Thomas loved Farmer’s Markets, especially those out-of-the-way backcountry ones, like the one he headed to now. You never knew what you were going to find; mostly garbage but maybe a hidden gem or two among them and since no one knew about them, it was a great place to pick up some good deals. For someone in his line of business, that could be a real life saver, come the end of the quarter.
“Getting there, on the other hand…” He grumbled. Thomas has been bouncing down a one-lane country road past farms for the last two hours, since he’d turned off the highway. It was, theoretically, paved, but at times it seemed the road was more pothole than road. Thomas scanned the farms as he drove past, looking for the one that this market was supposed to be at. “Hope I haven’t missed it.” He thought. If he had, his chances of finding it, if not making it back to civilization altogether, seemed pretty thin.
Finally, he spotted a small hand-written sign stapled to a fence post at the corner of what could charitably be called an intersection. It read “Farmer’s Market Today: Produce, Craft Goods, Livestock Sale. 2 Miles ->” Thomas turned the truck onto the gravel trail that wound through a thick stand of trees. The truck bounced worse than it had on the last road, but at least he was sure he was on the right path. More homemade signs dotted the trees, guiding him on to the Farmer’s Market until he burst free of the woods and saw it ahead of him.
The market was being held in front of a pleasant looking farmstead. Ahead of Thomas were large open fields, some recently harvested, others lying fallow. One of these was apparently being used for parking, judging from the collection of beat up pickups and cars scattered about it. The long gravel road leading to the house was lined with small booths and pavilions, but most of the action was gathered around a large, rust red barn.
Thomas parked his truck and got out. As he walked back to the road, he scanned the rows of other vehicles, getting a feel for how busy the market would be, and what sort of competition he would be up against. This Farmer’s market looked a bit more crowded than usual for one so far off the beaten path, but luckily most looked to be locals. Thomas only saw one car that was for sure an out-of-towner. It was like Thomas’: a somewhat battered white pickup. The bed had been converted: bars placed all around and above turning it into a mobile cage. On the side was a logo: SlaveMart International.
Thomas walked past the stalls and stands selling fresh eggs and produce, hand carved decorations and beeswax candles towards the barn. Sure enough, visible above the large crowd of men waiting outside was a banner which read: “Livestock Auction” As Thomas worked his way through the crowd, he saw a small, temporary platform had been erected out in front. An auctioneer stood atop it, taking bids from many of the men on what proved to be a wire-cage full of hens.
“Girls don’t go up for sale till two.” One of the locals told Thomas, directing his attention to a sign on the front of the platform. After the chickens, there would be goats, pigs and sheep auctioned off and finally, as the man said, girls at 2 o’clock. “They’re being held in the barn though, if you want to look ‘em over before they’re sold.” Thomas thanked the man and circled the crowd, heading for the barn doors, one of which was open, a steady stream of men coming and going through it.
When Thomas had entered and his eyes adjusted to the gloomy interior after the bright midday sun outside, he saw the barn was divided into wooden stalls, some gated, some open. Those closest to the doors had the goats, pigs, sheep and more that were to go up for auction next. Those further back, however, held two legged livestock, those sans feathers anyway.
Sans anything really. The girls were naked as the day they were born. Thomas guessed there were a little over a dozen in total, a decent amount for a small market like this. All the girls had their hands tied and about half of them had been gagged. They huddled, listlessly in their pens, watching the line of eager men shuffled past and listening to the sound of the auction going outside, knowing it would be their turn soon enough.
Thomas walked to the fist pen and looked in. It held two girls, the younger in her late teens, the older about twenty years of age. A paper sign on the pen door said they were “Lots 1 and 2: Farmer Johnson’s Girls: Mary and Joe-Beth…two healthy, hardworking gals…being sold to cover mortgage payment on the farm.”
Thomas examined the Johnson girls with a keen, practiced eye. Both seemed healthy enough, at least so far as he could tell at a distance. Their naked bodies were trim, wide hipped, small breasted with the sort of muscle tone that told of constant chores around the form. Each had a slight farmer’s tan, face, arms and legs darkened by sun, breasts and belly noticeably paler.
The girls’ faces were pretty enough, if a bit on the plain side, framed by short, sandy brown hair. Each had a matching pair of brown hair over their crotches. Their expressions were dull, listless, accepting what was going on with glum resignation. That was good. It meant there was a good chance they would take well to the slave conditioning process.
Thomas looked over them for a second and nodded, noting the sisters each had a small steel ring piercing her left earlobe. Hung from it was a small silvery tag, one side with a serial number stamped into the metal, the other a QR code. Good. Both had already been registered with the Slave Bureau. It was one less thing he’d have to do if he bought them and meant he wouldn’t have to worry that they had been illegally enslaved. The company Thomas worked for didn’t like it when they had to give up an expensive item of merchandise just because the person they’d bought her from hadn’t actually been legally allowed to sell her. Noting the two down as good prospects, he moved on.
The woman in the second stall, in contrast to the Johnson sisters, was clearly unhappy with her current predicament. She glared at Thomas as he stopped and looked over the pen’s gate. She chewed angrily on the leather strap between her teeth, grunting muffled curses and insults with vehemence. The sign outside her pen read: “Lot 3: Emily White…Sold by husband following a quarrel…Buyer will need a good rod to tame this hellcat.” A few red marks on her naked flanks said someone had taken that advice to heart getting her into the pen.
“Too bad…” Thomas thought. Despite her attitude, she was a very pretty woman: tall and slender with fiery red curls, real too judging from the bright patch covering her sex. Seeing where Thomas’ gaze had drifted drew more curses from the farm wife. “Well…maybe if I can get her cheap…” He thought.
The next pen held another farmer’s daughter, unremarkable. Thomas pushed past with a cursory examination, to the pen beside hers. This one, in contrast to the previous two, was positively packed, holding an older woman in her forties and a knot of girls in ages ranging from 18 to 26, all with dark brown hair in a variety of styles. The notice on the gate simply said: “The Peterson Family…Selling out and going to Vegas…George P.”
Thomas was given to understand, from another fellow eyeing the Peterson womenfolk, that much of the non-human livestock up for auction at that moment belonged to the disgruntled farmer. He’d decided, all of a sudden, to sell the entire farm lock, stock and barrel: house, lands, livestock and women. “Did it so suddenly he didn’t have time to get them registered.” Thomas noted. Unlike the previous lots, none of the miserable girls in this pen had a slave tag visible. “Still, some of them would be worth the hassle of doing it myself.” He thought, eyeing the youngest daughter with a leer that made the teen cringe.
After two more pens holding plain looking farm girls not worth lingering over, Thomas came to the last pen and something really different. The final pen on the row held a trio of girls, but unlike the Johnson girls or the Petersen family, the young ladies inside this pen were completely different from one another.
On the left side of the pen was a tall, pale skinned girl. The neatly trimmed patch of fuzz on her crotch told Thomas she was, ordinarily, a brunette, but her short, spiky hair was currently dyed a bright shade of blue. As she turned, grunting angrily through the leather muzzle between her lips, Thomas could see a couple piercings, in addition to the slave tag on her left ear, including one on the side of her nose and another on her lower lip.
Beside her, in the middle of the trio, was a shorter, stockier hispanic girl with long, wavy black hair with multicolored highlights, curvy hips and large, perky breasts with pierced nipples. Thomas noted with a wry smile whoever had tagged the three had taken advantage to hang the metal slave tag from her left tit. In addition to those, she had a tattoo of a rose on her right hip. The girl looked up at him, moaning plaintively into her gag with an expression of fear and disbelief.
The last girl was tall and athletic, with dark skin and short, curly brown hair. She had a couple of tattoos as well, some in rather intimate places and similar piercings to the other two, including her slave tag. She was looking around with an expression of total bewilderment, as if she had no idea how she’d ended up in a smelly barn, naked, bound and gagged.
Thomas looked over at the sign on the pen. It read: “Three City Girls caught trespassin’ on Farmer Wilson’s Property.” Thomas scratched his head. He knew, as someone in his profession had to, under the modern slave laws, a female could be sold as a slave either by a court order, in lieu of regular sentencing, or by a male relative, usually her father or husband. Getting to sell any random girls you caught on your land, while a pleasant idea, just didn’t happen.
He voiced that aloud to one of the other men examining the trio. In the pen, the short, dark haired girl nodded her head vigorously and grunted something that might have been: “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell these yokels!” but thanks to the strap across her mouth came out as “Aaas uuhy aahv nnn aaynngg ooh eell eess oo’lls!”
The farmer he asked just shrugged. “Well, I don’t know the laws too well myself, ain’t like I got me a wife or girl to sell…but after ol’ Harry Wilson found ‘em campin’ on his land and trussed ‘em up, he took ‘em over to the sheriff and got the paperwork done up right and he says we can sell ‘em. Sides, from what I heard, with what these girls had in their systems when Wilson found their tent, they would’a gotten collared anyhow…If you want to make sure, you can ask the Sheriff yourself. He’s out watching the auction, I believe. Just give a shout for Sheriff Bobby Wilson…” In the pen, the blue-haired girl grunted angrily into her gag. Thomas didn’t bother translating her colorful descriptions of the Sheriff or his cousin.
He shrugged. It wasn’t, strictly speaking, the proper way of doing things, but law enforcement in these rural parts tended to work differently, especially if there was a pretty out-of-town gal involved. If the local law enforcement representative had signed off on the girls’ sale, as the slave tags they wore testified, as far as the system was concerned, they had been legitimately enslaved and anyone trying to dispute that in court would have a hard time against the company’s lawyers. Little they may like it, but these three were stuck with it.
After giving the unlucky trio another quick look over, Thomas went back outside. He mingled with a few other men, chatting about which girls they hoped to buy, or musing about selling a wife or daughter at the next Farmer’s Market, until the hour for the slave auction arrived.
“Okay gents, I know yall’ve been waiting patiently, so let’s git this here shindig started!” The auctioneer called from up on the stage. With the rest, Thomas made his way over, fighting to get as close to the front of the crowd as possible. As they did, one of the barn doors opened and a man came out leading the first girl towards the stage. She shuffled along obediently, but looked at the crowd of potential buyers with wide eyes apprehension.
“This here’s Lot #1, Mary Johnson!” The auctioneer declared as the girl shuffled to the front of the stage. “Now you local boys’ll have seen her out in the fields so you know she’s as hard a worker as she is purty. So who wants to start the biddin’ for her at $500?” Hands shot up all through the crowd, Thomas’ among them. The auctioneer called out bids, slowly, but steadily rising. After a while, it was down to Thomas and another man in a white polo and sunglasses: the other slaver purchasing agent, Thomas guessed. Given they were both bidding with their company’s money, it was unsurprising they soon outstripped the local farmers. Eventually, Thomas won with one final bid.
“Sold to the gentleman near the front! You kin come an’ collect her any time!” The auctioneer said. On stage, a paper tag was hung around Mary’s neck, with the price of her sale on it. She was led back to the barn, passing her sister along the way. Joe-Beth took her position on the stage as the auctioneer introduced her and the bidding got started. Again, it came down to Thomas and the other agent. After pushing it to a similar price as her sister, Thomas bowed his head and let the other man buy Joe-Beth.
As she went to rejoin her sister for the final time, Emily White was dragged out, struggling and cursing through her gag as she was stood up on the stage before the crowd. This time, there was a third bidder, one of the local men, who was unusually determined in his bidding. As Thomas had already decided Mrs. White was a marginal pick, he dropped to save money for the later girls. Even if he was spending company cash, they didn’t like him wasting it. He was unsurprised when the other agent dropped out soon after.
On stage, Emily screamed in horror as she saw who had bought her. The man ran forward, not even waiting for them to drag her down off the platform. He grabbed the naked woman and threw her, kicking and struggling over one shoulder, meanwhile digging a wad of cash from the pocket of his overalls. After paying for her, the man turned and carried Emily off bucking and screaming, in the direction of the cars. From the conversations around him, Thomas was given to understand the man had been Emily’s high school sweetheart for many years until she dumped him suddenly to marry Mr. White, who had now sold her back as a slave to her jilted ex.
So the auction continued. Thomas sat out the next auction, not considering the chubby farm girl on stage worth it, but bid steadily on each of the Peterson girls as they were led out one by one to be sold. He got three of the girls, Henrietta, Mabel and Prudence, while the other agent picked up the two others. The mother, looking miserable as she’d been listening to her daughters being sold to different buyers, was bought by a local man.
Thomas put in tentative bids on the next two girls, but let them go to local boys who seemed pleased with their purchases, more pleased then Thomas’ bosses would have been if he’d brought them back. As the second plain Jane was led off, a murmur went through the crowd. It was time for the three city girls.
First up was the blue-haired girl. Her name was Alyssa Philips, according to the auctioneer. She shuffled up on stage with the greatest reluctance and glared at the crowd angrily as the farmers hooted and jeered. Thomas bid high for her, going back and forth with his opposite number for several minutes before the other man bowed out.
Next was Gabriela, the short, dark haired girl. She was trembling with fright as the bidding got started, as it finally sunk in for her that there would be no last minute reprieve and she was really going to be sold as a slave. When Thomas threw out his final bid and the auctioneer cried “Sold!” He thought she might faint then and there but managed to stagger, supported by the auctioneer’s assistant, back to the barn to await her new owner.
Finally the tall, dark skinned girl, Melanie, walked out as if in a daze. Thomas thought he might get lucky and claim all three of them, but his opponent seemed determined to bag at least one of the prizes of this auction. Mindful of how much of his company’s money he’d already spent that day, Thomas bowed out as gracefully as he could. Melanie was sold to the other man.
“That’s all the girls we have for you today, folks!” The auctioneer called as the numb African-American girl was led off the stage. “But lord willin’ we’ll have some more for you at next month’s Farmer’s Market.”
He certainly would, from the murmurs of the farmers around Thomas. While he’d probably annoyed several would-be buyers who were unhappy being outbid repeatedly, the men selling the girls had been quite pleased with the unexpectedly high prices they’d gotten for their wives and daughters. Others had noted the windfall and doubtless would be hoping it would happen again. Between now and next month’s auction, Thomas guessed more then a few hapless wives and daughters would lose their freedom. He grinned, thinking of the opportunities…
Before heading to the barn to claim his purchases, Thomas jogged back to his truck. From a storage locker in the rear of the cabin, he grabbed a small bag and tossed in a dozen or so shackles with 2’ chains, a lockbox with the funds for this little purchasing excursion and a short leather flogger.
As he approached the barn again, Thomas passed his opposite number, collecting his winnings. The girls had been roped together at the neck into a short coffle. They stumbled after the man as he led them out of the barn, sniffling and weeping. The two slavers exchanged friendly nods, one professional to another.
Inside, the only girls remaining were those he had purchased, crowded into one stall. Thomas squared up with the men selling them, then approached his six newly purchased slaves. “I’m only going to say this once, slaves…” he told them, emphasizing the word ‘slaves’ to drive home to them that was what they now were. “Be good, do what you’re told and things won’t be so bad. Cause trouble and you’ll be in a world of pain!”
The farm girls looked at him numbly, accepting it with dull resignation. Alyssa and Gabriella seemed more doubtful, but bound and gagged they had no choice but to accept it. With the rest, they glumly shuffled out of the stall when he opened the gate and ordered them out and into a line.
Taking the shackles from his bag, Thomas went down the line, snapping cuffs around the girls’ ankles. One cuff of each shackle was locked to one girl, the other to the girl ahead or behind her in the line, alternating left and right so that, save for Mary at the front and Gabriela at the back, each girl was shackled to the ones in front and and back of her, joining all six in a slave coffle.
“Now we’re going to practice marching…” He said, drawing the short leather flogger from the bag, drawing gasps and frightened whimpers from the girls. Certain they were paying attention, he said in a loud voice, “Alright slaves! Left foot forward! Now right! Now left! Right! Left!”
Dully, the six slaves complied, stumbling here and there as one of them got confused and moved the wrong foot. But soon they fell into the proper rhythm, moving in sync with each other and by the time they shuffled out of the barn they were moving at a decent pace, the shackles on their feet jingling merrily over the nose of the market still in progress. Thomas took position at the front of the line, guiding them back to where he was parked.
At the rear of the truck, Thomas ordered the line to a halt. Starting from the back of the line, he unchained Gabriela from the rest and dragged her to the small hatch in the cage which covered the truck’s bed. He lifted the squirming girl through it and ordered her to lie down on her belly. As she struggled to comply, he retrieved several hanks of thin cord from his storage locker and used two of them to quickly tie her ankles together and hogtie her. This process was repeated with the rest. When he finished, Thomas looked in the cage at his handiwork: six naked slave girls lay side by side, squeezed in the narrow space, squirming in their tight ropes and moaning in discomfort and fright.
“Don’t worry slaves.” Thomas said, cheerfully. “We’re not driving far…shouldn’t be more then, oh, four or five hours. If I don’t get lost, that is!” He slammed the cage door shut and walked to the driver’s seat, enjoying the cries of dismay from his caged captives. He started the truck up and rolled it forward, drawing more squeals from the girls in the back as the rough bumpy road threw them against each other.
Thomas grinned. “This is what I call Farm to Market…”