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 ï>¿Shanghaied byPericulumFabula17Â(C)

   A store clerk gets forced into slavery by her boss.

   Chapter 1 -- WTF, How Did a Nice Girl Like Me End Up Like This?

   It was March 7, 2031.  I was standing in an auto parts store, wearing
nothing but a slave collar and leather bondage cuffs on my wrists and
ankles as a customer approached; a middle aged man who was overjoyed at the
sight of my naked body.  I gave him a big smile as he stared excitedly at
my hooch.

   "Hi, I'm Karen," I said cheerfully.  "Can I help you sir?"

   "I'm looking for some replacement windshield wipers for a 2028, Toyota
Camry," he said even though, in truth, all he was really looking at was me.

   "Sure, right this way sir."

   As I glanced back at the customer, he was watching my ass.  So, when we
reached the windshield wiper display, I bent way over to get a couple of
windshield wipers and gave him a real good look.  Then, when I stood up, I
intentionally gave a little wiggle to my shoulders causing my boobies to
jiggle.  The customer's eyes flew open and he licked his lips.

   "Which would you like sir?" I said cheerfully, holding both wiper blades
to my side, giving him a better view of my boobs than I did the wiper
blades.

   Eagerly staring at my titties, the man looked at one and then the other
unable to make a choice.

   "Which wiper blade would you like sir?" I said.

   In attempt to refocus the customer, I moved each of the windshield
wipers closer to my boobies so he might actually give the wiper blades a
quick glance while gazing at my nipples.

   "We offer both Rain-Saber and Praetorian wiper blades for your model of
car."

   Teasingly, I jiggled my titties again and smiled mischievously.  Unable
to concentrate on the wiper blades at all, the customer seemed entranced.

   "So, do you see anything you like?" I said seductively as I cocked my
hips.  "Anything at all?"

   Although the customer's mouth opened slightly and his eyes widened in
exhilaration, looking eagerly at my cunny and the rest of my body, he was
no closer to making a decision, at least on the windshield wipers, than
when he came in.

   I was what is known as a 'salesgirl,' a young female slave who worked as
a sexy store clerk to draw in male customers.  Although still not common,
more and more businesses who catered mainly to men were beginning to take
advantage of the new slavery laws to provide their patrons titillating
customer support in an effort to boost sales.

   You might ask how a nice girl like me ended up like this, a naked slave
girl, showing everyone in town my tits, twat, and ass all that.  I ask
myself that sometimes as well.  It's a long story but the short answer is
that I'd gotten really upside down on my credit and needed to do something
to avoid being repo'd.

   Pardon me if I digress for a moment.  After decades of government
overspending, huge trade deficits, industrial infrastructure demise, and a
couple of pandemics, the disastrous financial collapse of the American
economy in 2025 caused a run American banks forcing the closure of almost
all of them.

   Most Americans, were left destitute and unable to pay their bills.  The
American economy was reduced to rubble.  Retirement funds, and bank
accounts went bust, unemployment rose to record levels, inflation was
rampant, the dollar was devalued, and the stock market crashed.

   Forced to eliminate Medicare and Social Security benefits, as well as
forced to institute huge cutbacks in defense spending and welfare, the
United States desperately needed a huge influx of new capital to fund the
government entitlements and to reopen the banks.  It'd take hundreds of
billions of dollars (maybe even trillions), but, with its industry near
extinct, it's government deeply in debt, its service economy in ruin, it's
tax base diminished, and nothing to export, America's situation looked
hopeless.  It seemed like the only thing the country had left was people.

   Desperate and out of options, America repealed the 13th amendment and
reinstituted slavery to provide the United States with a new, highly
valuable, and exclusive resource to sell, collateralize, export, and tax --
American slaves.  At first America tried selling off its prison population
with prisoners being converted to slaves for the duration of their sentence
and sold.

   Hundreds of thousands of stunned prisoners were shipped off to work
camps and sweat shops.  They were employed as migrant workers, miners,
manual labor, and every other shit job now one wanted to do.  It was a
relatively easy for Congress to convince the voters to enslave the
criminals.  People cared a lot more about their Social Security and
Medicare than they did about felons.  After all, the convicts were just
sitting in cells doing nothing and costing the government billions to guard
when those same prisoners could be out earning the country lots of money.

   Regrettably, there wasn't much of a market for rapists, drug dealers,
murders, and thieves and the sales of prisoners were disappointing.  The
market was for young, virulent, and attractive slaves, particularly young
women, who were honest, pleasant, hardworking, mentally well-adjusted,
sober, and obedient.  Unfortunately, prisons weren't stocked with nearly
enough people who met this description.  Most of the felons sold for very
little and many didn't sell at all.

   Even selling off all the younger female inmates wasn't all that was
hoped for.  Something needed to be done to improve their value.  Since the
value of slaves (particularly the hot looking females like me) was more a
lot more valuable if you could strip them naked, or use them for sex, and
since the entire reason for America legalizing slavery again was to raise
as much money as possible to rescue the economy, Congress exempted slaves
from any laws prohibiting sexual harassment and nudity.

   Within weeks, tens of thousands of hapless young female prisoners were
stripped naked and sold to brothels, harems, porn studios, and as
concubines.  Naturally, when people started seeing naked slaves for the
first time, they completely freaked and the uproar against the forced
nudity and prostitution was enormous.

   But, as the money from slavery slowly began to turn things around, and
as people started seeing naked young male and female slaves more often, it
became accepted as something that needed to be done.  Besides, the naked
slaves were just felons anyway, they deserved what they got.

   Still, there was a problem.  Neither the quality of most of the
prisoners nor the quantity was enough to satisfy the demand or rescue the
economy.  Unless huge numbers of high quality slaves could be somehow
obtained, the proceeds of slavery would never be enough to fully restore
people's bank accounts, Social Security, and Medicare.

   Although the demand for pretty young slaves was huge, the supply was
woefully insufficient.  Lots of rich people, and even a lot of businesses,
were eager to buy high quality slaves, particularly the young and
attractive women, and they were willing to pay top dollar to get them.  But
there were scant few felons that met this description.  Prisons weren't a
solution.  Something else needed to be done.

   So, desperately needing to find some other way to enslave Americans,
particularly attractive young people, Congress passed a law allowing for
voluntary slavery.  A person, like me, could get herself enslaved by
committing a crime, by voluntarily signing a slavery contract, or, most
importantly, by using her freedom as collateral on a loan and falling more
than three months behind on my payments.

   It was a virtual gold rush as banks, casinos, automobile dealerships,
slave mongers, and numerous small business and private individuals all
sought to cash in on the huge profits offered by the burgeoning slavery
industry.  College coeds, like me, were particularly targeted with tempting
loan offers for student loans, cars, credit cards, leases, cosmetic
surgery, vacations, quick cash, gambling money, etc.

   The lure of easy money being irresistible, millions of Americans with
bad credit, like me, who would never have qualified for a loan before,
where suddenly inundated with lucrative offers of credit if only they'd
pledge themselves as collateral.  Massive numbers of them, me included,
took the bondage bankers (the nickname given to banks which offered loans
with the debtor's slavery as collateral) up on their offer.  As a result,
millions of those same Americans ended up getting themselves repossessed
and sold off as slaves.

   Although no other countries were enslaving their population, plenty of
other nations, particularly the ones that really hated Americans, were
quick to recognize slavery and import American slaves.  Almost half the
countries in Africa legalized the importation of American slaves and began
bring them in by the tens of thousands, particularly the white slaves. 
Payback's a bitch.

   With the repo'd slaves being vastly better in quality than the
prisoners, money from the sale of American slaves began pouring in by the
hundreds of billions; more than Congress had even dreamt of; enough to
reinvigorate the economy, restore defense funding, rescue the banks and
reinstate social Security and Medicare.

   It was a godsend.  The amount of wealth created by slaves was huge.  In
only half a decade, slaves had become the third most valuable source of
wealth in America, behind real estate and the stock market.  And, with all
the exports of unfortunate repo'd slaves, America enjoyed its first trade
surpluses in decades.

   It seemed as if the reinstitution of slavery had become the panacea that
everyone had dreamt of -- the savior of the American way of life.  It was a
win/win situation for everyone.  Everyone but the slaves of course and, if
you got yourself repo'd, it really sucked.

   Although there was another round of protests to consensual slavery and
repossessions of debtors, many vehement, as the money from the sale of
repo'd Americans flowed in, the opposition to slavery began to wane until
society slowly came to accept slavery as a necessary evil, like prisons,
war, and taxation.  Gradually, most people came to accept slavery as
something that needed to be done to preserve the American way of life in a
difficult and changing world and the voters just went along with it.  After
all, it was voluntary.

   The upside of all this was that banks started loaning young people, like
me, lots of credit based only on their looks and I had really good looks,
so they gave me lots and lots of credit.  The downside was that I could get
my ass repo'd and subjugated into slavery if I got too far behind.  Worse
yet, I'd never been particularly good with money and I'm kind of impulsive,
like really impulsive.

   As you probably have already guessed, my problems started when I
financed my college education, bought a new car, ran up a huge credit card
debt on clothes, and collateralized all of my loans with my ass.  The bank
even agreed to delay all payments on my all my indebtedness until after I
graduated.

   I thought the bank was just being generous but it was a trap.  It let me
to run up a pretty big bill without having to make any monthly payments,
giving me false confidence in my ability to pay back all my loans.

   I know, you're going to say that I really should have known better, and
you're right, but let's get past that.  Since I looked hot, my credit was
hot, even though my salary wasn't and I spent more on credit than I should
have.  Of course, the more years of slavery I offer them and if I'm willing
to agree to risk general slavery (which would put me at risk of being used
for fetish work, nudity, and the sex trade) the more money they'd offer me
and with lower interest rates.

   Unfortunately, sure that I'd be able to repay the loan, on my student
loans, credit cards, and car, I signed up for the most money at the lowest
interest they offered and agreed to collateralize the loan with my twat via
a six year general slavery contract.

   So, after college, when I couldn't find a job in my major (theatre), I
took a job at an auto parts store as a sales clerk.  The pay was paltry, a
lot less than I'd expected, but three of the four owners of the store were
nice and the customers were friendly.  It was a relaxed, easygoing, and
even jovial atmosphere.  The owners were two couples, the older of which
were Bill and his wife Janice who'd taken on a young couple as partners a
few months before I came, Larry and his wife Sandy.

   It was a small store with only the five of us.  I generally worked the
floor while Sandy manned the register, Bill gave advice and installed
parts, and Larry made deliveries and filled in wherever was necessary. 
Janice, the only person who really understood the books, worked the office,
ordered inventory, and answered the phone.  We all worked long hours and
stayed pretty busy.

   Unfortunately, when all the bills came in and I actually had to start
making payments on my loans, the money was tighter than I'd expected, like
really tight, like scary tight, and it was all I could do to just scape by.

   That was until I mistakenly got quarantined for with the Brazilian flu,
a rare but potentially deadly pandemic from South America which was just
starting to gain a foothold in the United States.

   That shit all started when Janice accidentally knocked a huge glass
bottle of air freshener of the sales counter.  It was a colossal mess.  The
bottle exploded like a bomb, getting air freshener all over everything. 
The problem was that I was really allergic to lots of different types of
fragrances, including that particular variety of air freshener.  Even
though I'd tried my best to clean it up, I was still red eyed and sniffling
a couple of hours later.

   I didn't think anything about it until a couple of hours later when I
looked up to see a white van with government license plates and a police
car pull up.  To make matters worse, they both parked in the handicapped
spots, right in front of the store.  I'd never seen the local police do
that before.  Something was up.  They looked like quarantiners.

   Let me explain.  After suffering from a couple disastrous pandemics in
the last decade, the government wasn't taking any chances with the
Brazilian Flu.  While the spread of the disease was still in its infancy in
the United States, this time they weren't fooling around.

   No more depending on social distancing; instead, the CDC adopted a
policy of target quarantining and sent out crews of paramedics, called
quarantiners, whose job it was to snatch up anyone suspected of possibly
being a carrier and lock them away.  I'd seen them on TV.  They always
drove unmarked white vans, just like the van in our parking lot, and wore
white hazmat overalls with a gas mask like device, just like the people
getting out of the van.

   "Shit," I muttered.  "I'm sorry, I'll be right back," I said to the
customer I was helping and frantically darted back to the sales counter so
I could stash my tissue box along with my bottle of antihistamines in a
drawer; trying to hide any evidence of my allergy affliction.

   "What's up?" Sandy asked.

   Sandy and I were close, real close.  She was a real sweetie.  Only a
year older than me, she had grown to be my best friend and, although she
was one of store's partners, our relationship was more like an older sister
rather than a boss.

   "Trouble." I said, glancing fearfully out the window at the van.

   Three people, in the white contagion coveralls, got out of the van, two
men and a woman.  The men put on their gas masks while the woman was
strapping a backpack sprayer.  The cop was hurriedly putting on a surgical
mask and gloves.

   "Who do you think it is?" Sandy asked looking out at the police and the
white van.

   "Quarantiners."

   "Oh my god, you don't think they're coming for one of us do you?" Sandy
looked panicked.

   "They sure as shit aren't here to buy auto parts," I said, certain that,
within the next two minutes, one of us would be in the back of their van.

   "Surely not.  Maybe they're just here to service the heat pump."

   "No, no, those are quarantiners alright.  Trust me, we're seriously
fucked," I said as the quarantiners started towards us.

   Quickly I glanced at my face in a mirror on the sunglasses display.  My
eyes were still red and puffy.

   "Fuck."

   "Is your name Karen, Karen Shaw?" one of the guys in the hazmat suits
asked me as he walked in the door.  My heart jumped and I jerked away from
the mirror.  Not only were the quarantiners looking right at me, they knew
my name.

   "Uh, what's this about?" I asked nervously.

   "You just need to come with us, ma'am," the second man said staring at
me intently though his gas mask.

   The first guy in the hazmat suit signaled to the second to split up and
they began cautiously circling around the sales counter towards me from
different directions, like predators closing in on the kill.

   "We're just here to help you ma'am," the second man said as he walked
past the 'staff only' sign and went behind the sales counter.

   "Seriously, I'm not sick.  I've just got allergies," I said.

   "We just want to take you down to our office and run a few tests on
you," the first man said as he rounded the corner of the sales counter,
approaching me from the opposite direction.

   "It's just some air freshener that got spilled," I said, backing away as
the men got close.  "I'm allergic to it.  You can smell it."

   "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 7th, 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.

   Of course I knew it was possible that I could get stripped, it was in
the contract.  Besides, I'd seen naked slaves before, everyone had. 
Businesses (even business who weren't in the sex trade) that catered mostly
to men, had started using scantily dressed, or even completely undressed,
eye-catching female slaves like me to help attract male customers.  The
practice had become so common, that there was even a name coined to
describe it: 'salesgirls'.

   Nevertheless, I never thought for a second that Janice would order me to
get nakey.  For Christ sake, I worked in an auto-parts store in a small
town, not a titty bar or a massage parlor in a big city.

   We'd never used sex to sell anything.  In fact, the store had a strict
dress code.  Janice had never even let me wear shorts, sleeveless shirts,
midriffs, or sandals at work.  She'd always thought that the sight of bare
skin was just nasty.  She wouldn't even let me show off my toes before,
never mind my twat.

   So when Janice told Ms.  Washington that I was to be nude, it came as a
complete shock, like I'd been struck by lightning.  I was dumbfounded.  I'd
never even considered the possibility of the store using me as a naked
salesgirl.

   I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking that isn't it ironic that
this bimbo got her dumb ass enslaved and stripped naked because she bought
herself too many clothes on credit.  I admit it; you're right; I really
goofed up; it was my fault and I have no one but myself to blame.  I really
should have saved more and spent less.

   "Very well," Ms.  Washington looked at me, "Okay honey, I need you to go
ahead and stand up for me, take off all your clothes, and lay them right
here on the desk for me like a good little slave girlie."

   Incredulous, I was in the middle of an office building with lots of
people around.  My face turned flush with embarrassment and I looked at
Janice in astonishment.

   "But, but..." I stammered.

   "Mind your manners girlie," Ms.  Washington scolded.  "You're a slave
now so just do as you're told.  You don't want to get yourself in a lot of
trouble on your first day do you?"

   "No ma'am," I said, "I just..."

   "Now," Ms.  Washington interrupted tersely, her voice having a decidedly
ominous tone.

   Still in a state of shock, after pausing a moment to collect myself,
hesitantly I kicked off my shoes.

   "Yes, ma'am," I said as deferentially as I could.

   As I unbuttoned my blouse it hit me that I wasn't just undressing for
the moment, I was undressing for the next three years.  I'd be running
around completely nude until the year 2034.  For the next three years, I
wouldn't be wearing so much as hair on my hooch.  Thousands of people were
going to see me naked.  I wasn't just undressing in an office building, I
was undressing in front of the entire world.  I felt my face redden further
in embarrassment as I took off my blouse and sat it on Ms.  Washington's
desk.

   As I glanced around, two other pairs of owners/slaves waiting to be
serviced were by watching me strip.  The slave owners seemed smugly amused
my complete subjugation, while the prospective slaves, waiting to be
registered, looked on in alarm knowing that they were only minutes away
from having to endure the same humiliation.

   Formerly a clothing store, the front of the Department of slavery was
floor to ceiling windows, all glass, and smiling people passing by on the
sidewalk were stopping and voyeuristically looking in to get a peek at the
action.  A crowd of at least three dozen pedestrians had gathered to stare
at me through the glass, eager to watch me get degraded and enslaved.

   My face reddened in embarrassment as I unbuttoned my jeans, unzipped
them, shimmied them down to my ankles, stepped out of them, folded my
pants, and sat them on the desk on top of my blouse.  Standing in just my
bra and panties, I glanced at Janice, hoping that she might be satisfied
with stripping me just to my bare essentials.  It was not to be.  Janice
wouldn't even make eye contact with me.

   "All of it honey," Ms.  Washington said impatiently.

   Reluctantly, I took off my bra and panties and added them to the pile of
clothes on Ms.  Washington's desk.  Outside, I heard some cheering and cat
calls from the audience as they watched me strip.

   "Is there always a crowd like that?" Janice asked.

   "Yes'um," Ms.  Washington smiled.  "With the young pretty ones like your
slave girlie here, there most always is.  They love to watch the expression
on the slave girlie's face right as she gets her comeuppance."

   Humiliated, helplessly I stood there naked as people stared at me,
grinning as I got my comeuppance, being transitioned from a free woman to a
lowly naked slave right before their eyes.  Fidgeting in my embarrassment,
instinctively, I covered myself with my hands and cowered a little, trying
to preserve as much of my humility as I could.

   "Don't go fretting about that none honey," Ms.  Washington said. 
"You're way past that now.  You're gonna to be running around in just your
little birthday suit a long time girlie so you'd best get used to it."

   Reluctantly, my face already red in embarrassment and feeling indecent,
I dropped my hands to my side.

   "You want any of this?" Ms.  Washington said to Janice as she glanced at
my clothes.

   Janice shook her head no and Ms.  Washington casually slid all my
clothes in the trash.

   "No!" I blurted out in a panic.  "Wait."

   I knew that I'd lose all my belongings during my slavery, it was part of
my total subjugation that would force me to give up my old life as a free
woman and commit entirely to being a slave.  But I didn't think they'd just
throw all my stuff away.  I thought it'd be stored and I'd get it back. 
Ms. Washington glared at me.

   "Honey, you gotta understand that, as a slave girlie, you don't own
property no more, now you are property," Ms.  Washington said sternly. 
"Everything you own, even your clothes, belongs to your master now.  Them
clothes ain't yours no more, they're hers, and she can throw them away if
she takes a notion to, understand?"

   "Uh, well," I stammered, "I didn't bring else to wear."

   Ms.  Washington glared at me, "Honey, I reckon it's time you and I had
ourselves a little talk.  Let's get one thing straight here right now. 
You're a slave girlie now and you gotta to start acting like one.  So no
more talking.  And, just to be clear, you ain't gonna to be needing nothing
else to wear cause you ain't gonna to be wearing nothing no more,
understand?"

   "Yes ma'am," I said.  "I'm really, really, sorry ma'am but I don't
understand.  What'll I wear when my slavery's up?"

   "That's not my problem girlie," Ms.  Washington said.  "You'll need to
talk to your master about that."

   I looked perplexed.

   "Unless you've agreed otherwise, when your time's up, the only thing
your master has to give back to you is yourself, not nothing else.  She can
throw all you junk away.  Now, remember your place honey.  You're a slave
now so I need you to be real still like and no more talking, okay?"

   "Yes ma'am."

   "So, I want you to kneel down and be a good little slave girl and I
don't want to hear nothing more out of you no more, okay?"

   "Yes ma'am."

   "Very well," Ms.  Washington said before turning her attention back to
Janice.  "Do you have your girlie's driver's license, passport, ATM card,
and credit cards?"

   "Yeah, I've got them right here."

   Janice looked in my purse and then handed everything to Ms.  Washington.
To my horror, one by one, Ms.  Washington fed all my identification and
credit cards through a shredder until they were all destroyed.  Then Ms. 
Washington looked in my purse and found my phone.

   "Do you want to keep these?" Ms.  Washington asked Janice.

   "No."

   Emotionless, Ms.  Washington tossed both my purse and my phone in the
trash.

   "But..." I started to protest before remembering my place.

   I could only watch in dismay as it seemed as if my entire former life as
a free woman was being completely obliterated.  I'd literally been reduced
to being a naked and helpless slave in just a matter of minutes.  With no
communication, money, property, transportation, or even clothes, I'd never
felt more vulnerable in my life.  I owned nothing, not even my body.  I was
to be Janice's sexy little naked puppet for the next three years and there
was nothing that I could do about it.

   "Good," Ms.  Washington said as she entered a few more bits of
information on her computer and pressed print.  Almost instantly, the
printer began spitting out papers.

   "This is your slave girlie's title," Ms.  Washington said, handing
Janice a formal looking document.  "It titles her as a slave instead of a
person.  For all practical purposes, it's your slave girlie's new birth
certificate.  It not only cancels your girlie's existence as a citizen, it
cancels her existence as a person and titles her as human livestock in the
international slave data base."

   "She's not a person?" Janice seemed confused.

   "Not no more.  She ain't nothing but a little slave girlie now.  Once
your girlie got herself titled as a slave, her social security number gets
suspended, her passport and her driver's license all get cancelled and,
because slaves can't legally own any property, not even her clothes, all of
her belongings belong to you now.  As of this moment, she's legally not a
person no more, she's property, not only in this country but in every
country which recognizes slavery."

   "I see," Janice said, very pleased with my new inferior status.

   "And this here is your registration," Ms.  Washington said as she handed
Janice another official looking certificate.  "It registers you as your
slave girlie's owner."

   While Janice reviewed my registration, Ms.  Washington opened a flap on
a jewelry inscription machine on a credenza behind her and removed what
looked like a dog tag.

   "This is your girlie's tag, it goes on her collar," Ms.  Washington
showed Janice my tag.  "It's got her name, slavery expiration date, and her
slave number on it.  She's gotta to wear both of um, the collar and the
tag, at all times."

   Ms.  Washington reached in a filing cabinet behind her desk and pulled
out a slave collar.  A finely crafted black leather dog collar with a steel
ring on the front to attach a tag or a leash.  She attached my tag to the
ring with a pair of pliers.

   A moment later, Ms.  Washington, snapped the collar around my neck and
then adjusted the fit.  The locking mechanism was such that once it's on,
you can't even unbuckle it; so, when my time was up, they'd have to get it
cut off.

   I fidgeted uncomfortably in my embarrassment.  Nothing screams slave
louder than being naked in a public building, barefoot, and wearing nothing
but a leather slave collar on my neck.  Setting me apart from polite
society, it served to confirm my new inferior and servile status.

   Now, to even the most casual of observer it would be obvious that I was
of a decidedly lesser class, no longer anyone of importance; instead, I'd
become Janice's lowly bitch, her property, she owned me, and mere minion
that she could display, restrain, discipline, or order about as she wished.

   Ms.  Washington looked on her computer, "You do understand that there's
some slave liens on your girlie ahead of you."

   "Yes, with Ultra Financial," Janice said.

   "They're ahead of you so, you know that if they end up repo'ing your
girlie, you won't get her back until after she's served her six years with
Ultra."

   "I've got that covered," Janice said.  "We'll be paying the minimum on
those loans while she's enslaved; just so she won't be repo'd."

   "Good."

   Ms.h Washington then turned to me.  Her voice took a decidedly more
friendly tone, as if she were talking to a small child or a puppy instead
of a woman.

   "Now, let's go over some of the more important rules honey.  I want you
to listen up real good for me, okay?"

   "Yes ma'am."

   "When your master here enters the room, you gotta stop what you're doing
and kneel down with your eyes down and your hands behind your back.  Don't
move or say nothing until she tells you to, understand."

   "Yes ma'am."

   "From now on, you're gotta address all us free men and women as sir or
ma'am.  You're in the lesser class now honey, you're no longer their equal,
as a slave girlie, you're inferior to them now so's you're gonna to have to
show proper respect to your betters, okay?"

   "Yes ma'am."

   "Another thing honey, you've gotta obey every order as fast as you can
and to your utmost and without no question or protest."

   "Yes ma'am."

   "Stand up for me honey."

   As I stood, Ms.  Washington picked up a wooden back scratcher from atop
her desk and tapped my thigh sharply.

   "Stand up straight girlie and mind your posture for me." Ms.  Washington
scolded.  "I want your head bowed, your shoulders square, your hands behind
your back, and your feet shoulder length apart.  You're in front of a free
person, one of your betters, so you need to mind your manners."

   "Yes ma'am," I said as I straightened up, clasped my hands behind my
back, and bowed my head slightly.

   "That's good.  Honey, now that you're a slave girlie, you gotta
understand that cute little body of yours don't belong to you no more, it
belongs to your master so she gets to decide what to do with it, not you."

   "Yes ma'am."

   "That's especially true when it comes to getting your little girlie
biscuits buttered, if you know what I mean."

   I flinched in surprise as Ms.  Washington suddenly tapped my twat with
her back scratcher.  I could hear my audience on the street laugh at my
reaction.

   "This here ain't yours no more girlie, this here's your master's
property and she gets to tell you who, what, where, when, how, and
even if you get to touch it, okay?"

   "Yes ma'am."

   "Now that you're a slave honey, you need to know that it's criminal for
you to even touch yourself without her permission?  You realize you can get
an extra 30 days of slavery for that don't you?"

   "Yes ma'am," I said even though it shocked me to find out that I could
get an extra 30 days of slavery just for a quick little finger romance.

   "So, if your master wants to get you all horny and hot-to-trot, and all
sexed up inside til you just about can't stand it no more, you need to keep
your hands off you master's property girlie so that happens.  That way,
when your master finally lets you go do a booty call on some boy, you'll be
like the Tasmanian Devil, you'll be so hot and bothered that you'll
completely bust lose on the guy.  You'll pounce right on him and work that
boy so hard his little man's gonna to start smoking."

   Ms.  Washington chuckled.

   "That way, when the guy put his little man in you and starts wiggling
around some, you'll be so worked up that, by the time you're finished with
him, you've done worn that poor boy completely out.  He'll come so hard
that you'll have done sucked him completely dry.  After you get through
with him, that man won't be worth nothing to no woman for a week."

   Ms.  Washington tapped my hooch again with her backscratcher.

   "Now are you gonna to be a good little slave girlie and keep your hands
off your master's property for me?"

   "Yes ma'am," I lied.

   "That's a good slave.  Now kneel back down for me, girlie."

   "Yes ma'am," I said as I knelt.

   "This here is very important girlie.  You mustn't cop no attitude never.
Even the slightest tude can get you another 30 days working your pretty
little bare bottom for someone else, understand."

   "Yes ma'am."

   "Now are you gonna to behave yourself like a good slave girlie or are
you gonna to be a stuck being a slave girlie for a long, long time?"

   "I'll behave myself ma'am."

   "You promise?"

   "Yes ma'am."

   "That's a good girl.  Another rule is that you mustn't never be nothing
but truthful.  Lying to a master will get another you 30 days of slavery
and that ain't what you want now is it honey?"

   "No ma'am."

   "You mustn't never complain or protest none.  Now that you're a part of
the servile class honey, you ain't considered as good as the rest of us
free folks so it's criminal for you to even question or complain about any
of your betters like me."

   "Yes ma'am."

   "Slaves don't question orders honey, they obey them, understand?"

   "Yes ma'am."

   "When your master tells you to do you something, you say 'yes ma'am' or
'yes sir' and not a word more, okay?"

   "Yes ma'am."

   "And then you hop right to it and do it the bestest as you can."

   "Yes ma'am."

   "Now, I want you to listen to me real careful like honey cause this
here's real important.  Your master not only owns your pretty little
behind, she owns your loyalty as well.  As a slave girlie, you owe her your
complete allegiance.  Anything you do that ain't in her best interest,
ain't gonna to be in your best interest neither, understand?"

   "Yes ma'am."

   "So, if you get all stupid like and do something against your master,
not only will you get yourself another 30 days of slavery, I guarantee you
that if you get your master in a little bit of trouble, you'll get that
pretty little bare bottom of yours in a whole lot of trouble as well. 
You'd like to keep your behind nice and white wouldn't you?"

   "Yes ma'am."

   "Just remember honey, people with bare bottoms really shouldn't go
around pissing off people with paddles, okay?"

   "Yes ma'am."

   "Now, you gotta know that if you're a bad girlie one day and you get
yourself punished, you're gonna to have to take your discipline like a
slave's supposed to or else you're gonna to get yourself punished a whole
lot more.  Now are you gonna to be a good little slave girlie for me and
just bend over when you're told to and take what comes?"

   "Yes ma'am."

   "You understand honey that if you don't, it'll just mean lots of legal
trouble and more punishment for you don't you?"

   "Yes ma'am."

   "That's a good girlie."

   Ms.  Washington stroked me on the head like petting a puppy.

   "That's a good slave girlie.  I'm sure you already know that you mustn't
try to escape or it's gonna to cost you another six months of hard work
with your hoo hoo showing."

   "Yes ma'am."

   "Also, if you try to run away, you also might be spending most the rest
of your time as a slave in shackles and locked up a lot.  Let me tell you
girl, I guarantee you that all them chains ain't gonna to be real
comfortable.  Now you don't want that do you honey?

   "No ma'am."

   "And if you get all stupid like and try and escape a second time, you'll
get your head shaved, a slave collar get welded on you, you'll get an extra
year of slavery, and your barcode and slave number gets tatted on right on
the middle of your forehead." Ms.  Washington tapped my forehead with her
finger.  "It'll mark you for the rest of your life as a criminal escapee.
You really don't want to get your forehead tatted do you honey?"

   "No, ma'am."

   "Good, now it's also real important that you know that you mustn't do
nothing that ain't completely submissive or do something that 'un-slave
like,' cause that'll be considered what the slave court's gonna to call
conduct unbecoming of a slave and you'll get yourself another 30 days of
wearing that collar round your neck.  You don't want that do you?"

   "No ma'am."

   "Most of all honey, you gotta understand that it ain't good enough for
you to just act like a good little slave girlie, you gotta really be a good
little slave girlie.  This here's real.  You really are a slave girlie and
if you don't go behaving yourself like one, you really will get that pretty
little bottom of yours punished like one, okay?"

   "Yes ma'am."

   "You've got such a pretty white behind, it'd be such a shame to get it
all red wouldn't it?"

   "Yes ma'am."

   "I'd think it'd be really embarrassing for someone as old as you are to
get your bottom spanked and have to walk around with your tail end being
all red and everything.  Folks will see your red behind and laugh at you
because they know you've been a bad slave girlie and you got your white
little bottom spanked because of it.  You wouldn't want that to happen to
you, would you?"

   "No ma'am.

   "And you don't want to get yourself no more time do you honey?"

   "No ma'am."

   "You'd like to keep your time as a slave girlie as short as possible
wouldn't you?"

   "Yes ma'am."

   "And you know how to do that?"

   "Yes ma'am, I need to be a good slave girl."

   "That's a good girlie.  Now open wide honey."

   Ms.  Washington got a dog biscuit out of her desk drawer and, having no
other choice, I opened my mouth, and let Ms.  Washington feed it to me.

   "There you go honey."

   I really, really, don't see how dogs like this crap.  Yuck!  Seriously,
it tasted like dog food.  Although I chewed it up as fine as I could and
swallowed hard, it went down like swallowing sawdust.  Luckily as I was
chewing Ms.  Washington had reached behind her on a credenza and gotten me
a paper bowl and a bottle of water, filled the bowl, and sat it down in
front of me just as I swallowed.  I really needed it.

   But, as I snatched up the bowl up and started to drink, Ms.  Washington
thumped me on the top of my head with her backscratcher.

   "Bad girl," Ms.  Washington scolded me.  "Now you know girlie that that
ain't no slave-like behavior.  Now put your bowl down on the floor honey
and lap up your water like a slave girlie's supposed to."

   "Yes ma'am," I said, rubbing the top of my head.

   Reluctantly, I sat the bowl on the ground, got on my hands and knees and
lapped up the water with my tongue.  I heard a couple of people giggling at
me.  If being bare ass naked in an office building, wearing a collar,
licking up water on your hands and knees out of a bowl doesn't confirm your
inferior status, nothing will because, let me tell you, it's really
demeaning.

   "That's good honey," Ms.  Washington said, petting me again.  "Now, see
how easy it is to be a good slave girlie."

   "Yes ma'am."

   "That's a good.  Now honey, you gotta kneel down on your mat there and
stay real still and quiet for me, okay."

   "Yes ma'am."

   As I obeyed, Ms.  Washington petted me again.  "Do you want another
treat honey?"

   "No ma'am," I blurted out quickly, "seriously, thanks but I'm not
hungry."

   Nevertheless, Ms.  Washington smiled as she fed me another biscuit.  It
didn't taste any better the second time.  I knew what she was doing.  By
dehumanizing me, Ms.  Washington was transitioning me; easing me into my
new role as a slave, giving me a little taste of what was to come, and
instilling in me that, now that I was a slave, I had the same social
standing as a golden retriever.  Apparently she felt that giving me an
orientation for what a new slave could expect was part of her job.

   As humiliating as it was, Ms.  Washington was right, I wasn't even a
person anymore.  Naked, collared, tagged, and owned, for or all practical
purposes, now I really was just Janice's dog.  I might have been a lot more
appreciative of Ms.  Washington's attempts to educate me on my new role in
society better if the bitch didn't seem to enjoy her job so much.  She all
but busted out giggling when she fed me the doggie biscuits.

   "Now you be a good slave girlie honey and enjoy your treat while your
master and I have a little talk, okay?"

   "Yes ma'am," I said as I began begrudgingly crunching on my doggie
biscuit.

   "Good," Ms.  Washington said before turning her attention to Janice. 
"Now, I'd like to go over a just a few of the most important rules with
you."

   "Okay," Janice said.

   "First, unless you tell your girlie otherwise, your slave girlie gotta
show proper slave girlie etiquette at all times.  This includes kneeling in
front of you, remaining silent, speaking only when spoken to, and being
appropriately submissive as well as any other rules you put on her."

   "Okay."

   "Second, and this one is real important, your slave girlie mustn't try
to use no computer, no social media, no money, no credit cards, no phone,
or no property, even clothes, without your permission, nothing.  And we
here at the Department of Slavery really don't reckon that's it's a good
idea for you never let your girlie have no electronic devices at all."

   "Why not?" Janice asked.

   "You've gotta cut all ties your slave girlie's gotta her previous life
or she ain't gonna to want to be a slave none.  She'll keep trying to keep
up with her friends and live her old life as much as she can.  That's no
good.  Your slave girlie just needs to lose all shame, forget all about her
past as a free girlie, and just concentrate on being the best slave girlie
she can be.  She gotta give up all of former life or she ain't gonna be
worth nothing as a slave and you ain't gonna have nothing but trouble out
of her.

   "What if she does?  What if she still tries to keep ties to her past or
uses a phone?"

   "It's a crime and she'll get herself another 30 days of slavery for it."

   Janice looked at me, "You hear that, no computer and no phone."

   "Yes ma'am," I muttered, still shocked as my entire former life as a
free person was being wiped away right before my eyes.

   "Third, your slave girlie's modesty belongs to you and you alone.  She
don't own none of it, you do; so she ain't entitled to no privacy and no
modesty other than what you give her."

   "That's good to know," Janice seemed pleased

   "Fourth, your slave girlie gotta always address all us free people as
sir or ma'am.  As her master, you decides on how she addresses you."

   "Ma'am will do," Janice said to me.

   "The rest is all spelled out here in these rules and regulations.  Y'all
both really gotta read this really carefully." Picking up a couple of
booklets entitled Slave Owner's Manuel, Ms.  Washington handed one to each
of us.

   "Thanks," Janice.

   "Now let's get the two of you back to processing and finish your
girlie's registration," Ms.  Washington said before leading us to the back.

   First, Ms.  Washington took a DNA cheek swab from me and then she
strapped me down on a chair, adjusted headrest/machine to the back of my
neck and strapped my head to that as well.

   "Now honey, you're gonna to feel a little bit of a sting when you get
tatted but I need you to be real still for me, okay?  It'll only last a
second, I promise."

   I yelped as the machine half tattooed and half burned a bar code and my
slave number onto the base of my neck, permanently identifying me as a
slave.  Ms.  Washington then checked the tat, applied a topical analgesic,
unstrapped me, and took to a small photo studio and photographed, fully
nude, from every angle for my ID photos as well as fingerprinted me before
we came back to her desk and I knelt on my mat again.

   "Do you want any accessories for your slave girlie?" Ms.  Washington
asked Janice.

   "Like what?" Janice said.

   "We've got a full line of slave accessories: discipline devices, wrist
and ankle cuffs, ball gags, transport cages, chastity belts, slave hitches,
leashes, ear tags, skin dye, fetish costumes, and," Ms.  Washington smiled,
"we even sell doggie biscuits."

   "Skin dye?"

   "Yeah," Ms.  Washington laughed.  "You can dye your slave girlie here
like an Easter egg if you take a notion to.  We carry 15 different shades.
Once it dries, it ain't as messy as paint and it really makes your slave
girlie stand out.  It only takes an hour and we've got a spray both in the
basement.  We've got yellow, green, red, purple, pink, blue, orange, white,
black, maroon, powder blue, navy, chartreuse, or teal.  We can even mix you
up some custom colors if you like.  It even dyes her hair and it lasts for
a couple of weeks."

   "What accessories do you recommend?"

   "If honey here were my slave girlie, I'd go with the wrist and ankle
cuffs." Ms.  Washington said as she was getting a box of wrist cuffs out of
a cupboard.  "I think they really adds something to her looks.  They'll
really give your girlie that submissive look that your customers are gonna
really love."

   Clearly interested, Janice inspected the cuffs carefully.

   "Why don't you let your slave girlie model them fo you?"

   "Okay."

   "Go ahead and stand up for me honey."

   "Yes ma'am."

   As I stood, Ms.  Washington took each of my wrists and buckled the
leather wrist cuffs on them.  Double sided black patent leather with a
steel ring and a buckle on it, they matched my collar.  I had to admit,
once they were on, I really did look like a slave.

   "And, if you ever did gotta discipline your slave girlie, it makes
restraining her a whole lot easier." Ms.  Washington said.  "All you need
is some clips or some small padlocks and voilà, in a just a few snaps and
clicks, you've got her all trussed up hand and foot in just seconds."

   "Do you sell any locks?"

   "We sure do," Ms.  Washington said as she returned to the cabinet and
got out a couple of small white cardboard boxes.

   Opening one of the boxes, Ms.  Washington pulled out the lock.

   "My favorite is this double carabiner lock here made just for slaves. 
It clips on in just a snap like a regular carabiner but, once it's on, you
need this here wireless key to unlock it."

   About four inches long (ten centimeters), it looked like someone had
fused two mountain climbing carabiners together with a lock in the middle.

   "Put your arms out for me honey," Ms.  Washington ordered.

   As soon as I held my arms out, Ms.  Washington snapped the carabiner on
my left wrist and then grabbed my right hand and 'click', just like that I
was cuffed.  I swear, it only took her like a second.

   "You see, snap, snap, and you're done." Ms.  Washington said to Janice.
"It's effortless."

   "That was easy," Janice said, looking impressed.

   No one was asking me if I wanted to be wearing kinky bondage cuffs that
makes paddling my tender white ass a lot easier but, since I was just a
slave, I didn't get a vote.  Clearly, the registration process wasn't for
my enjoyment, it was for my enslavement.

   "It gets better," Ms.  Washington said as she reached up and pulled down
a rope attached to a winch mounted on the ceiling.

   I was so focused on everything else that I hadn't even noticed the rope
or the winch before.  The end of the rope had a large steel hook on it,
like a meat hook only the end was rounded instead of sharp.  Ms. 
Washington hooked around the lock binding my wrists, opened a drawer, and
took out a remote.

   "Up you go honey," Ms.  Washington smiled as she hit a button on the
remote.

   In an instant, I could hear the whir of electric motor as the rope began
to winch me upwards.  By the time Ms.  Washington hit the stop button, I
was completely strung up by my wrists, stretched out so far that I was
barely touching the floor with just the tips of my tip-toes.

   "That's impressive," Janice said.

   Out on the sidewalk, I could hear the audience laughing, chattering, and
cheering some.  Apparently they loved to see slaves like me get winched.

   "We call this here winching the wench.  It makes paddling your slave
girlie's behind almost effortless.  Your girlie's completely helpless now,
ready for whatever punishment you take a notion to give her, ain't you
honey."

   Ms.  Washington gave my ass cheek a squeeze.

   "Uh, yes ma'am," I said, nervously, dreading what Ms.  Washington might
choose to demonstrate on my bare backside.

   "Let me tell you," Ms.  Washington said to Janice, "when you've got one
of these, your slaves ain't gonna misbehave much.  You winch um up a few
times and they start minding their manners for you real good."

   I yelped and my feet jerked about in mid-air as Ms.  Washington hit the
winch remote button again and lifted me off the floor a couple of feet. 
Outside, I could hear laughter at my reaction from my audience.

   "It's waterproof.  So you can even install this outdoors if you want,
maybe out back behind the building.  That gives you a little more privacy
so your guests or customers don't have to see your girlie here get a little
color to her bottom when she's misbehaved some."

   As she talked, Ms.  Washington gave me a push, causing me to gently sway
back and forth.

   "Now you just hang out for a few minutes and enjoy yourself honey while
you master and I talk some, okay?"

   "Yes ma'am."

   Ms.  Washington chuckled again.

   "Nothing gets your slave girlie's respect quicker than winching her up
off the ground for a few minutes," Ms.  Washington said to Janice." Isn't
that right honey?  Have we got your attention now?"

   "Oh, yes ma'am."

   "Are you gonna to behave like a good little slave girlie or are we gonna
to have to warm up your behind a little."

   "Oh no ma'am.  I'll do whatever you say," I exclaimed.

   By now, I was beginning to twist a little as well as sway and my legs
began to nervously kick and twitch a little.

   "Don't you wonder off none honey.  You stay right there for me while
your master and me talk some more, okay?

   "Yes ma'am," I said as I dangled helplessly in mid-air with a
deer-in-the-headlights look on my face.

   "How long can you leave her up there?"

   "A little girl like honey here, five or ten minutes is safe.  Plenty of
time to do all the business you want to with her backside."

   Appearing very satisfied, Janice watched me rock back and forth for a
moment before looking back at Ms.  Washington, "If it's no bother, I'd like
to take a look at those ankle cuffs as well."

   "Sure," Ms.  Washington said as she reached for a box of ankle cuffs,
opened them, and dumped the cuffs on her desk.

   Hitting the winch remote again, Ms.  Washington lifted me off the floor
another foot, stopping when my feet were about chest high off the ground.
"Now you hold real still for me honey."

   "Yes ma'am," I said, hung out like laundry on a clothes line.

   Ms.  Washington buckled a pair of ankle cuffs on me and then locked my
ankles together with another double-carabiner lock.

   "That's good honey.  Now I want you to try as hard as you can to wiggle
out for me, okay?"

   "Yes ma'am."

   I writhed, squirmed, kicked, pulled, and strained against the leather
cuffs as hard as I could trying to free my ankles to no avail.  The only
thing that happened was all my struggling just caused me to twist and sway
some more.  Finally, after about a minute jerking and writhing to free my
ankles, frustrated and exhausted, I gave up.

   "Is that the best you can do honey?"

   "Yes ma'am.  I can't get out."

   As I limply hung naked from the ceiling, bound by my wrists and ankles,
Janice carefully inspected my ankle cuffs and double carabiner lock.

   "You see these cuffs here are padded so they don't bruise your slave
girlie none or cut off her circulation much but they're still tight enough
that she can't get out of um."

   "I see," Janice said.

   "Coming down honey," Ms.  Washington said as she lowered me; it felt
really good for my bare feet to touch the floor again.

   "Go ahead and you sit down for me on your mat for me honey," Ms. 
Washington said as she unstrapped the rope buckle from my wrists."

   I sat.

   "That's a good girlie, now lay down and put your feet in the air for
me."

   "Yes ma'am."

   The moment I complied, Ms.  Washington hooked the rope around my ankle
lock and pressed a button on the winch remote.

   "Up you go again honey."

   "Yahh," I let out a squeal as I was dragged up to the ceiling again,
this time by my feet.  Outside, I could hear even more excited clamoring
and giggling.

   "You see, you can lift your little slave girlie here by her ankles just
as easily as you can by her wrists."

   Ms.  Washington gave me another push which started me swaying again,
this time in a circular motion.

   "Enjoying yourself honey?"

   "No ma'am.  Can I come back down please?" I begged.

   "I like the upside down position a lot better," Ms.  Washington said to
Janice.  "It really gets their attention.  You can see it in their faces."

   "She really does look more frightened," Janice said.

   "Now that we've got your slave girlie all cuffed and strung up, is there
anything else you'd like for me to show you?" Ms.  Washington asked.

   Helplessly swaying back and forth, I nervously gritted my teeth while
Janice pondered if she wanted to a test drive something on my ass.  As I
glance toward the front, my audience looked thrilled, giddy with
excitement, hoping to see my ass get warmed up.  Although they were mostly
men, there was a surprising amount of women were entertaining themselves by
watching me get my due.

   "A cat-o-nine tails or a paddle perhaps?" Ms.  Washington asked.

   Watching me rock back and forth like the pendulum to a grandfather
clock, Janice contemplated for several seconds before finally coming to a
decision.

   "No, I think I've made up my mind.  I'll take both the ankle and the
writs cuffs and two of the locks."

   "An excellent choice.  Can I interest you in the winch set up as well.
It's one of our best sellers.  We even have a contractor that'll come out
and install it for you."

   "Not right now.  Maybe later."

   "Certainly."

   "But I would like for you to throw in a couple of boxes of those doggie
biscuits."

   "Your slave girlie will really appreciate it," Ms.  Washington giggled
as she got out two more boxes of doggie biscuits and put them in a bag. 
"Anything else I can interest you in?  A cage, a bridle, or a leash
perhaps? We sell a lot of leashes."

   "No thanks, I think just the cuffs, the locks, and the biscuits.  I'm on
a tight budget."

   Let's see," Ms.  Washington said, totaling the bill as I still dangled
upside down from the ceiling, "titling fee $250, registration $250, collar
$187.50, tag $250, international data base processing fee $200, lab fee for
the DNA $175, a set of wrist and a set of ankle cuffs, $250, tax $1,717 and
two large boxes of doggie biscuits, $10, for a total of $3,289.50.  Go
ahead and text your payment to US.GOV.SLAVE.$ and be sure to include her
slave number."

   Janice took out her cell phone and texted the money to Ms.  Washington.
Ms.  Washington checked her computer, seemed satisfied, and texted a
receipt back to Janice.  Still slightly swaying back and forth, my face was
beginning to really get flush.

   Ms.  Washington smiled at Janice, "Congratulations, she's all yours."

   "Thanks."

   "Any questions?"

   "What did I buy?" Janice asked.  "What does it really mean to be a
slave?"

   "In two words, total submission.  For the next three years, this girlie
here is your property," Ms.  Washington grabbed my leg and to stop my
swaying.  "You literally own her body.  She don't have no choice about
nothing.  As of right now, girlie's mind is just a passenger in your
property.  Your girlie's not gonna have no privacy, no modesty, no
free-time, no morality, no clothes, no choice, or no free will except what
you give her."

   As I was facing the wrong way, Ms.  Washington took my arm and turned me
facing toward her.

   "Now you really need to pay attention for me honey, this here's
important."

   "Yes ma'am."

   "You can work your girlie, display her, rent her, sell her, paint her,
dye her, shave her, or use her for pleasure.  You can order your girlie
here to do manicures and pedicures for you and everything in between. 
You can use her for fetish, use her for labor, use her for hire, or use
your girlie to lick whatever you want licked, and I do mean whatever.  You
see, being a slave girlie isn't just a job as it's a lifestyle.  You
control every detail of her life."

   I could feel my blood beginning to pool in my head.

   "Let's take sleeping for example, you're gonna control where, when, how,
and with whom your girlie sleeps.  You can have your girlie sleep on a cot,
on a bedroll, on the floor, in your bed, in someone else's bed, in a cell,
in a slave closet, in a stable, in a cage, or in a doghouse.  She can sleep
in pajamas, in a uniform, in lingerie, in her birthday suit, or in chains,
the choice is yours and yours alone."

   "What happens if she doesn't obey?  What can I do?"

   "If you slave girlie gets all foolish like, cops herself a little tude,
and refuses to obey you, then she's committed a crime and she's gonna get
herself another 30 days of slavery plus whatever discipline you take a
notion to give her."

   "So if she is insubordinate, I get to keep her for another 30 days?"

   "No.  If your slave girlie gets all stupid like and gets herself
sentenced to some additional time, that time belongs to us, the federal
government."

   "What would happen to her?"

   "We could keep her and work her ourselves but probably we'd just send
her straight to an auction house," Ms.  Washington patted me on my ass,
"and sell her pretty little bottom here to the highest bidder."

   It was no secret that selling off insubordinate slaves had become a
major source of revenue for the government therefore, acquittals were rare.
It was a win/win situation for everyone but me.  Everyone but the slave
(the government, the taxpayers, the masters, the slave mongers, the slavery
bureaucracy, and the economy) benefitted from slaves like me being
convicted and getting sentenced to more time.  It seemed as if everyone
made money off of selling my naked ass.

   "Let's say she refuses to obey me," Janice said, "and I want to get her
punished for it, how do I get that done?"

   "Well, since your slave girlie ain't no longer considered a person no
more, just a slave, she gets herself tried by the slave court."

   "How does that get started?  Do I call the police?"

   "No, you just pick up your phone and give the court a call.  Their
number to call is in your material.  It's open 24 hours a day, seven days a
week.  Usually they can free up a judge and get your little slave girlie
tried in just a few minutes."

   "Where do I go?  Is there a slave court here in Charlotte?"

   "You ain't gotta go nowhere.  The trial's by video.  You can just face
time with your phone if you want, most people do.  You just call up the
court, tell the judge your side of the story, then your slave girlie talks
and says whatever she wants to say, and then the Judge makes a decision. 
It's that simple.  If your girlie's found guilty, it's an automatic 30 days
of additional slavery for her."

   I'd heard of the slave court, everyone had.  In slave courts, the slave
had no attorney, no rights, no jury, and was almost always convicted.  The
trials were over in minutes and there was no appeal.  It really gave the
owners the upper hand.

   Not only did the harsh sentencing and high conviction rate keep slaves
in line, it was free money for the government.  So, even though it meant
people like me could be forced into another 30 days of slavery for as
little as a smirk, free people were willing to overlook injustice of it
all, so long as they benefited from selling my naked ass.

   You see, to the government, slaves like me were free.  If I got
convicted, the government would get to sell my bare twat for lots of money,
even though they didn't pay anything for me.  Once I became a slave, to the
government and to the slavers, I was but a source of easy cash.  So the
government wasn't really interested in a fair trial for slaves, they
actually wanted more convictions so that they'd have more slaves to sell.

   If I got an insubordination conviction, I'd be immediately arrested and
picked up after my obligation to the store was up.  And, as I had a nudity
provision in my contract, I'd sell easily and for more money as whoever
purchased me would pay a little extra for me just so he could work me
bare-ass.  So, unless I wanted to spend another month or two in slavery,
I'd best behave myself.

   "Not that I'm complaining," Janice said, "but isn't that a little
severe."

   "It's right harsh alright, but it's gotta be that way.  You need your
slave girlie here to stop acting like she's a free girlie and start acting
like she's a slave girlie or she ain't gonna be worth nothing to you.  But
she ain't gonna start behaving like a slave girlie none unless we make her.
So we need something that'll really get her attention make her behave and
that something's gotta be pretty tough."

   Although such draconian punishment for minor transgressions may seem
petty, it had the effect of keeping slaves like me in line.  It was
absolutely vital to slavers and owners that their slaves were completely
servile and obeyed without question.  After all, who'd wanted to buy a
slave who didn't behave like a slave?  Simply put, the harsh laws forced
people, like me, who got their ass enslaved to actually be slaves.

   "We've only agreed to pay on Karen's loans during her slavery with us,"
Janice said.  "As soon as she leaves, those payments will stop.  What
happens if she gets some additional time and isn't able to pay on her loans
because of her enslavement?"

   "Any slavery time your slave girlie owes to the government doesn't toll
none of her other obligations to other lenders.  So, if her additional
slavery causes her to get behind on her other loans, then her cute little
white bottom will get itself repo'd by the bank at the end of her
obligation to the government."

   That really got my attention.  I owed Ultra another six years and the
bank could repo me if my payments fell behind more than three months.  It
meant that if I got three or more insubordination violations, I'd be
screwed.  At the end of my time with the government, they'd just ship my
bare ass to Ultra for another six years.  It meant that I'd better be a
good little slave girl and watch myself or I could end up working long
hours, sweaty and naked for a long, long, time.

   "Let's say I needed to physically discipline her, what are the rules?"

   "I'm sure you'll be a good little girlie and you won't need much
punishment, will you honey?"

   "No ma'am," I said, still dangling upside down, "I'll be good.  I'll be
real good.  I promise."

   "But, just in case your slave girlie here occasionally needs her
attitude tweaked just a wee bit now and then," Ms.  Washington gave me
another little push, causing me to start swaying again.  "You can confine
her, spank her, exercise her, or shave her head bald, just to name a few."

   My eyes lit up as Ms.  Washington mentioned shaving me bald.

   "Basically anything that's not excessively cruel or that leaves no
scaring or permanent damage.  It's all spelled out in the regulations.  The
full list of what you can and can't do is in your slave-owner's manual."

   "Do many owner shave their slave girl's heads," Janice said, seeming
very interested.

   Apparently the glass on the front of the department of slavery was not
so thick that it prevented what was left of my audience on the sidewalk
from hearing what was going on inside.  When Janice talked of shaving my
head, they really perked up.

   "Oh yeah, a lot of slave owners do these days.  It's becoming
fashionable."

   My heart jumped as Janice looked at me studiously, as if she were trying
to imagine what I'd look like bald.

   "Not only will it really get your slave girlie's attention, she'll
really look and feel like a slave and a lot of men really go for the look."

   "What does it cost?"

   "If you want to get your girlie's head shaved real pretty like, we've
got a girl in the back who'll come up and shave your girlie's head as bald
as a bowling ball for nothing.

   "Nothing?"

   "Nothing whatsoever.  She loves to do it and she'll do a real good job
for you.  First, she'll shear your girlie with the clippers and then she'll
lather honey's head all up, get a razor, and make your slave girlie's head
all nice and smooth for you if you want.  She'll even oil your slave
girlie's head to make it nice and shiny for you."

   "Not now," Janice said, after seriously considering shaving my head for
several seconds.  "Maybe later, if she misbehaves."

   The crowd on the sidewalk looked disappointed.  Still suspended upside
down, Ms.  Washington played with my hair dangling downward from my head.

   "You've got such pretty hair honey, you wouldn't want to spend the next
three years running around with a bald head would you?"

   "Oh no ma'am."

   "Well you know what to do if you want to keep all that pretty hair don't
you honey?" Ms.  Washington gave my hair a tug.

   "Yes ma'am.  I'll be a good slave girl.  I really will."

   "That's a good girlie," Ms.  Washington said before turning back to
Janice.  "Any other questions?"

   "No, I think that covered it."

   Ms.  Washington picked up the remote to the winch.

   "Okay honey, coming down," Ms.  Washington said as she lowered me. 
"Watch your head."

   "Huh," I grunted as I plopped back on the mat.

   "Do you think you'll need any help in loading her up?" Ms.  Washington
said as she retrieved a tiny remote from one of the lock boxes.  "We can
box her up too if you like, no charge."

   "No, that won't be necessary.  I'm sure she'll behave herself."

   "Lift your feet up for me girlie," Ms.  Washington said.

   "Yes, ma'am."

   Still laying on the mat bound hand and foot, I lifted my legs.  As soon
as Ms.  Washington hit the button on the wireless key to the lock, I felt
the lock click and Ms.  Washington unsnapped my ankles.

   "Now go ahead and get up for me honey."

   I struggled to my feet.  Unlocking my wrists, Ms.  Washington dropped
one of the locks, as well as the wireless keys, in the bag with the
biscuits before handing the bag to Janice.

   "Now turn around for me."

   As I did so, just when I thought I was free, Ms.  Washington snapped the
remaining double carabiner lock on both of my writs cuffs binding my hands
behind my back.  Instead of letting me go, Ms.  Washington held me by the
arm.

   "Honey, let me give your some advice." Ms.  Washington said as she gave
my body a good look.  "You're a really sharp looking girlie.  With the body
you got there, when all them boys see you all nakey like this, them boys
gonna be really liking what they see.  They're gonna be thinking you're
mighty pretty.  They're gonna be saying a lot nice things to you and
treating you right nice.  If you let yourself, you just might enjoy being a
slave girlie.  It'll make your time as a slave a lot easier."

   Although having strangers gawk at my misfortune was humiliating, just
the thought of being forced to exhibit myself to all the guys I knew
suddenly caused my twat to tingle.  Knowing my friends, they'll definitely
come down to the store to get a good look at me out once they find out that
I got myself enslaved as a naked salesgirl.  There's no way that they'd
miss the chance to get a selfie with me.  I even started to look forward to
it.

   I loved flirting with guys, particularly guys I knew and liked.  I'd
look for excuses to show off a little, washing cars in my bikini or laying
out in my thong, sit in their laps, wear my micro-mini skirt, or go skinny
dipping with them in my undies.  They liked getting a show and I liked
giving it.

   I'd always been a little of an exhibitionist.  I adored it when guys
look at me like I'm something really special; it's something that just
never gets old.  So, the idea of being condemned to spend the next three
years naked, shamelessly flirting all day with hundreds and hundreds of men
suddenly didn't seem all that bad.  As ashamed as I am to admit it, Ms. 
Washington might be right -- There might even be parts of being a naked
slave that I might actually like.

   "Best of luck to you honey," Ms.  Washington said before handing Janice
the wireless key to my lock.  "Enjoy your slave girlie."

   As Ms.  Washington took her next customers, Janice led me out the front
door and onto the busy street, stunned, naked and with my hands bound
behind my back.  By now, most of the audience was gone but what was left
smiled and snapped a few photos of me.  One of the guys asked Janice if
she'd consider renting me and what the price was but Janice ignored him.

   In an instant, the cool March air tightened my skin, pert my nipples and
formed goosebumps all over me.  I shivered as a cool breeze ran across my
shaved twat.  When I looked down, I noticed that there was even goose bumps
down there.  It was so shocking it was surreal.  Not only was I now a
slave, I was walking in downtown Charlotte completely naked and in bondage.

   Although the brisk morning air felt icy on my bare skin, my
embarrassment kept me warm.  Naked in public with people staring at me, I'd
never been more aware of my surroundings.  I could feel the cold concrete
sidewalk on my bare feet as well as the roughness of the surface.  I
twitched a little as cool breeze tickled my sex, and couldn't do anything
to stop my boobs from jiggling freely on the front of my chest.  With my
hands cuffed behind my back, I even noticed all the goose bumps on my bare
ass.  I felt lowly, powerless, exposed, and indecent.

   In the middle of downtown Charlotte, the sidewalks bustled with people
and everyone was giving me a look.  Most of the women just gave a quick
glance and then ignored me while other women gave me a disdainful look and
arrogantly snickered at my plight.  Only a few actually looked sympathetic
and made eye contact.

   Most of the men, particularly the young ones, stared at me intently,
often smiling lustfully and looking me up and down, carefully checking out
all of my anatomy, and paying special attention to my bare cunny and
jiggling boobs.  Some of the guys even stopped and took photos while a
couple whistled.

   It was all happening so fast that I felt dizzy.  Half an hour ago, when
I entered the Department of Slavery, I just thought that I was just
agreeing to a three year job with crappy hours and no pay.  Now that I was
being led through downtown Charlotte, naked and bound, clearly I'd enslaved
myself and, as we approached the parking garage, I wondered what other rude
surprises were in store for me.

   The two parking attendants stopped what they were doing as Janice and I
walked up and stared at my bare twat in amazement, looking as if they'd
never seen a hooch in person before.  Only about 20 and looking decidedly
on the shy/nerdy side, I had a sense that the two young parking lot
attendants might not have.  So, feeling sorry for the boys, I slowed down a
little and gave them a real good look at my anatomy.  I considered it a
mission of mercy.

   They stared at me as if in a trance, with their mouths ajar, mesmerized
by my nakedness.  Flattered by their attention and sympathetic of their
naivetÃ(C), I smiled at them as we passed and then turned to see if they
were still looking at me.  Of course, they were still staring at me,
wide-eyed, slack jawed, and in lust, so I gave the boys another smile.  It
felt exhilarating, I actually really enjoyed it.

   "Look, I don't give a crap about all the curtsying and slave rules,"
Janice said.  "I didn't buy you for all that submissive stuff, I bought you
to sell my merchandise, understand?"

   "Yes ma'am," I said, suddenly feeling a pang of humiliation about being
naked and in bondage in front of my employer.

   "You're going to be our salesgirl.  So, your primary job will be luring
as many horny perverts in the door as possible.  Give them a show, and then
get them to buy as much as you can."

   Janice unlocked the trunk to her car and got out some towels and draped
them over the passenger seat all around the passenger seat, making sure my
germy ass or bare skin didn't touch her car.

   "You're also going to do all the janitorial work and stocking just as
before.  That mean you'll clean the bathroom four times a day, mop the
floors twice, dust, take out the trash, mow the lawn, wash the windows,
stock the shelves, and whatever else I tell you to do."

   "Yes ma'am."

   "Just don't touch my desk or use my restroom.  Use the customer
restroom, not mine, understand.  Clean it, don't piss in it."

   "Yes ma'am."

   "We need the money so I don't care how you do it, just get it done. 
Just keep it classy enough that we don't run off all our female customers."

   "Yes ma'am."

   "And don't touch anything," Janice said as she motioned for me to get in
her car.  "I just had it detailed so it's nice and clean and I want to keep
it that way."

   Carefully, I sat down on the towels so Janice's seat wouldn't be soiled
by my bare skin.

   "If you have any complaints, just understand, I don't want to hear them,
okay?" Janice said as we pulled out

   "Yes ma'am."

   "I didn't buy you just to hear you bitch and moan."

   Eagerly awaiting our arrival, the young parking lot attendants were
standing outside the booth, hoping to get a better view of me.  I smiled at
them again as Janice paid.  Staring at me intently, she had to remind them
to process her credit card.

   As we pulled up to our store, a wave of embarrassment hit me.  The sales
area was surrounded by huge windows on three sides and there were half a
dozen shoppers already in the store.

   Feeling indecent, I wasn't mentally ready yet for my coworkers to see me
naked and I paused to collect myself.

   "Don't look so worried," Janice said, "it's the same job that you've
done for months as a free woman.  So just get out of the car and get
going."

   "Yes ma'am," I said as I got out of the car.

   By now, it was a few minutes past 10 o'clock and the store had been open
for over an hour.  There were already some customers and I could see Sandy
inside.

   "Well," Janice said, "what are you waiting on?  You have customers."

   "I don't know if I can do this," I said, suddenly overcome with
embarrassment.  "I need a minute."

   I'd be one thing showing all my goodies off to some of the guys I knew.
They're my own age and I was even looking forward to it.  If nothing else,
I'd love to see the look in their eyes when they see me.  But letting my
co-workers and all the customers get a good look at twat and titties was
something else.  I just wasn't ready for that.

   "Do you want me to take you back to the Department of Slavery so I can
get your head shaved and buy that winch," Janice said impatiently.

   "No," I said, quickly getting out of the car, "I'm moving."

   "I bought you to work and I expect you to get right to it."

   "Yes ma'am."

   "If you ever get to the point that you feel like you don't want to work
and you think you need some motivation, you come tell me and I'll make sure
you get it."

   "Yes Ma'am."

   "I'm sure I can arrange something that'll change your attitude," Janice
said as she unlocked me and freed my hands.

   As we walked into the store, all the customers' eyes flew open as they
stared at me in amazement.  Frozen in place, they couldn't have been
anymore motionless if they'd been made of concrete.

   "I expect results," Janice said.

   Taking a good look at my naked body, Janice left me standing naked in
front of the stunned customers while she returned to her office.

   "AHHH!" I heard a frightened yelp behind me Sandy, gawking at me with
her hand covering her mouth and her eyes bulging.  She couldn't have looked
more stunned if she'd accidentally swallowed a tarantula.

   Franticly rushing up to me, Sandy grabbed me by the arm and jerked me
towards the stockroom.  Hearing Sandy's squeal, Larry and Bill rushed in
from the stockroom and they looked just as shocked as Sandy.  It was
obvious that Janice hadn't shared her decision to turn me into a naked
salesgirl with the other partners.

   "Jesus, what are you doing?" Sandy whispered excitedly as she pulled me
into the back.  Sandy's voice had an urgency to it that bordered on sheer
panic.  "My god girl, you're completely naked.  Where in hell's your
clothes?"

   "In a trash can at the Department of Slavery."

   "What!"

   "Janice threw them away."

   "Seriously?"

   "No shit.  Ask Janice.  From now on, it's the full Monty." I lifted up
my wrist and showed Sandy one of my wrist cuffs.  "I'm the store's new
salesgirl."

   Speechless, Sandy just covered her mouth with her hand, made a glance
down to my twat, and quickly looked away, turning red in embarrassment, "Oh
for the love of god, what are you going to do?"

   I shrugged, "Sell auto parts I suppose.  I'm a slave, what else can I
do?"

   A jolt of panic ran through me as I turned and faced the customers. 
Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, they all gawked at me intently.  It was now
painfully obvious that I was about to spend the next three years of my life
selling auto parts nude and I could feel my face warm as it got even redder
the more I thought about it.

   The customers, all men, were looking at my nude body in amazement, like
I'm the sexiest thing they've ever seen.  To my surprise, it electrified
me. The more the men smiled and gazed at me in awe, the more my entire body
tingled with sexual excitement.  It was absolutely scintillating.

   "Well, uh," still getting over the shock of standing naked in the middle
of the store with customers staring at me but giddy with excitement over
what I was about to do, I gathered myself and said, "Who's first?" just
like I'd done hundreds and hundreds of times when I was free.

   A customer; a middle aged man who was overjoyed at the sight of my naked
body, eagerly stepped forward.  I gave him a big smile as he stared
excitedly at my hooch.  His uncontrollable delight in seeing my nudity gave
me a thrill.  I've always enjoyed watching a guy's face the first time he
sees me naked, it's such a rush.  Working out every day, I'm proud of my
body and people seem to like to look at it.

   People (mostly guys) often tell me I look a lot prettier than they'd
expected without my clothes when they see me in my bikini or even less. 
It's a real turn on for me -- causing me to want to lose my clothes
whenever I could.  I'd live in my bikini if it were possible.

   I decided right then that Ms.  Washington was right, I needed to stop
worrying about my modesty (I didn't own it anymore anyway), lose all shame,
forget about my past, and just concentrate on being the best slave I could
be.  I was going to be a salesgirl for the next three years no matter what,
so I might as well try to enjoy it.  I took a deep breath, bit my bottom
lip, and rolled into action.

   For years I'd had a sexual fantasy of taking a long weekend off, driving
down to Atlanta, getting a job as a stripper, and spending a few days being
a shameless hussy, waxing the pole, dancing provocatively, wiggling my ass
on guy's laps, motor boating faces in my tits, and giving shy young men a
real education in female anatomy.  I almost did it a few times but lost my
nerve and I regretted it.  I'd have really enjoyed being a total vamp for a
few days and working the crowd in just my birthday suit

   Now that I was forced into becoming a salesgirl, I felt I might as well
live the fantasy, have fun with it, and work the customers, really give
them a show.  It'd be that wild weekend in Atlanta that I never had.

   "Hi, I'm Karen," I said cheerfully.  "Can I help you sir?"

   "I'm looking for some replacement windshield wipers for a 2028, Toyota
Camry," he said even though, in truth, all he was really looking at was me.

   "Sure, right this way sir."

   As I glanced back at the customer, he was watching my ass.  So, when we
reached the windshield wipers, I bent way over to get a couple of
windshield wipers and gave him a real good look.  Picking up two different
windshield wipers, one with each hand, as I got back up, I gave an innocent
little wiggle to my shoulders causing my boobies to jiggle.  The customer's
eyes widened and he licked his lips.

   To my amazement, I was actually enjoying this, like really enjoying it.
Just being naked in public was unbelievably thrilling and, with the
exhilaration of all the customers gazing at me in wonderment, I was only
minutes into my job as a salesgirl and I could already feel my cunny
getting wet.

   "Which one would you like sir?" I said, holding both wiper blades to my
side, giving him a better view of my boobs than I did the wiper blades.

   Eagerly staring at my titties, the man looked at one and then the other,
unable to determine which of my ta-tas he liked best.

   "Which wiper blade would you like sir?"

   In attempt to refocus the customer, I moved each of the wiper blades
closer to my boobies so he might actually give the wiper blades a quick
glance while gazing at my tits.

   "We offer both Rain-Saber and Praetorian wiper blades for your model of
car."

   Unable to concentrate on the wiper blades at all, the customer seemed
entranced.

   "So, do you see anything you like?" I said seductively as I cocked my
hips.  "Anything at all?"

   Although the customer's mouth opened slightly and his eyes danced in
delight, looking eagerly at my hooch and the rest of my body, he was no
closer to making a decision, at least on the wiper blades, than when he
came in.

   "Oops," I giggled as I 'accidentally' dropped one of the wiper blade
packages and turned around and bent all the way over to get it, giving him
another great view of my ass and cunny.

   As I got up, I intentionally touched him, holding his hand and giving it
a squeeze as if to steady myself as I rose.  I made sure that my hair
touched his face and, acting as if I was using his hand to help pull myself
up, I tugged his hand so far toward me that my left breast 'accidentally
brushed the back of his fingers as I got up.  His eyes bulged in delight.

   "I'm so sorry about that sir," I giggled again.  "I'm just a little
clumsy."

   The guy was so transfixed on my body that he looked like he'd forgotten
how to breathe.  I gave him another big smile as I gleefully displayed the
wiper blades again right beside my boobies.  Although I was taught to smile
when working with a customer, the experience of working as a naked
salesgirl had become so intensely sensual and utterly exhilarating that I
couldn't have stopped smiling if I'd wanted to.

   Not only did being a slave let me be as wildly exhibitionist as I
desired, it forced me to stretch the boundaries of my exhibitionism well
beyond anything that I'd ever imagined.  Since, for me, getting dressed
again or walking away wasn't even an option.  It made being a shameless
flirt all the easier.

   A theatre major in college, I loved the stage and the live audience. 
Suddenly, I looked upon the store as my stage and my customers as my
audience, captivated by my performance.  Their near orgasmic adoration for
me was addicting -- I couldn't get enough.

   "Is there anything else you'd like to see sir?" I said with a playful
laugh.  "I'd be glad to show you whatever you'd like to look at.  It's my
job."

   Ten minutes later, after a lot more stooping, reaching, bending,
smiling, giggling, jiggling, and a little dancing, and after showing the
man a whole lot of merchandise (as well as all of me), my customer
purchased both packages of wiper blades, some car wax, new floor mats, a
tire gauge, a couple quarts of oil, jumper cables, a flash light, a package
of AA batteries, and some glass cleaner.  Amazingly, I hadn't been in the
store ten minutes and I already had the floor sales rocking (as well as my
libido).

   As Sandy took the guy's credit card and checked him out, I took a moment
to enjoy a cool breeze run across my nude body before eagerly licking my
lips and giving the rest of the customers in the store a big genuine smile.

   "Okay guys, who's next?"



   Chapter 3 -- Old Friends, Nude Beginnings

   It's 8:55 in the morning on Monday the 10th of March, 2031 and I'm
pacing nervously.  You'd be anxious too if you were me.  You see, I'm
standing stark naked in an auto parts store in a small town near Charlotte,
North Carolina, we open in just five minutes, and there's already a line of
people waiting to get in to see me.  It looks like I'm in for another
really busy day.  I'm what is known as a 'salesgirl,' a naked female slave
who works as a store clerk.

   As our patrons are mostly male, in hopes of attracting more customers,
the store bought me to give the guys something pretty to look at as I
helped them with their purchases.  That means that in five minutes, the
doors are going to open and everyone is going to flood in to see my bare
cunny, ass, and boobs.  I've only been a slave for a few days so it's still
nerve racking to just stand here naked and wait for all those people to
come in and gawk at me.

   Since I was a slave, the store's decision to put my pussy on parade in
front of all the customers wasn't illegal.  To make slaves more valuable,
Congress exempted slaves like me from any nudity laws, sexual harassment
laws, or any other labor laws.  As a slave, I'm no longer considered a
citizen, so most laws and most rights don't apply to me.  I'm in a lesser
social class governed by a lesser set of laws.  It means my masters, the
store owners, can work me stark naked, even in public, all day, every day,
and there's nothing I can do about it.

   When I tell you I'm naked, I mean that when I got enslaved, I got
completely stripped, not even panties or shoes, nada, zip, bare-ass, zilch,
nothing!  All I've got on is a slave collar, leather bondage cuffs wrapped
around my wrists and ankles and goose-bumps.  And, I'm not just naked for
the day, I don't wear clothes ever.  I've got three years of slavery left
and the store is going to have me completely nude every minute of it.

   In fact, when the store bought me, Janice threw away all of my clothes
and I mean literally all of them.  Now, I don't even have a shoelace left
to wear.  It means that all of the store's customers are going to get to
see all of me all of the time.

   If a customer is offended by my nudity, I'm allowed to cover what little
I can with my hands or get someone else to assist her but that's all.  I'm
never allowed to wear clothing or cover any part of my body behind
something other than my hands.  As a salesgirl, my skin is my uniform; I'm
there to be seen and, as a slave, I have no choice but to smile and show
myself.

   As I look up at the front door, the line had grown to a couple dozen
customers and they were all staring in the windows trying to get a glimpse
of me.  Anxiously, I walked behind the sales counter to give me as much
modesty as possible -- at least my bottom half wasn't in view yet.

   The reinstitution of slavery in the United States was just in its
infancy and while the use of slaves had become quite common in the larger
cities, in small towns like Glostonia, slavery was just getting started and
a slaves like me were still very much a novelty.  People often looked a
little startled when they saw me, pointed at me, and whispered.

   My nudity makes it worse.  Even in urban areas, the use of naked slaves
was just beginning and, in the rural areas, like Glostonia, slaves being
made to work naked public was almost unheard of.  In fact, I was the only
slave in Glostonia to be forced to work in the nude, the only naked slave
on public display.

   It meant that, in Glostonia, my bare snatch was very, very newsworthy.
Since I grew up in this town, everyone knew me, everyone knew about my
enslavement, everyone knew all about my nudity, and everyone wanted to come
see me.  Even the local paper ran an embarrassing story a front page story,
"Local Girl Becomes Naked Slave," and featured my photo, somewhat pixilated
of course but it still showed a whole lot of me.  However, the online news
services and social media, didn't pixilate me at all and, with all the
photos customers have taken of me circulating, my uncensored nudies are on
probably 90% of the phones in this town.

   Although I'd become somewhat of a celebrity among the men, I was a
pariah to most of the women.  Nevertheless, either way, now that I was a
naked salesgirl slave, my bare twat was definitely getting its 15 minutes
of fame.  Even the women were coming down to see it, if nothing else to
give me dirty looks, take a photo of me to show all their friends the
shameless naked skank at the auto parts store, and then scandalize me in
their gossip.

   I hadn't intended to become a salesgirl slave, or any other type of
slave for that matter, and I certainly never intended to be standing
bare-ass all day in a store showing everyone my cunny for three years.  I
wanted to be an actress.  I never dreamed that I'd end up like this but, as
they say, shit happens.

   After college, when I couldn't find a job in my major (theatre), I took
a job at the auto parts store as a sales clerk.  The pay was paltry but
three of the four owners of the store were nice, the customers were
friendly, and it was the only job I could find.  The store was a relaxed,
easygoing, and even jovial atmosphere.  The owners were two couples, the
older of which were Bill and his wife Janice who'd taken on a young couple
as partners a few months before I came, Larry and his wife Sandy.

   It was a small store with only the five of us, one employee (me) and the
four partners.  I generally worked the floor and had the janitorial duties
while, the younger junior partners, in their mid-twenties, Sandy manned the
register and her husband Larry made deliveries.  The senior partners, in
their thirties, consisted of Janice who worked the office, ordered
inventory, and answered the phone while her husband Bill, a god when it
came to auto parts, gave advice and installed parts.

   Although there were four partners, as they were young and new to the
business, neither Larry nor Sandy had the confidence to make any of the
decisions and Bill rarely had the gumption to stand up to his wife Janice.
It meant that Janice ran the store and I answered to her.  But, everything
changed when I got so far behind on my bank loans that my ass was about to
get repo'd.

   I know you probably thinking that collateralizing my student loans,
credit card, and my car with my ass was a really dumb-shit and it probably
was but, ever since they legalized slavery, it was really hard for anyone
to get a loan without guaranteeing it with your freedom and I needed an
education, a car, and a credit card.

   After slavery got legalized and banks started loaning money on your
looks, if you looked hot, your credit was hot.  After seeing at me, my bank
had no problems giving me all the credit I wanted so long as if I agreed to
serve six years of slavery if I defaulted.  At the time, it didn't seem
that risky.  How was I to know that I'd end up as one of the millions of
Americans that would get their asses repo'd and sold into slavery?  But,
for reasons beyond my control, I got so far behind that I was only a week
from getting picked up by the bank and sold.  In desperation, to avoid a
six year enslavement by the bank, I was forced to sell myself to the store
for three years.

   Let me tell you, when I sold myself to the store, it never crossed my
mind that Janice might strip me, not for a second.  After all, we were an
auto parts store not a titty bar and we'd never used sex to sell anything.
Janice didn't even allow me to wear shorts to work.  So, I thought Janice
would just continue to use me as a fully dressed sales clerk but with a lot
more overtime.  Little did I know that I was in for the greatest shock of
my life.

   Hoping that by stripping me she'd get a lot more customers, Janice
decided to work me completely naked as a salesgirl.  And, just like that, I
suddenly found myself stranded bare-ass naked in the middle of my workplace
with all my astonished co-workers and customers staring at my twat.  I was
totally stunned; taken by complete surprise.

   Let me tell you, unless you've had the experience, you have no idea how
nervous you feel when you're the only one naked in a room full of clothed
people, everyone's staring at you, and there's nothing you can do about it.
Particularly when a lot of the people eyeing at your cunny and
photographing it are people who you know.  Some gaze at me in awe, others
in lust, many in amazement, while many others, particularly the older
women, glared at me viciously in distain.

   Wiggling my toes I contemplated what spending the next three years of my
life barefoot and nude would feel like.  I don't know if I'm ready for it.
I've only been a slave for a few days and being forced into nudity 24/7 has
already been an emotional roller-coaster.  Giving admiring guys who I
didn't really know a good look at my anatomy was one thing, but it was
another thing entirely to have all my friends, teachers, guidance
counselors, coaches, mailmen, relatives, neighbors, and school bus drivers
all see me like this.

   If you want a piece of advice, never get yourself enslaved in the town
you grew up in because everyone in town, and I mean everyone, comes to see
the spectacle of your enslavement.  Since the store bought me and started
working me bare-ass for everyone to see, we've been slammed -- a customer
tsunami.  It's been nonstop all day, every day and most of them know me. 
It's absolutely humiliating.

   I looked down at my shaved hooch and wondered how many people would get
to see it today, who'd they'd be, what they'd think of it, and what they'd
think of me.  I felt so bare and very vulnerable.  I shivered, partly from
the cold and partly from the anxiety.  It's March and, even though the
store turned up the heat for me, there's a draft.  My nipples are pert and
I'm covered in goosebumps.  They're all over my legs, my arms, and even on
my ass.

   Being a naked slave in a room full of free, fully clothed, people really
sets me apart.  I wasn't a part of their society anymore; I was beneath
that.  I wasn't their equal anymore; I was an outcast, something between a
person and a dog, something more than an animal but less than a human.  My
slavery rendered me subservient while my nudity, slave collar and leather
bondage cuffs caused me to be a kinky spectacle, decidedly too profane and
vulgar for polite society.  Even at a casual glance, anyone would know that
I was just a common slave; a naked submissive who's only purpose was to
obediently serve free people.

   I can't tell you how incredibly demeaning it is when girls I went to
high school with would giggle at me.  It causes me to really feel like a
slave, an inferior class, when I have to politely service them in the nude
while they snicker and make fun of me.  Sometimes, as they laughed at me,
their faces turned red in embarrassment at the shamefulness of my
situation. It's a really degrading feeling to be helplessly reduced to
being just a humiliating exhibition.

   Even though they'd known me before my enslavement, to some of the girls
that I knew, it's like I wasn't even a person anymore, just some debauched
slave wench the store picked up to be its naked servant girl -- a cheap and
immoral harlot who deserves whatever torment or ridicule she receives.

   It's really, really, embarrassing but what could I do?  It wasn't just
that I was dressed as if I were a naked slave, or even that I was
pretending to be a naked slave; I really was a naked slave.  It wasn't my
fault that I was publicly nude, collared, and in leather bondage cuffs; I
had no choice.  I couldn't get dressed or run away.  As a slave, once the
store bought me, they owned me, and Janice could show everyone my twat if
she wanted to -- and she did.

   Upon my enslavement, I became Janice's naked puppet to do with as she
desired.  I belonged to Janice now and she could show my anatomy to
whomever she liked.  For the next three years, my mind will be just a
passenger in Janice's property -- my body.  Now, everything I said, wore
(or didn't wear), and did was dictated by the Janice.  I didn't have a say
in the matter.

   Standing helplessly nude on the sales floor, I never have any idea who
would walk in the door next and see me.  It could be anyone, the man of my
dreams, an old boyfriend who loved me, his mother who hated me, a former
college professor, a nun, or people who just came in to laugh at my
humiliation.  Yet, at the same time, even as I'm squirming nervously in my
embarrassment, it's a huge turn-on.

   You see, it wasn't all bad.  Even though I'm ashamed to admit it, since
I've become a slave, I've discovered that I actually prefer to be nude
around men.  It's actually really exciting.  Most of them absolutely adore
me naked and, emotionally, I really needed that.  I loved the look on their
faces when they see me, the surprise, the delight, and the desire -- it's
such a rush.

   The first time a man sees me naked is always the best; there's always an
electricity to it, for both of us.  They don't have to be young and cute.
If the guy likes what he sees, any age, color, body type, or looks could be
a real turn on; if they enjoy it, I enjoy it.  It energizes me.  Since the
store bought me, enslaved me, stripped me, and displayed me, there's been a
steady stream of guys who suddenly need to buy an auto part, literally
hundreds of them and I've only been a slave for a few days.

   Even more nerve racking, but really exhilarating, are all the guys that
I knew in high school and college who walk into the store eager to get a
good look at me.  I'm beginning to find out how many boys I knew had a
crush on me (which apparently was a lot), how many want to see me naked
(even more), and how many really, want to get a nudie photo of me (which
apparently was all of them).

   It was like every guy I knew, and most of the girls, were coming down to
the store just to check me out and see what I looked like nude and wearing
a slave collar -- even if it's just to see the expression on my face.  It's
a little overwhelming showing all those people my pussy and boobs as well
as letting them take photos of me naked.  Still, it's an incredible mind
fuck to see how many men I knew really, really liked me and really, really,
wanted to see me nude.

   Although not everyone was happy about my nudity, particularly the women,
one of the most exciting parts of being forced to be nude all the time was
not having any control over who would see me, the helplessness and the
submissiveness of being force to display myself naked in front of sorts of
people.  Depending on who walked in the door next, I was always in the
position that in the next few seconds I could either be in exhilaration or
humiliation, agony or ecstasy, and there was nothing I could do about it
but stand there naked and wait for whomever walked in the door next.

   Every day, I'd anxiously walk out on the sales floor, feel a morning
cool breeze on my hooch, feel my nipples pert, feel the goosebumps on my
ass, and feel the adrenaline start pumping as my cunny tingled with anxious
anticipation of who would walk in the front door next, what they'd think of
me, if they'd want to take a picture of me, and where they'd send or post
my nude photo.

   The uncertainty of what the day would bring was a big part of what made
it so scintillating.  There's an undeniable thrill to being stuck totally
exposed and completely helpless in a crowd of people.  Although I hate to
admit it, as the minutes ticked down before we open, I couldn't help but
feel wildly excited about whatever was going to happen next.

   As I looked up, Bill unlocked the front door and the customers flooded
in.  Although my heart began racing and I felt fearful, my sex ached in
sexual desire.  Almost all men, the customers walking in the store were all
looking at me intently and most were smiling with delight at what they saw.

   Instantly, my libido spiked and my cunny moistened.  Having men gaze at
me like I was really something special, like I was the sexiest woman on
earth, was something that just doesn't get old.  In fact, it's addictive,
like a drug.  Once you've had a taste of it, you want more, more, more. 
Intoxicated by their adoration, I smiled back at them.

   Suddenly I realized that I knew one of the young men in the line.  A
friend of mine, he'd been in my high school class, Bobby Altman. 
Transitioning into slavery had been such an emotional experience for me
that I was really glad to see his friendly face.

   Stepping out from behind the counter, I let him have a good look at all
of me.  Although he was just a friend and we'd never been romantic, I
really wanted him to see me naked.  You see, even though I like it when
strangers enjoy seeing me naked, when guys I know and like are thrilled to
see me nude, it's a huge, huge rush.  Instantly Bobby's eyes lit up in
excitement.  Delighted with Bobby's exhilaration, I smiled, a big genuine
smile, as I walked up to him and put a little shimmy in my step, just to
make sure my titties jiggled.

   "Hi Bobby," I gushed.  "It's really great to see you."

   Although a little shy, Bobby was super nice and I always thought he had
a crush on me.  Judging from the look on his face as he watched my titties
giggle, I think I was right.

   "Oh my god, you're gorgeous," Bobby said as he ogled at my nude body
from my head to my toes.

   I curtsied for Bobby, "I am your slave sir," I said with giddy
enthusiasm.  "How can I serve?"

   Although I may have enjoyed welcoming Bobby more than most customers,
the routine was the same.  As a salesgirl slave, when I greeted a customer,
I was always to curtsy respectfully, smile, declare my servitude, address
him as sir (or ma'am if appropriate), and offer him my services.  Even
though he knew I'd be naked, Bobby was so excited by the sight of my
nudity, he just stared at me in awe, as if he'd waited his whole life for
this moment

   "Is there anything you'd like to see sir?" I said.  "Anything at all? 
I'd be glad to show it to you."

   I let Bobby look at me for a moment and then I gave him a big hug. 
Bobby started to put his arms around me but hesitated -- I was just too
naked for him to touch me.  But, I wanted him to feel me.  I really like it
when a guy I like touches me, particularly when he caresses my bare skin.
It's just so sensual.  I've always been that way.

   Like when I went to the movies with a guy, I'd wear some really short
shorts; we'd sit in the back, and, about fifteen minutes after the movie
had started, I'd get his hand on my inner thigh and let him play with my
legs and sometimes a little more.  Things usually generally heated up
quickly from there.  It really got my motor running and just made the movie
so much more enjoyable.

   I know it sounds bad but I've only get to live life once, so I might as
well enjoy it and, as a slave, flirting with guys is the only entertainment
I have.  Seeing my obvious affection for Bobby, almost everyone in the
store moved to where they could see, eagerly watching us hoping for some
action and I didn't disappoint.

   "Don't be shy," I said softly.  I gave Bobby a devilish little grin as I
took his hand and sat it on my butt cheek, "I'm really glad to see you."

   Shocked, at first Bobby was hesitant but as I slid his hand gently
across the curves of my buttocks, a big smile came across his face, almost
as big as mine.  It was always a huge turn on for me when a guy got hugely
turned on by me.  It always got my libido really jumping.  The more Bobby
felt me the better I felt and he was feeling my ass really good so I was
feeling really, really good.

   He must have had his hands in his pockets because they were warm and, as
he slid his hand across the goosebumps on my bare buttocks, I shivered
again.  The more he fondled my buttocks, the warmer I felt, the warmer my
cunny felt, and the warmer he felt.

   Bobby's desire for me was so great that it was electric; I could feel
the energy.  I'd only intended the kiss to be a quickie but it turned into
a foreplay kiss, the type you're getting all worked up to have sex with a
guy, where you get a little messy, make a lot of guttural noises even if
you don't mean to, suck face, squirm around a lot, grab hair, feel each
other up, and really have a delightful time doing it.

   That my greeting of Bobby got out of hand was my fault.  Although I know
it's a little kinky, one of my all-time favorite sexual fantasies is
shamelessly making wild and passionate love to a guy in front of an
audience, both men and women.  I can't help it, even the thought of
performing sexually before a group really turns me on and being a slave
gives me the perfect excuse to really go completely feral and act on some
of my craziest sexual desires; things I'd never do as a free woman, like
being naked in front a bunch of people and recklessly making out with a
guy.

   Being just a lowly slave made being wildly adventurous with my
affections a lot easier and, although I loath to admit it, a lot sexier. 
Undulating a little during the kiss, I could feel Bobby's flagpole quickly
raise itself to full mast.  Though some women find an erection in a man
offensive, I was always really flattered by it.  It's just a boy's libido
saying "hi, I think you're really, really, sexy." Often the guys can't even
help it and that's when I liked it the best.  I liked it so much, that when
I'm on a date, I work the guy, touching him, flirting, kissing him, until I
get him hard.  If I'm with a boy and I can't get his little man to jump up
and say hi to me, I'm a little insulted.

   Giggling as the kiss finally ended, I caught sight of an older woman on
isle three who'd just come in, looking at us in shock, a real
deer-in-headlights look.  I shrank away in embarrassment.

   "You should be ashamed of yourself Karen," the older woman scolded.

   "Ms.  Hancock?"

   I recognized the lady.  She'd lived on the same block as I had growing
up and I could feel my face getting red again as I fidgeted in
embarrassment.

   "Oh my god, that was so hot," one of the guys blurted out as the other
men looked on gleefully and murmured in agreement.

   I'll admit, I got a little carried away.  It was probably a little too
"R" rated of a show for the general public but I really had fun with it. 
In my defense, all the men watching had big smiles on their faces and
wanted more.  Remembering my place as a slave, I quickly tried to recover
the situation.

   "I'm so sorry.  My apologies Ms.  Hancock.  I didn't really didn't mean
to offend you."

   Unfortunately, my apology did nothing to assuage her outrage, she was
still fairly pissed and eyed my naked body in utter disgust.  Not knowing
what else to do, I curtsied.

   I am your slave ma'am.  How may I serve you?"

   "Shameful, just shameful."

   Suddenly realizing the front of his britches looked like he'd pitched a
tent, desperately Bobby tried to hide his boner from Ms.  Hancock and
quickly turned away but it was too late; Ms.  Hancock already got an eyeful
of Bobby's affection for me.

   "That's filthy," In an indignant huff, Ms.  Hancock stormed out.  "Your
mother's going to hear about this!"

   "Crap," I mumbled.

   A huge gossip and known for her embellishment, Ms.  Hancock would assure
that my reputation in this town just took another scandalous hit, even with
my mother -- as if my standing in the community could actually sink any
lower.  God only knows what she'll say about me.  By this time tomorrow,
the entire town will think that I'm the whore of Babylon.  It reminded me
that I was the only one naked in a room full of people and I began to feel
nervous and indecent again as I looked around at all of the people staring
at me.

   With Bobby still busy trying to think of sports, I heard a soft but
familiar voice from behind me say, "Hi."

   As I turned to look, it was Crista (Chrissy) Lucas, my best friend in
high school, giving me an anxious but sheepish smile, as if she was afraid
of how I'd react to her.  We both played on the high school soccer team, we
took drama classed together, we hung out together, and we even vacationed
together.  She was like a sister to me but I hadn't seen her since I'd been
enslaved.

   "Oh," I said, startled by the awkwardness of being bare-twat naked in
front of her.  "Uh, hi Chrissy,"

   I felt my face warm as an embarrassed blush came over me as I tried to
cover myself as best I could with my hands.  It's not that I wasn't glad to
see her but not like this, not stripped, collared, and subjugated. 
Suddenly, I was very, very aware of my nudity and I desperately wanted to
run away and hide.

   "I'm sorry," I said blushing self-consciously, "I uh..." Being nude in
front of her seemed unthinkably rude and I was so embarrassed that I
couldn't even come up with the words to finish my apology.

   Far from being uncomfortable with my nudity, Chrissy giggled playfully,
amused at my obvious humiliation, as if I was being silly for worrying
about such a thing.  Suddenly it came to me that I was just a slave and,
although she was my friend, Chrissy was a free woman and a customer;
remembering my place, I curtsied.

   "I am your slave ma'am; how may I serve you?"

   Although it was humiliating to humble myself as a slave before Chrissy,
as a slave, it was my duty.  Chrissy just ignored my offer of services.  It
was obvious that she hadn't come to see the naked slave girl, Chrissy had
come to see her friend.

   "I heard about you becoming a slave and everything," Chrissy said,
looking concerned.  "Are you alright?"

   "Well, I try to make the best of it."

   "I can see that," Chrissy said teasingly as she smiled and looked
towards Bobby.

   "You see, the store wants me to flirt with the customers a little," I
said defensively, my embarrassment deepening now that I knew that Chrissy
had seen me shamelessly making out with Bobby in public.

   "Does that include kissing some of the customers?"

   Although I was required to show all of the customers my anatomy and let
them photograph me, at least for the moment, Janice left it up to me as to
which, if any, of the customers actually got to touch or kiss me and I
reserved that privilege only to guys that I really liked.

   "Well, uh, yeah, some of them," I stammered, still trying to get over
the fact that I was standing completely nude and enslaved in front of my
friend.

   "Then," Chrissy suddenly looked nervously apprehensive and hesitated a
moment as if she was getting up the nerve to say something really
important, "Do you mind letting me try?"

   "What?"

   With me still standing there red-faced, holding my boobs and my twat,
Chrissy gave a nervous but excited grin, and kissed me passionately.  As we
broke away, I was completely dumbfounded, shocked beyond rational though.

   "Thanks," Chrissy said as she slowly licking her lips to savor one last
taste of me.  "I've always wanted to do that."

   I was so astonished that I didn't know what to say.  I had no idea she
was lesbian; she'd never mentioned it and I certainly didn't know Chrissy
had a crush on me.  Not that it mattered but it was just such a shock. 
Chrissy smiled as looked me over and began lovingly fondling my ass and
thighs.  Stunned beyond words, I just stood there helplessly nude still
embarrassingly clutching my tits and twat.

   "You have a really sexy body," Chrissy said as she rested one of her
hands on my buttock and lightly stroked my abs all the way from my boobs
down to the start of my shaved pubes with the other.

   "Thanks," I muttered, even more embarrassed and stunned than I was
before.

   "Do you mind?"

   "Mind what?"

   My eyes widened in astonishment as Chrissy began gently prying my hands
off my boobs and cunny.

   "You know," Chrissy said as she caressed my titties affectionately, "If
you're ever curious and want to learn a little more, find out what it's
like, I'd really enjoy spending the night with you.  I'd make it nice for
you; I really would."

   If having Chrissy see me naked was awkward, then having her kiss me and
fondle my ass and boobs was awkward on steroids.  Worse yet, I was enjoying
it and I kissed her back.

   And let me tell you, when I kissed her, it wasn't just a little 'hi, how
are you' peck on the cheek.  No, the kiss quickly developed into a really
high octane 'fuck me now' kiss, the way lovers do, wildly passionate, with
our tongues and our hands getting naughty in a tangling embrace.  Placing
my hands on her head and wrapping one leg around her, I kissed Chrissy like
a sailor coming home from the sea kisses his girl, pressing her face into
mine, and embracing her as if I never intended to let her go.

   Although I didn't consider myself either bi or lesbian, Chrissy was an
exception.  She'd been my best friend for years and I really loved her,
just not in a romantic way until now.  So, it wasn't that I suddenly
stopped loving guys, or even that I started loving girls, it was just that
I'd always loved Chrissy and, as awkward as kissing her was initially, it
was still one of the most passionate things I'd ever done.  With all that
she'd done for and as close as we were, I really wanted to please her in
every way in which a woman could please another woman.  Besides, now that I
was a slave, I needed her and wanted her more than ever.

   Making out with Chrissy in front of everyone was something I would never
have done as a free woman but, since I was forced to be naked and to
exhibit myself to everyone anyway, I figured there wasn't any reason to
hold back.  Besides, my reputation had already gone to shit in this town
and I didn't care anymore.  At that moment, all I cared about was Chrissy.

   If I didn't return her affections now, Chrissy might take it as a
rejection and I may never get another chance.  If I disappointed her,
Chrissy could be crushed and she may never even return to the store at all.
If I let that happen, both the moment and Chrissy could be lost forever.

   As we kissed, I fantasized about spending the night in her bed,
cuddling, holding each other, and enjoying the sensual luxury of naked skin
on naked skin as we spooned together throughout the night.  I dreamt of
snuggling with her sweaty naked body as we relax after sex and whispered
our devotion to one another.  I wanted to slowly caress her naked body,
touching her anywhere and everywhere I wanted while she returned the favor
for me.

   Gently wrapping myself around her, I couldn't help but notice that
Chrissy wasn't wearing either a bra or panties, just a short summer sun
dress; something I'd never seen her do before.  I was sure that Chrissy's
lack of undies was something special she'd done just for me, a gift of her
body.  Wanting to show her my appreciation of her gift, I decided to unwrap
her a little, in front of everybody.

   As I slid my hand under her dress and onto her bare buttocks Chrissy
gasped and her eyes flew open in shock but she did nothing to stop me. 
Instead she just tightened her grip on me and kissed me even more
passionately as my hand caressed her ass and then slid all the way up her
back, lifting her dress in the process.

   Making out with another girl was different.  Chrissy's ass and legs were
smooth, not hairy like a guy, and her body was tight, petite, and
curvaceous.  She wore lipstick, makeup, and smelled of perfume.  Her manner
was gentler, slower, and more passionate, with a lighter, more sensual
touch.  Even her soft moans of pleasure were distinctly feminine and, in
truth, it kind of turned me on.  Just knowing it was Chrissy on my lips
excited me.

   As my lips parted from Chrissy's, the guys looked on eagerly, almost
salivating in glee.  Not only had they gotten to see a couple of hot chicks
make out, I'd let my hand travel so far up Chrissy's dress, all the way up
her back, that I'd lifted her dress all the way to her shoulders.  So, I'm
sure everyone had all gotten a pretty good look at her tight little ass and
probably even taken a photo or two.  It embarrassed Chrissy to the point
she was red faced, mortified, and hesitant to do anything else but, in
truth, I think it actually really turned her on.

   "Well look what we have here," another familiar voice said from behind
me.  "If it isn't the little slave slut, miss tail-for-sale herself showing
everyone her cunny."

   I turned around to see another high school soccer teammate of mine,
Carla Santiago, gloating over my enslavement.  Although we ran in the same
circle of friends, Carla and I never got along.  Gifted athletically and
insanely attractive, a gorgeous Latin beauty, Carla had the looks of a
goddess but the personality of a snake.  For some reason, despite the fact
that she was rich, athletic, and stunning, it wasn't enough.  Even though
she had everything, Carla was never satisfied; she always wanted more and
would do anything to get it.

   "Hello Carla," I muttered bitterly as I covered myself with my hands and
arms again.

   Despite my duty as a slave, I neither curtsied nor did I declare my
servitude to her.  She didn't deserve it and there was no way that I was
going to give Carla the satisfaction.  It was one thing to be naked in
front of my friend Chrissy but something else entirely to be helplessly
naked, and vulnerable before my enemy.  Knowing of the animosity between
Carla and me and sensing my distress, Chrissy tried to stand between Carla
and me only to be forcibly brushed aside.

   "My turn," Carla sneered.

   Openly and aggressively lesbian, Carla often hit on other girls on the
team, particularly the straight girls and her advances were never subtle.
You see, Carla never wanted what she could have, she always coveted what
she couldn't get -- the forbidden fruit.  She didn't want the girls who
said "yes," she demanded the girls who said "no." Carla always wanted to
bed the straight girls and the lesbians that already had girlfriends and
Carla didn't take no for an answer.

   With Carla, sex wasn't so much about the intimacy as it was about the
conquest and it seemed as if she intended me to be her next victory.  She
didn't want lovers so much as she wanted minions; she didn't want passion
so much as she wanted power; she didn't want sex as much as she wanted
subjugation.  And, whomever she couldn't conquer sexually, she did her best
to publically humiliate and punish.

   As you might have guessed, there was a history between Carla and me. 
I'd blown her off when she'd made an advance in the locker room as we were
preparing to shower after a game.  When Carla insisted, the resulting
exchange became ugly and it was overheard by some of our teammates who told
Izzy, Carla's lover, which really pissed off Carla.  Carla told Izzy that I
was the instigator and it cost me my friendship with Izzy, which really
pissed off me.  Since then, Carla and I have had nothing but animosity
between us.

   Carla never took rejection well.  A rich bitch from a well-to-do family,
Carla always had to be the top dog at everything, even if it meant she'd
have to put down everyone else achieve it.  Publicly rejected and
embarrassed by me, Carla had long sought to put me in my place and, now
that I was a slave, she'd been presented the perfect opportunity.

   "Nice," Carla chucked as she eyed my nudity and got out her phone.  Of
all people, I didn't want Carla to have a photo of my twat.  It'd be her
trophy, proof of her superiority over me.  Something she'd post all over
the net and send to all my friends along with plenty of snide remarks on
who and how many men and objects that had been inside it.

   I didn't even want her to have a photo of me naked and covering but
there was nothing I could do about that.  As Carla started photographing
me, instinctively I squatted down and tried to expose as little of me as
possible.

   Carla just snickered as she walked around to my backside to take an
embarrassing photo of my butt as I cowered in shame.

   "I can't believe you sold your own ass into slavery," Carla laughed. 
"What a puta."

   "Screw you Carla," forgetting my place, flipped her my middle finger.

   Instantly I regretted it.  It was just a habit.  I'd said and done that
to Carla's trash talking a hundred times if not a thousand.  It was about
the only thing I ever said to Carla.  I didn't even think about it but, now
that I was a slave, such insolence could be considered criminal.

   "Mind your manners slave," Carla snapped, "You're talking to a free
woman."

   Carla's words caused me to grit my teeth.  As my social better, if
Carla, a free woman, reported me to Janice, I could get my ass violated for
disrespectful behavior in a minutes.  If I, a slave, were disrespectful of
Carla, or any other free woman, in any way, however trivial, not only could
I be subject to physical correction by Janice, flogging, confinement,
shaving my head bald, bread and water, etc., any disobedience, disrespect,
or insolence by a slave was considered criminal and would result in me
being sentenced to an extra 30 days of slavery.

   Part of what made it so scary was just how frequently and how easily
slaves like me got violated.  My trial would be in the Slave Court, an
online service that could be accessed from any computer or cell phone 24
hours a day.  Usually, a hearing could be set up almost instantly and only
lasted only a few minutes.  As a slave, I was no longer considered a
citizen and therefore had no constitutional rights.  It meant no lawyer, no
time to prepare, no cross examining witnesses, no calling witnesses on my
behalf, and no appeal.

   In the slave court, the slave was almost always convicted.  Most slaves
ran up an additional 90 to 120 days of servitude by the time their slavery
commitment was up, often more, because of behavior infractions,
particularly in the first few months of their enslavement as they adjusted
to their new lowly status.  The laws were harsh but were considered
necessary to make a slaves behave.

   In order to get a slave to act subservient and obey every command
immediately, completely, quickly, without thought, without attitude, and
without question, the slave to be absolutely scared shitless of what would
awful things would happen to her if she didn't.  The idea was to make the
slave too frightened to dare disobey; so frightened that she'd be
completely submissive and downright eager to comply with any order.  I can
tell you from experience, the threat of being violated or having my tender
bare ass flogged definitely had me scared.

   The criminal sanctions enforcing slave behavior also were a way of
bringing much needed revenue into the Federal government's coffers.  If I
misbehaved, by selling my naked ass the government would profit handsomely.
It was a tax that a slave had to pay with her ass.  If I got violated and
sold, god only knows where I'd end up and what I'd be doing.

   They could even sell me to a buyer in another country.  Then I'd be
crated up and my bare twat could be shipped off to Timbuktu, Tajikistan, or
Tibet.  The next thing I'd know I'd be in some harem slave in Morocco, a
naked waitress at a dive bar in South Sudan, a slave concubine in Mongolia,
or wading ankle-deep in mud and swatting flies as I found myself planting
rice on a plantation in Vietnam.  I felt frightened, helpless, naked, and
very, very vulnerable.  It was just the way the laws were designed to make
me feel, like I was just a helpless slave, totally at the mercy of my
master.

   I'd been really lucky so far.  Sandy was a sweetheart.  She'd never rat
me out no matter what I did.  Two of my other masters, Larry and Bill, were
nice guys who I considered friends and who preferred a causal, easy-going,
relationship in the store.  They could care less about my transgressions.
Violating me just wasn't in them.

   However, Janice was another story.  She'd report me to the slave court
in a heartbeat.  She was the only one of my masters that I feared would
seriously discipline me.  If I didn't want to stay a slave forever, I'd
have to be really careful.

   "She doesn't want to kiss you," Chrissy said.

   "It doesn't matter," Carla chuckled as she pulled me up out of my
crouching position by my hair, "the bitch is just a slave.  She'll do as
she's told."

   Now that I'd royally screwed up, I dared not resist as Carla pressed her
lips into mine, and kissed me.  Although the kiss was passionless, it
wasn't meant to be loving.  Carla's kiss was more like a Mafia don giving
his hapless victim the kiss of death.  It wasn't about affection, it was
about control.  The kiss was just Carla's way as saying, "I own you."

   "Stop it!" Chrissy said angrily.

   Seeming satisfied for the moment, Carla took one last photo of me,
snickered, and walked away.

   "Have fun girls," Carla said.

   "What a bitch," Chrissy fumed, loud enough for Carla to hear.

   "Yeah, but she'll be back," I mumbled, fearful as I wondered what Carla
was up to.

   As all of Carla's friends knew of the animosity between us, Carla would
love to publicly degrade or punish me for opposing her.  And, now that I
was a mere slave, I was just too easy of a target to ignore.  It wasn't if
she would attempt to seek her vengeance from me, it was simply a matter of
what evil thing she was plotting and how much I'd be made to suffer.

   With a crowd of men eagerly waiting for me, and after the thing with
Carla, Chrissy and Bobby both started to shy away but I wasn't ready for
them to go yet.  Now that I was a slave, I needed my friends and wanted
them to come in and see me as much as possible.  I needed people who'd
treat me as a person and remember me as Karen and not just the naked slave
girl.

   "I'd best be going," Chrissy said, looking at the crowd of men waiting
for me.  Bobby had already started to leave.

   "Just a second," I said to Chrissy as I scurried over to Bobby.

   "Don't forget about me," I begged.

   "Never," Bobby said and I gave him a big hug and insisted he take my
picture, just to have something to remember me by.  Although I was sure
that he already had a few nudies of me, given how many customers had taken
my photo and circulated them all around town, I wanted to give him
something special, a photo of me that was uniquely his.  He was ecstatic.

   "Don't worry," Chrissy smiled as I came back to her, "I'll be back
Sunday."

   "Thanks," I said, "you have no idea how much this means to me; I really
need you." and then I gave her a quick kiss.

   "I love you," Chrissy said, suddenly emotional.

   "I love you too," I said, as we hugged.

   I as I watched her go, I felt confused, not knowing if I was truly ready
for a lesbian relationship (I liked guy too much for that) but, at the same
time, knowing I loved Chrissy way too much to let her go.  I desperately
wanted to get her naked, crawl into her bed, kiss her passionately, roll
around mattress with her caressing and kissing until we're both really
sweaty and breathing hard, go down under her sheets, and then show Chrissy
my affection for her by pleasuring her more passionately than she's ever
experienced before; loving her with my tongue until I've got her helplessly
squirming in sexual exhilaration, trembling uncontrollably, and screeching
in ecstasy.

   Suddenly dizzy, I had to steady myself and I felt as if I needed to sit
down.  Only minutes ago I was decidedly straight and now I find myself
gleefully fantasizing about a salacious lesbian encounter with my best
friend.  Even when I thought my enslavement couldn't get any more
emotional, it had just taken another shocking turn.  Not only was I naked,
enslaved, and helpless, now I was completely bewildered as well, having no
idea where either my life or my love life was headed.

   As I turned my attention back to the sales floor, another familiar face
was smiling at me.  To my dismay, the next customer in line was my former
high school biology teacher, Ed Grisham, checking out my biology.  I
cringed.

   Do you remember when I told you that one of the thrills of being
helplessly nude in public was that I could be either exhilarated or
humiliated by whomever walked in the door next?  Well, Mr.  Grisham
definitely belonged in the humiliation category.  I'd always thought he was
really creepy and never, in my worst nightmare, dreamed that he'd get to
see me nude, but here I am, red-faced in embarrassment as I'm standing
butt-naked in front of him as he's looking at me.

   "Oh, uh," I stumbled for words before trying to force a smile out of a
grimace, "Hi Mr.  Grisham."

   "Well hello Karen," Mr.  Grisham said, smiling broadly.

   I curtsied, "I am your slave sir, how can I be of service?" He gave me a
good look up and down, mostly at my hoo-ha but what could I do?  I was a
slave and this was my job, to be the visible reward to whatever customer
walked in the door, the sexy eye-candy, even to a creep like Mr.  Grisham.

   "Nice."

   "Thank you sir."

   Several agonizing seconds passed by as I waited for Mr.  Grisham to say
something but all he did was gawk.

   "Can I help you find anything sir?" I asked.

   "Oh, yes," Mr.  Grisham said as he finally looked at me in the face. 
"Wax, I'd like to look at some car wax."

   "Right this way sir," I said as I lead him to the store's car wax
display.  As I glanced backwards, as I suspected, he was looking at my bare
ass and he was definitely enjoying the view.

   "We carry all the major brands," I said, gesturing at the display.

   Mr.  Grisham gave a quick glimpse at the bottom shelf.

   "Let me see the Kresten Shield."

   Of course, the bottles of Kresten Shield Premium Auto Shine, an
off-brand that was our least popular car wax, were on the bottom shelf. 
Obviously Mr.  Grisham knew that when a customer asked for an item on the
bottom shelf, it was my job to turn around, bend way over, give the him a
free shot of my asshole and cunny in the process, and then hold the pose
for a couple of seconds so he can enjoy the view before coming back up with
the merchandise.

   As a result, in the last few days, we've started selling a hell of a lot
of stuff from the bottom shelf and, in the process, my most private of
parts had become very public.  Although I was forced to bend over a lot, I
still hadn't become accustomed to doing it and it still embarrassed me
every time.

   "Certainly sir," I said as I felt a new wave of blushing overtake me.

   It meant I'd be forced completely disgrace myself in front of a man I
despised.  Let me tell you about Mr.  Grisham, he's a real perv.  You see,
when I was in his class, in the second semester of my senior year of high
school, Mr.  Grisham let the girls know that if you wore a short skirt with
white panties, sat on the front row, and let your legs drift apart some,
you'd definitely get an A.  I'm proud of the fact that I wore jeans to his
class, sat in the back, and got B- but now here I was, naked, and about to
bend way over to show this asshole my asshole just to try to sell him a
lousy bottle of car wax.

   Although it really, really sucked, there was no way out of it.  As a
customer, Mr.  Grisham was entitled to order me into the humiliating pose.
I was under strict orders from Janice that so long as looking at my anatomy
parts might cause a customer to look at buying some of her auto parts, then
the customer could look at any part of me he wanted to.  My modesty wasn't
a factor at all; selling the merchandise was the only consideration.  So,
if having me bend over might help the store sell a lousy $7 bottle of
off-brand car wax to some pervert, then I'd have to take the dive.

   Turning around, I took a breath, muttered a few expletives under my
breath and then, even though it galled me, I bent way down, gave Mr. 
Grisham a great view of all I had to offer and then waited a couple of
seconds for him to get a good look at me.  When I brought up the car wax
and handed it to him, Mr.  Grisham's eyes looked as if he were in ecstasy.
I wanted to puke.

   As Mr.  Grisham pretended to look at the bottle of car wax while he
continued to stare at my boobs, feeling very exposed, without even thinking
about it, I crossed my legs, folded my arms across my boobs, and fidgeted
nervously in my embarrassment as I waited for him but he took his time --
it seemed like an eternity.

   "Is there anything else I can help you with sir?" I asked, desperate to
get this humiliating ordeal over with.

   "Be a good little slave girl for me Karen and make that two bottles?"
Mr. Grisham said with an evil smile as he got out his phone.

   "Yes, sir," I grumbled.  "It would be my pleasure." Resigned to my fate,
I gritted my teeth, turned around, and bent over again, exposing my cunny
and ass for his close-ups.

   Suddenly, the door the store's office flew open and Janice stormed out.

   "Karen, come in here," Janice shouted, looking really pissed.

   Caught in the embarrassing pose, bending down in front of Mr.  Grisham
with my ass in the air, in a panic I jerked upright.

   "Yes ma'am."

   I quickly obeyed, leaving Mr.  Grisham to get his own damned car wax.

   Of all the store owners, Janice was by far my least favorite.  In fact,
she was the only one I didn't like.  Being summonsed to see her was like
being called to the principal's office at school; it was never, ever, good.
Always critical, frequently petty, and never complimentary, to be called to
Janice's office meant I'd screwed up something and was about to get my ass
chewed out over it.

   Scampering into the store's office, to my horror, Carla was seated at a
chair in front of Janice's desk, looking smug, with Janice glaring at me
angrily.  I curtsied in front of Janice and assumed the proper stance of a
slave standing before her master, standing straight up with my hands behind
my back and my head slightly bowed, and nervously awaited my discipline. 
She'd never actually physically disciplined me or anything before but she'd
never been this pissed at me before either.

   Then I noticed on Carla's phone was the incriminating photo of me giving
her my middle finger.  Obviously Janice had seen it and was enraged.  I
froze in terror.

   "Kneel," Janice ordered and I dropped to my knees in front of her.

   As I assumed the formal kneeling stance of a slave before her master,
with my knees shoulder length apart, my hands clasped behind my back, and
my head slightly bowed, my heart skipped a beat.  The kneeling pose was
usually reserved for more serious occasions, like when a slave was about to
be chastised, punished, or sold.  When a master ordered her slave to kneel,
it usually meant that the hapless slave was in some pretty deep shit.

   As Janice turned the big screen monitor of her desktop in my direction,
I winced.  The logo of the Federal Slave Court was on the screen as well as
a thumbnail video of a woman, probably a court clerk, who viewed my nudity
with disdain.  Obviously, Carla and Janice were about to violate me.

   "We're ready now," Janice said to the court clerk.  "You can get the
judge."

   "Wait, please, I'm naked," I pleaded as I broke my pose, cringed, and
covered myself as best I could with my hands.  "Could I at least have
something to wear?"

   To be hauled in front of the Slave Court like a common criminal was bad
enough but to be subjected to being tried naked seemed mercilessly
degrading.  It'd never happen to a free woman.  If I was to be tried, in
the name of decency, at least I should be afforded some clothes.  Janice
ignored me while Carla grinned and snickered at me under her breath as she
gleefully watched me writhe in my nudity and my shame.  I felt completely
helpless and indecent.

   A judge appeared on the screen, "Is this the slave?" The judge said as
looked at me kneeling on the floor before him desperately clutching my
boobs and my twat.

   "Yes sir," Janice said.

   "Good.  Then let's begin," the judge said with a tap of the gavel.  "Go
ahead and stand up slave."

   Humiliated and still covering what little I could with my hands, I
scrambled to my feet.

   "This is the case of the United States vs.  Slave Karen Fischer, slave
number 01-CLT-3102629," the judge said, reading my indictment, "Ms. 
Fisher, you are charged with being disrespectful to a free woman, namely
Carla Santiago, on this 10th day of March 2031 in violation of section
8013 of part 7 of title 18 of the United States Code.  How do you plead?"

   "I didn't mean anything by it sir.  It was just an accident."

   "I will take that as a not guilty plea.  Which one of you is the Carla
Santiago?"

   "I am your honor."

   "Ms.  Santiago, raise your right hand please." Carla did so.  "Do you
swear or affirm to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the
truth on the penalty of perjury?

   "I do."

   "Tell me what happened?"

   "Well, I was just shopping an electrical fuse for my car but I couldn't
figure out which one I needed.  So, I went to the store's salesgirl, the
defendant," Carla pointed at me, "who was busy flirting with some girl. 
Then, when I tried to get the defendant's attention, she became angry and
did this."

   Carla showed the judge the photo on her phone of me flipping Carla off
with my middle finger.

   The judge scowled and then glared at me, "Is there anything you wish to
say before I pronounce your sentence."

   "I, I didn't mean any disrespect your honor," I stammered as I fretfully
readjusted my hands over my boobs and cunny.  "You see, Carla's an old high
school friend of mine and we always used to kid around with each other like
that.  Seriously, it was just a joke."

   "This court finds you guilty of being criminally disrespectful to a free
woman and sentences you to the mandatory minimum of 30 additional days of
slavery together with up to 3 additional days for your processing and sale.
This means that immediately following your current slavery commitment, you
will become the property of the United States Government, you will be sold
at auction, and then you will serve as a slave to the highest bidder for
the duration of your criminal sentence." The judge picked up and tapped the
gavel.  "These matters are concluded."

   As the computer screen went to black, I stood there stunned.  Christ, I
was only three days into my three year slavery commitment and I'd already
been violated.  It meant that in three years, when my time was up with the
store, on my last day, the government would send a van to snatch me up,
haul me off, and then they'd sell my naked ass at auction for another 30
days of slavery.  Who knows who'll buy me and what they'll have me do.  For
what little I'd bring for just 30 days of servitude, Carla could even
afford to buy me and that was really scary.

   Delighted by the shocked look on my face, Carla let out a little giggle
before composing herself, becoming serious again, and looking at Janice.

   "I'm really sorry to cause all this trouble," Carla said apologetically,
"But Karen was just so rude that..."

   "Oh no," Janice interrupted as she scowled at me angrily.  "Ms. 
Santiago, I very glad you brought this matter to my attention.  Please let
me apologize and I assure you that this type of behavior will not be
tolerated in my store."

   "Really, that's not necessary," Carla said.

   "On your knees," Janice said to me as she pointed to a spot in front of
Carla.  I knelt.

   "I believe you have something to say to Ms.  Santiago," Janice said.

   "Yes, ma'am."

   "Then get on with it."

   Being naked and on my knees in front of Carla having to apologize to her
after what she'd just done to me was rubbing salt in my wounds but I had no
choice.  I'd screwed up and allowed Carla to score her victory over me. 
What was frightening was how easily she'd done so.  It caused me to
realize, as a slave, just how completely defenseless and naked I really
was. Bowing my head, I tried my best to sound sincere.

   "I sorry Carla.  I was out completely of line.  It was my fault and I
apologize.  It won't happen again.  I promise."

   "Very good," Janice said.  "Now kiss her shoes and back to work."

   Every muscle in my body tightened as I heard the order to kiss Carla's
shoes.  This demeaning ritual was common after a slave had been disciplined
to remind the slave of her subservience and put her in her place.

   "Yes ma'am."

   Delighted, Carla stuck out her foot, one foot and then the other and, as
she was clad in sandals, I was forced to kiss Carla's bare toes.  Just to
insure I got the full flavor, Carla made sure to press her toes firmly into
my lips with each kiss.

   "Do it again and I'll have you flogged.  Understand?"

   "Yes ma'am."

   "That will be all," Janice said.  "Shut the door on your way out."

   "Yes ma'am."

   When a slave is given an order, she's considered criminally
disrespectful if she doesn't obey it instantly.  Even the slightest delay,
comment, question, or showing any attitude at all could get me another 30
days.  With Janice already being pissed at me, if I didn't want my tender
ass flogged and/or get myself violated a second time in ten minutes, I
needed to scoot so I curtsied and quickly darted out.

   But, as I left, Carla stayed seated and that really concerned me.  It
almost certainly meant she wasn't done with me yet.

   "There is one more matter I'd like to discuss with you if you have a
minute," Carla said to Janice.

   Although I desperately wanted to know what Carla wanted to talk with
Janice about, I had my orders.  As I returned to the sales floor, there
were a couple dozen men and at least a couple of women anxiously awaiting
my attention.  Still in shock, I tried to compose myself.  Salesgirls are
always supposed to smile when dealing with a customer so I forced a smile
on my face and curtsied.

   "Which one of you sirs and ma'ams are next?" I asked.

   "I am," a young man said as he eagerly stepped forward.

   Bashful in his manor, he looked only 18 years old and appeared decidedly
inexperienced when it came to women but really eager to learn.  Wide-eyed
and staring at my twat, the young man looked as if he'd never seen a vagina
before but definitely liked what he saw.  His innocence, naivetÃ(C), and
lust made him adorable as a puppy and it immediately lifted my spirits. 
After what I'd just been through, it was really nice to be adored again.  I
need it.

   "I am your slave sir." I said with a mischievous grin as curtsied and
then widened my stance.  "Can I show you something?  Anything you'd like to
see?  Your wish sir is my command."

   Of course, I was supposed to show the teenager the merchandise but I
knew that wasn't what he came in to see and I took that as a compliment. 
I'd always loved flirting with the shy guys, particularly the ones that
weren't real lookers and didn't get much attention from other girls. 
They're so unbelievably appreciative of whatever you do for them.



   "Oh wow," the boy said as he started admired my titties, "they're
amazing."

   I couldn't help but giggle as I watched his eyes dance in delight.  He
was so wildly excited by my nudity you'd think that I'd just bought him a
car.

   An older guy, by their resemblance maybe the boy's older brother,
whispered something in the young man's ear and the boy's eyes lit up.  I
couldn't make it out exactly but the brother said something about the top
shelf.

   "Oh," the teenager thrilled, "yes, please, I'd like to buy some
antifreeze."

   "Right this way sir," I said cheerfully, leading the way and letting the
kid get a good look at my naked ass.  "Which one sir?"

   "If it's not too much trouble ma'am, I'd like a gallon of the Rocky
Mountain."

   Of course, the jugs of Rocky Mountain Gold Antifreeze were on the top
shelf.  The deal with the top shelf was that it was so tall that I needed a
small step ladder for me to reach all the way up.  I'm sure his brother
also coached the naive young man that, by asking for an item on the top
shelf, it meant that when I climbed to the top step of my ladder, my pussy
would be eyelevel, giving him a front row seat to view my shaved little
hoo-ha.

   But, far from being humiliated by his request, I was kind of hoping he'd
make me climb the ladder.  In truth, I was looking forward to it.  Being
the first girl he'd seen nude was really turning me on and I wanted to make
the most of it.

   "Why it's no trouble at all sir," I said gleefully as I fetched the
ladder.  "It'd be my pleasure."

   Positioning the ladder so as to offer the boy the best view of my twat,
when I stepped to the top, his eyes nearly bulged out of his head and his
mouth dropped open a little.  He was in awe.  Despite everything that had
just occurred, the young man's admiration of my anatomy was so sincere, I
found myself really enjoying the moment as well.  It seemed as if the
deprived young man was in desperate need of some remedial schooling on
female anatomy and I was all too happy to be his tutor and show him
everything he needed to see.

   Eager to reward the wide-eyed virgin with even more of an education of
what a girl's cunny looks like, I decided to linger on the top of the
ladder a bit, just to let him adore my shaved twat a little longer.  He
licked his lips in delight.

   "I'm sorry sir," I said, stalling for time.  "I forgot.  Did you say you
wanted the Rocky Mountain Gold Antifreeze, or the Bio-Best Antifreeze?"

   Although I picked up a jug of both to show the boy, he wasn't looking at
either of them.  Instead, he seemed memorized staring at my twat only a
foot or so from his nose.  Looking at me almost cross eyed, his eyes bulged
wider as he excitedly looking at my hooch in reverence, as if it was the
most wonderful thing he'd ever seen.  Saying nothing for a few second, I
just let him look.

   We were interrupted when, to my horror, the door to the office opened
again and I saw Carla walking out with Janice and, worse yet, Janice was
eagerly counting a stack of money.

   "Oh shit," I muttered.  Whatever Carla was up to, it involved me and it
couldn't be good.  Apparently my ordeal with Carla wasn't finished yet.  In
fact, it looked like my humiliation at the hands of Carla was just
beginning.

   "So, I can pick her up at seven tomorrow?" Carla asked.

   "Sure," Janice said cheerfully as she finished counting Carla's money,
"You can have her all night if you want.  We open at nine.  Just try to
have her back before that."

   For a moment, my heart stopped as I froze in terror, not wanting to
believe my ears.

   "Not a problem," Carla said as she shook hands with Janice.

   In a frightened daze, I stumbled down the ladder and gave the young man
his antifreeze.

   "Here sir," I said as I tried to hide my anxiety from him.

   The teenager just stared at my boobs in wonderment.  Apparently he
hadn't gotten a good look at a pair of these before either.  In a hurry to
try to eavesdrop on Janice and Carla, I quickly gave him the parting
curtsies required of me by the store.

   "Thank you so much for coming in sir.  I certainly hope you'll come back
and visit me." I curtsied and tried to smile.  "It would be my pleasure sir
to serve you as your slave again."

   "Oh, don't worry ma'am.  I'll definitely be back," the young man
promised, his eyes still transfixed on my boobs.

   As the young man finally pried his eyes off me and went to pay for his
antifreeze, I turned my attention back to Carla and Janice.  This was bad
and I mean really, really bad.  Downright spiteful, Carla really enjoyed
taking vengeance on people; in fact, she lived for it, and she could be
extremely imaginative and diabolical in her revenge.  She'd love nothing
better would love to make a humiliating spectacle of me to impress and
entertain her friends; the type of thing that people would take pictures of
and snicker about for years.

   "Oh no," I muttered.  "No, no, no, no."

   But there was nothing I could do.  My fate was sealed - I was seriously
fucked.  Janice had just leased my bare ass to Carla for 14 hours.  It was
bound to be the longest and most humiliating 14 hours of my life.  I just
wished at least I'd have clothes, even just a pair of panties would be
something, some modicum of modesty as Carla exacted her revenge.

   "For what you're paying," Janice said, "if you ever want to rent Karen
again, I'm sure we can work something out,"

   "Thanks, I might."

   "And feel free to discipline her if she misbehaves in whatever way you
think is appropriate."

   "Oh, don't worry, I definitely will," Carla said gleefully as she
glanced in my direction.

   "And make sure and report any further insolence on her part to me and I
promise you that I'll have her violated again.  I will not tolerate that,
not in my store."

   As Carla was walking out she grinned, amused at the terrified expression
on my face.

   "From now on slave, you're my bitch," Carla whispered as she grabbed one
of my butt-cheeks and squeezed it.  "See you tomorrow."

   I gritted my teeth.  Unfortunately, Carla was right; I was her bitch
and, tomorrow night, I'd be her slave.  Janice had just rented me to the
most vindictive ass-hole that I knew.  Helpless and naked, Carla was
definitely going to exhibit, degrade, and punish me in a very demeaning and
physical way and in front of an audience of Carla's choosing.  Having a
flair for the spectacular, Carla loved achieving her vengeance over her
hapless victims in the most memorable of ways and she was sure to have
conjured up something really special for me.  I hadn't a clue what Carla
had in store for me but it terrified me.

   "Excuse me miss," a customer said.  "I believe I'm next."

   It brought me out of my frightened trance and back to the moment, back
to standing naked in an auto parts store, back to a couple dozen men
eagerly staring at me, and back to being a naked salesgirl slave.

   "I am your slave sir," I curtsied and smiled for the customer.  "How may
I serve you?"






   4