gave me back my clothes, and assigned his aide-de-camp to escort me back to my hired jeep some distance away. By sheer luck, and the integrity of that officer, I made it out in one piece.

"Being paraded through a shattered town in front of soldiers, slavers and their quarry is bad enough," I said to my attentive audience, "But it's even worse when you're naked and gagged. I didn't want to talk about that part, nor did I want to talk about what happened next."

I made my way back to the capitol, and filed my story along with the video. I got a room in one of the better hotels, washed the dust and sweat off my body, and laid down on the big bed to get some rest.

But I couldn't sleep: my thoughts kept going back to what had happened, and in spite of my fear and dread I was extremely aroused. I wasn't sure what was going on in my head, but as I lay in bed my skin was hot, my nipples erect, and my pussy was very, very wet. I could feel the stares of the slavers, licking their lips in anticipation, the rough hands of the soldiers, the sun beating down on the white skin of my behind, the cords cutting into my wrists.

But most of all I remembered kneeling on the ground in front of the young advisor, tied and gagged, while a soldier held the rope around my neck. I saw him looking over my body, enjoying my nakedness. I felt like a spoil of war, a prisoner brought before an ancient warlord, my fate decided on his whim. It was so real, and so exciting, I rubbed myself to an enormous orgasm. After that, the entire time I was in-country my mind kept flashing back to that day; I masturbated more in those two weeks than the entire previous year, I think.

"So when I eventually returned to the States," I finished, "I wanted to know more about the reality of slavery and how it compared to my brief experience. So here I am."

Murmurs of approval, and a low whistle of appreciation.

"Daaaamn, girl," Ruzanna said, "That is pretty hot."

"Did you ever see the soldier again?" Brooke asked.

"Yeah, what was he like?" added Kenzie.

"He's bit younger than me," I replied, "super fit, blonde hair, blue eyes, really confident and self-assured. Reminds me a little of that guy who played Captain America. But yeah, I was in the capitol city for a while after filing my story, doing some follow-ups, and believe it or not he found me! He took me to the new slave market that had appeared on the outskirts of the capitol to see if we could find anyone from that village, and I took him to dinner on my expense account. The market was a hot, chaotic mess, and we didn't find anyone, but with him it was fun."

"And...?" Brooke asked.

"And...?" Kenzie added.

"AND...?!" Mary nearly shouted. "Did you fuck him or not?"

"Well," I said. "He was totally handsome, and I had a serious thing for him, and I was so hyper sexual just then that — yes, we had sex many times before I left." I sighed. "I fucked him good."

Clapping and cheering broke out, and Mary yelled "There she is! That's our girl!"

When it died down, Linda said, "Have you seen him since you got back?"

"No, he's still down there," I said. "But we text a lot, and he's from Texas — his family has a horse ranch out west — so when he gets rotated back to the US we're going to meet back up."

Linda nodded. She looked over at Ruzanna and Janet, and they nodded too.

"Okay," Linda announced, "Show of hands, how many think Frankie here has earned her clothes back?"

Every woman in the trailer — except Linda — raised her hand.

"Majority rules," Linda said, smiling, and she put my boots outside her cage and stacked my clothes on top of them (topped off by the collar), then pushed them across the aisle to me.

"Thanks," I said, and reached out of the bars to grab them.

That's when I heard the bang, the lights went out, and I was thrown against the side of my cage.

(End Part Two of Three)