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Chapter 17. Three Unusual Meetings
I was told that my team would be making a presentation to Masterson’s Board of Directors in two weeks concerning our research into the apprentice system. I was directed to make a study of the published literature regarding the economics of apprentice systems and correlate that theoretical knowledge with my own first hand observations from viewing the apprentice recruiting process.
I asked if I might be issued panties to protect my modesty from passersby as I worked in my glass cubicle. Jenkins said ‘no way’ but he did set a parameter in the computer program so that I could keep my legs together most of the time. I just had to learn to ignore the stares as I worked. Passersby who wished to do so could still open by legs by touching a button that operated a servomechanism. Quite a few availed themselves of this privilege.
I spent a very intense week gathering all this information as well as actual cost data from our accounting department relating to our costs with the present labor system in the circuit board assembly room that we had seen earlier. I made certain projections about how much money I thought the company could save using the apprentice model and prepared graphs to make all this quite visual for the upcoming board meeting.
While much of my research was computer based, quite a bit of it required me to make phone calls. Here I learned that I must operate under a tight set of restrictions. I could not manually dial a phone number, but had to choose from a list of pre-screened numbers that displayed on my computer screen, which could then be auto-dialed. This list of approved numbers did not include any news media, attorneys, or organizations concerned with human rights. It did include the bureau of labor statistics, local reference librarians, and economic think tanks. My employer clearly wanted me to have the tools I needed to do professional work but did not want me campaigning to attract any sort of unwanted attention to my plight as a slave.
But it went further than that. Whenever I would auto-dial an approved phone number, the recipient of that phone call would see a brief message alerting them to the fact that the caller was a slave, along with my slave ID number, and would be asked to press a certain key on their phone to indicate acceptance of the industry standard restrictions on communications with slaves. If they would not so indicate their acceptance of these restrictions the call would not go through. Of course my employer also recorded all calls.
My teammates were also working along similar lines dealing with other aspects of the proposed apprentice system. We compared notes at daily staff meetings.
The big day had arrived for our board presentation. We were to go up the elevator to the top floor where the executive offices and boardroom were located.
I was sure we would be issued some sort of clothing so that we would be decent as we made our presentation to the board. I was wrong about that. We were marched essentially naked to our rendezvous with the board. My female colleague and I wore only our high-heeled shoes, makeup and jewelry. Our male colleagues wore only their bowties and leather boots. We all wore our slave collars and the brands on our buttocks were visible to all.
When we filed into the boardroom the meeting was already in progress. Board members gawked at our nakedness. We were directed to sit on high stools that had been specially constructed to raise each of us so that our entire bodies were above the level of the boardroom table. Apparently the members wished to miss no detail of our anatomies as we made our presentations to them. The man chairing the meeting was Mel Zigler and it was explained to us that he was the chief executive officer of Masterson Automotive.
Jenkins had coached all of us as to “professional deportment” when appearing before the board. I was to act every bit the consummate professional as I delivered my report – as if it were perfectly natural for ten portly cigar chomping businessmen and two businesswomen to be ogling my nipples, my ass, my pubic hair and my vulva. I read my report out loud to them with my recommendations as to how using the apprentice system could save the firm money. My colleagues seconded my recommendations based on their own expertise in law and economics. Board members all stared at my genitals and those of my teammates, and they smirked! At first I carried this off with aplomb. Later I lost it at times and then was able to recover. They made cracks about our bodies and tried to embarrass us all into losing it. Sometimes they succeeded. Once I broke down crying in front of them all. I used my hands to cover my genitals I was so embarrassed. Jenkins walked over and zapped me with his electric cattle prod. I nearly jumped off my stool and everybody guffawed! I was quickly reminded of my station and put my hands behind my neck like an obedient girl. I was given leave to use my hands again only when necessary to point something out on a graph.
Then came the question and answer period. Various board members directed questions at my colleagues and me. Most of the questions were businesslike and most of the board members seemed to be satisfied with our responses. But some board members would also ask one or another of us to display our bodies in a different way, to extend or flex a leg perhaps or to open our thighs more, or to thrust our breasts out, or make our nipples erect. My male colleagues were even required by the two women board members to stroke themselves into erection. The old me, the formerly free me, thought I should have something to say about displaying my body like this. But the new me was quickly learning that such choices belonged to our masters! Sometimes I would refuse to do what they demanded of me. But my labia would always moisten when they would succeed in coercing me to do what at first I had refused! Perhaps I had a subconscious desire to be coerced!
Finally the meeting was over. Mr. Zigler crooked his finger at me and indicated I should follow him into his private office adjoining the boardroom. He closed the door and told his secretary that we were not to be disturbed. He offered me a drink of wine that I declined.
“Miss Glenn, I think you may be able to help my wife and I with a marital problem”, he said at last. “You see we have been trying to conceive a child for two years now and we learned that my wife cannot conceive. I have decided that you will make a baby for us!”
I was dumbfounded. Surely he could not propose to force me into motherhood! My abdominal muscles and uterus involuntarily contracted with nervous tension.
“It is quite simple really. A week ago I had you taken off the anti-pregnancy drug most of our female slaves get. You still got the shot in your buttocks along with the other slaves, but I had them change the drug in the shot to one that would make pregnancy more likely rather than less likely. So you are fertile as of now. I will fuck you today and then fuck you again every few days until the doctors confirm you are pregnant with my child.”
“Do I have anything to say about this?” I asked.
“No, you have no say. You will conceive my child, carry it to term, give birth to it, then you will breastfeed it until it can be weaned from mother’s milk. At that point the child will become the exclusive responsibility of my wife and I and you will not see the child again.”
“NO! NO! NO! I won’t do such a thing! My womb is not for you to use! I won’t let you fuck me!”
He just smirked at me, and then uttered a couple of words I had heard somewhere before, perhaps in my slave training. But I could not recall exactly what these words meant. The next thing I knew I was meekly laying down face up on his sofa and he was undressing and mounting me. I was strangely not resisting him in any way. I wanted to fight him off but my muscles just would not cooperate. I was not paralyzed but it was as if my muscles would only respond to his verbal commands and not to my own will.
He was a large man with a rather athletic build and a very hairy chest. When I saw his genitalia I thought I could never fit that man inside me. But soon I felt his penis begin to enter me. It was even larger in diameter than Jenkins penis so the going was slow at first as my vagina stretched to its absolute limits to accommodate him. But his penis was also longer than Jenkins had been. After an agonizing insertion process I felt the tip of it banging up against my cervix. Soon he began to piston in and out, very slowly at first because there was considerable friction due to his size and only minimal lubrication.
I sensed that he was enjoying the fuck but only in the way that men nearly always enjoy a fuck. There was not any particular cruelty or vindictiveness motivating him, as there had been with Jenkins. It was just that I was an object that could fix his childless marriage and at the same time provide him with some momentary physical pleasure. This was a man who was accustomed to regarding other human beings as just means to his ends.
Finally he grunted and I felt warm sticky fluid discharging deep within me. When he was finished he stood me up, handcuffed my hands behind me and made me sit in his office for an hour while he worked on his papers and made phone calls. No doubt he wanted to be sure I would not go somewhere and douche his sperm from my vagina.
Just before he dismissed me he said some word that was familiar to me from my slave training.
That evening my fellow slaves and I gathered in the lounge of our residential quarters for the hour before dinner. Usually we would watch TV. Tonight we began talking instead over glasses of wine. Until then we really had not gotten to know each other’s background much. That may have been because each day had been so stressful that most of us had just wanted to zone out during that hour. But tonight was different. Our curiosity about each other finally overcame our earlier emotional overload.
“Harold”, Jennifer asked, “how was it that a smart lawyer like yourself came to be enslaved? I think we would all be interested, if you are willing to talk about it?”
“Not a problem Jennifer”, Harold Vick replied. “I am not proud of what I did. I was a partner in a law firm that did a lot of estate and trust work. My partners and I were all making a very good living. But I had a weakness for gambling and had run up a tab with one of the casinos. The casino could have me enslaved if I defaulted on my tab with them. I didn’t find that convenient – so I stole money from two of the trust accounts I was managing for clients. That paid off the gambling debt.”
“Of course I told myself at first that it was only a loan and that I would pay it back eventually. But eventually never came. Instead I was caught by one of my partners who turned the whole matter over to the public prosecutor. The bottom line is I was convicted of embezzlement and sentenced to 7 years of slavery as punishment. I was taken straight from the courtroom to the public auction platform, stripped of my clothing, and sold to the highest bidder, along with all my worldly goods.”
“Did they make you … I mean when you were being auctioned from that platform, did they make you … you know?” Jennifer stammered.
“I guess you have heard the stories”, Harold replied. “It has become standard procedure when a male slave is being auctioned to make him publicly masturbate and ejaculate in front of the bidding audience. It was no different in my case. The bidding goes higher when the prospective buyers can see that the slave is vital.”
“That must be so … well … humiliating” Edgar chimed in. “So what happened next?”
“I was bought by Masterson Automotive, sent to Richmond Slendabond for my slave training, then here to report for work. The rest you know. What about you, Jennifer?”
“I was a dancer with National Ballet of Capitallia – a free employee, not like now”, Jennifer Maisten responded. “But I was barely making ends meet on a dancer’s salary. Only the principal dancers were well paid. I wanted to become a principal dancer which is what led to my downfall.”
“How so, Jennifer?” I asked.
“Well, even though I was a very good dancer, I thought my face wasn’t pretty enough for me to ever get a leading part. I needed plastic surgery – a nose job and higher cheekbones. The cost was way beyond what I could pay on my chorus dancer’s salary. Then I heard they were looking for volunteers to work on the annual fundraising drive, and I began to hatch a plan. Soon, as a volunteer fundraiser, I was finding ways to divert some of the larger donations into my personal account until I had enough money to get my surgery.”
“With my new face I found I was getting more opportunities to audition for leading roles. My career was finally going somewhere – until my embezzlement was detected. The ballet company opted for a private criminal prosecution.”
“You said private criminal prosecution”. I interjected. “I thought criminal cases always had to be brought by a public prosecutor acting for the state.”
“It used to be that way”, Harold said. “In the earliest days of Capitallia there was a feeling that many cases worthy of prosecution were just not being brought forward. In some cases it was just incompetence or inertia by prosecutors, or a backlog of just too many cases. In other cases there was considerable evidence that prosecutors were very deliberately avoiding some controversial prosecutions because of the political fallout they might cause. The result was that justice was not being done – criminals were going free and victims of their crimes had no recourse. So in 2105 an organization called “Citizens for Victim’s Rights” campaigned successfully for a new law called the “Private Prosecution Act” that allowed a private individual to bring a case if they were the alleged victim of a crime.”
“Thank you Harold”, Jennifer responded. “My defense lawyer did explain some of that to me at the time of my trial, but I am sure you explained it much better.”
“The upshot was that I was convicted and then found that the company now owned me for a five-year term and no longer had to pay me a salary. Now they only had to feed me and take care of my medical needs and they could have me dance in as many productions as they wished. But they figured out how to get even more bang for their buck. They sold me to Masterson Automotive with a restriction in the sale agreement that required Masterson to send me over to the Ballet Company for evening and weekend rehearsals and performances. A sentence of five years slavery, like mine, would be a lot easier to bear than five years prison if they would only fix the fucking abuses in the system!”
As I listened to first Harold’s story and then to Jennifer’s I considered my own views on slavery. Before my misfortune I had never really been opposed to slavery as such. I never thought it could happen to me. When it was first introduced in Capitallia I thought it made sense. Why have some criminal rotting away in a prison cell for ten years when they could be doing useful work in the private sector instead? Although I had come to like Harold and Jennifer, I also realized that both of them had committed grand larceny and that the terms of 7 years slavery and 5 years slavery, respectively, were not excessive for the crimes they had committed. I did believe all slaves should have a right to serve their sentences free of inhumane conditions or deliberate torments by their owners, but to tell the truth, I could not in all sincerity argue that they should be released from bondage before serving their allotted sentences.
I wondered if at least one of my fellow slaves had experienced an injustice similar to what I had encountered.
“Edgar”, I asked, “how did it happen in your case?”
“Well, I was working as an economist for one of the smaller banks. I can’t tell you the name of the bank – probably they have wiped that from my memory. I noticed that the bank was cooking its books and made a whistleblower complaint to the banking authorities. The owner of the bank wanted to shut me up and destroy my credibility as a complaining witness.”
“If they could wipe the name of the bank from your memory”, Jennifer asked, “why did they stop with that? Why didn’t they wipe all knowledge of that bank’s conduct from your memory?”
“Good question!” Harold interjected. “I think I may be able to shed some light on that from my knowledge of the law. You see it was a company called “Maxim’s Slaves, Ltd.” that put Edgar through slave conditioning and installed his mind controls. They are reputed to be a highly ethical firm that always obeys the letter and spirit of the law when it comes to what can and cannot be wiped from a slave’s mind. Industry ethical guidelines in this area are that a slave’s mind should not be compromised more than is actually necessary to protect the privacy and/or trade secrets of a previous owner or employer. So it was necessary that Edgar not be able to recall the name of the particular bank, but to deprive him of more knowledge than that was deemed to deprive him of knowledge of his own identity.”
“Thank you Harold”, Edgar continued. So to shut me up and destroy my credibility the bank’s owner made an entirely false charge of embezzlement against me and chose to pursue a private criminal prosecution, which you so well explained just a moment ago in Jennifer’s case.”
“A jury that was heavily stacked with people who had some connection with the bank heard the bank’s case against me. I was wrongly convicted, the sentence was 10 years and I became the bank’s property! The bank had no interest in keeping me long term but they contracted for my slave training and mind wiping and then sold me to Masterson Automotive.”
“That is quite a story Edgar” Jennifer responded. “I had no idea that our slave system could be used to promote such a miscarriage of justice.”
“Then perhaps you should all hear Stephanie’s story”, Harold commented.
I had previously told Harold a few bits and pieces of my tale. I went on to detail the whole chronology of my experience, beginning with my job as a free employee of Masterson, the sexual harassment by my boss Tom Jenkins, my getting fired when I filed a complaint, the fact of my enslavement for 10 years on trumped up debts, and finally, upon my return to Masterson as Jenkins’s slave, his vindictive rape of me. There wasn’t much point going into the other sexual abuses and humiliations because my fellow slaves had all suffered those as well.
At that time I did not seem to recall anything about that horrible afternoon meeting with General Manager Zigler. Perhaps he had wiped my mind so that I could not compromise his marital privacy in my conversations with others.
Everyone was appalled at my story and Edgar’s story. There were several comments about the need for reforms in the slavery system. Just then we were called to dinner.
The next day Zigler summoned me back to his office. At first I had no idea why I was there. Then he said that word familiar to me from my slave training. All the memory came flooding back about that meeting with him yesterday that so outraged me. I felt my adrenalin climbing and my heart pounding.
He closed and locked his office doors and indicated that today would be much like yesterday. But this time he offered me a choice.
“Miss Glenn, if you will just accept that I am your master and agree not to resist my raping of you, I will refrain from disabling your musculature with a post hypnotic command as I did yesterday.”
So that was it I thought. That was why I had been helpless to fight him off. I realized that I was going to be raped no matter what so I might as well not try to fight it. Maybe he was being kind in allowing me to experience some pleasure this way. Later I realized that kindness was no part of it. He simply realized that his own pleasure would be enhanced if my muscles took a more active part in the fucking.
“There is no need to incapacitate me, Mr. Zigler. I won’t fight it.”
“Good girl!” he said as he patted my bottom. “That is certainly a start. But I want more from you! I want your enthusiastic participation in our daily fucks! I want you using the muscles in those long slender legs to wraparound my legs and draw me in.” As he said this he stroked my legs from crotch to calves.
“I want you using the muscles of your belly and ass to buck for me.” With one hand he cupped my left buttock while with the other he caressed my flat and taut abdominal area.
“I want you using the muscles of your vagina to contract for me and milk my penis. Do you think you could do all that?” The hairy hand that had been feeling my abdomen dropped lower and began to caress my vulva.
“After all, the privilege of retaining control of your own muscles should be worth some sort of quid pro quo on your part. Don’t you think?”
After a few days of daily raping by Zigler there was a staff meeting for our working group in which Jenkins broke some rather frightening news. There was to be a team from Slavery Today magazine coming the following day to do a feature story to be titled “Slavery in the Professional Workplace”. The magazine was distributed weekly by electronic means to businesses, government agencies, non-profit organizations and individual subscribers having an interest in novel applications of slavery in contemporary society. The editors had somehow heard about the fact that Masterson Automotive was a pioneer in using slaves for professional work. They thought this would be of great interest to their readers. The team would interview each of us about our work, our feelings about our work and publish each interview with a naked photo of the interviewed slave.
I felt like sinking through the floor. The humiliation I had experienced so far had been bad enough but to think readers all over Capitallia would be reading my intimate story while looking at my naked body was beyond words. Was I to have no dignity as a human being? And who would hire me when my ten years of slavery would eventually be over and I would be free to look for a regular job again?
On the day of the magazine interviews Harold, Edgar, Jennifer and I were assembled for the photo shoot portion. Nudity was a given. The photographer announced that the two males would be photographed in a state of erection, as this would add a bit of spice and boost circulation. He then turned to Jennifer and I and was clearly indicating that it would be our job to act as “fluffers” to get our men to the erect state for the pictures. I had never performed such a personal act in such an impersonal setting before. Jenkins gave us a warning look that let us know we weren’t going to get out of this. Jennifer and I looked at each other to decide non verbally which of us would do which guy. Both of us would have preferred to do Harold since he was an impressive specimen of masculinity, while Edgar was much overweight and his small penis was all but hidden beneath rolls of fat. Yet I didn’t want Edgar to suffer the humiliation of being ignored so I went immediately to him, knelt down, and did what needed doing. With considerable sucking and much massaging of his balls I got his little tool to erect, while Jennifer easily got Harold up. Those shots were soon complete and it was time for us gals to pose. We were made to toy with our nipples until they were erect and the flashes went off.
Then we had the individual interviews with a reporter from the magazine. She was quite persistent in her probing – especially as to our feelings about being enslaved. Then it was all over. We were told this issue of the magazine would be electronically distributed all over the nation within about two weeks.
On my way back to my cubicle Sally Rigers caught up with me.
“Stephanie, you are to report to Jeff Duncan tomorrow morning at 9 am. He didn’t say what it was about.”
A chill went through me as I speculated on what further humiliations were to be visited upon me.
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
Note: If you are enjoying this story author would appreciate feedback to dondaverse (at) yahoo (dot) com.
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