It happened so fast; someone bumped into her, a light flashed in her eyes and then her hand was wrenched behind her back as her captor called out.

“Slave! Escaped slave! Everyone keep back!”

Chrissie tried to squirm, but the woman holding her arm was too strong. Steel clicked around her wrist and in a matter of seconds her hands were cuffed behind her back. She tried to run, to make one last bid for freedom, but the slave tracer yanked on the chain and the cuffs bit so hard into her wrists that she screamed and stopped cold.

“It's over, slave. Don't fight it. I've been tracking you for two days. Kneel. I can make this much harder on you, so behave. Got it, slave?”

Slave. She hated that word so much. Her name was Chrissie! They'd taken it away, she'd bided her time, made her move and taken back her name and freedom. Now she knew it was gone, and gone forever. Escaped slaves were sent to places no-one ever came back from, places described in low tones and rumours. Places she would see for herself. Fear washed away her anger and turned her heart from fire to ice. Her voice quivered, not much more than a whisper.

“Please, please, please no please. I... I needed, too much... hard... I had to... oh God not there... I won't tell, just, just, please I'll get... I far... pleaseplease let me go, I'll do anything... anything you want, please, just God I won't tell, never, I won't just please don't!”

“Why the hell would I let a slave go? Especially one like you? They'd make ME a slave if I helped you, you know the law. Now shut up and kneel.”

The tracer put her hand at the back of Chrissie's neck and pushed. She crumpled to her knees and silent tears ran down her cheeks. She dropped her head and tried to block out the gathering crowd and their low voices.

Heavier cuffs clicked around the slave girl's ankles and the chain between them tugged to test. Her shoes were yanked off and the wrist and ankle chains locked together. Chrissie - Slave C/KM142719J once more - was rolled onto her side and then her front, the steel restraints keeping her in an inescapable hogtie. She felt a boot at the nape of her neck and the tracer's hand brushing her hair away to reveal her registration tattoo.

“Stacy? Ears on? Yeah, I got her. Retina and tattoo barcode confirmed. It's KM142 alright. Send the transport crew and I'll strip her in the meantime.”

The tracer yanked slave C's hair and stared her down. Her captor was stocky, stone faced and greying. There was no hint of mercy in her eyes. She produced a pair of safety scissors and bent down to hack off a handful of curls.

“I always take a souvenir. Shaggy hair's actually one of the giveaways for escaped slaves wanting to hide their barcodes, especially when they fret with it. You'll lose the rest soon. Now I need to get you ready for the transport crew.”

The woman pulled out a black leather hood and Slave C began to wail and toss her head. Her world went black as the hood was fitted over her face and buckled around her neck. The feeling of pressure at her throat really brought it home to her. Restraints were one thing, but slaves didn't necessarily wear them at all times. It was the collar that defined slavery and the thing Slave C had been happiest to escape. Somehow, going bare-necked and feeling nothing when she swallowed was more freeing than wearing clothes, eating real food, sleeping in a bed or going where she wanted. She really started to cry now as she mourned that loss, knowing that she would never again have that particular pleasure.

With no sight and only muffled sound, Slave C retreated into her thoughts. Getting away from her owner hadn't been too hard. The window latch was worn enough to be forced open. The collar and wrist and ankle cuffs were leather and cutting them off just took time. People tended not to lock their doors in the countryside so all it took was enough daring to steal clothing. A freight train moving slowly enough to jump aboard took her miles away before her disappearance was discovered.

The rest was a helter-skelter; money, food and better clothes from her best friend (oh God, had they worked that out and what would happen to Bobbi if they did?!) and a bus ticket across three states to this unglamourous town. She'd found a gang to fall in with; dope to smoke, a cute boy to fuck (two actually) and casual work paid under the table. So much of it was messy or uncomfortable or ill-advised or all three at once, but the important thing was she got to choose. You had to be sixteen to be a slave and she didn't look that old, being short was a blessing now. The mundanes overlooked her.

She'd been a slave for nine weeks and free for six. She didn't think she'd got complacent or that anyone had sold her out, but now she was a slave again and she hadn't even seen it coming. One thing was for sure, she'd never get another day of freedom as long as she lived.

Slave C felt her clothes being tugged as they were cut off. Her jeans were shredded in short order, followed by her jacket and shirt. Her socks were next and she was hit by another pang of loss. Free people could wear shoes, but slaves went barefoot. Fingers grazed her soles and she squirmed to avoid being tickled, but the bondage thwarted her and she was forced to suffer the unwelcome stimulation.

Snips at her shoulders and hips took care of her underwear. The tracer pulled the ruined clothes out from underneath Slave C and she was naked as her first day of servitude, adorned only in instruments of confinement. The transport crew arrived just after that and shifted her onto a stretcher, still hooded and hogtied on her stomach.

It was so impersonal, to be moved and held in place while straps were buckled down. She might as well have been a piece of meat, but then again one rumour about runaway slaves was that they were sometimes boiled alive and served as an exotic treat. Wide leather straps stretched across her back and thighs, under her arms and across her shins and elbows before being buckled cruelly tight. She was pressed so tightly in place the cuffs were superfluous, but there was no chance they'd be removed.

“Good capture, standard payout. I'll run the paperwork as soon as she's on her way.”

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

The stretcher was hoisted into the air and Slave C could only wonder where she'd be when they took off the hood.