Stacia yelped as the truck hit another pothole in the road and jolted suddenly. Her cry was muffled to a low whimper by the gag she wore: the thick leather strap buckled tight over her mouth held a large rubber prong jammed deep inside her mouth. She would have taken off the awful thing, except her hands were locked behind her back in a set of steel manacles. Completing her bondage was a collar, fastened by a chain to the floor of the truck. It was the only thing she’d worn since her abduction, a little less than 2 days ago. The whole of her 23-year old body was on display.
48 hours before, the blonde coed had been enjoying her spring break with a group of her friends from school. The last thing she recalled before the nightmare began was getting a round of drinks, compliments of the manager of the club they were at. Whatever had been in the drinks hit hard, because the next thing Stacia knew with any certainty was coming to and finding herself and the others in some dingy backroom, stripped, shackled, gagged and chained to the wall by these collars. They weren’t the only ones. The room had held over a dozen people; men and women, mostly young tourists like them, drugged and locked away in the back of the club, helpless and scared.
Bad as that was, it only got worse. Five or six hours after she’d woken up, a group of burly, dangerous men had come to collect them all. They’d been taken to a warehouse of some sorts, only the wares being housed there were people: dozens of them, maybe hundreds, naked, collared, shackled and gagged, being held in large cages.
The captives had been split up at that point, by gender. Tommy, Blake and Gene were dragged off with the rest of the men, while Stacia, Alexandra and Becky were put in another pen with a dozen other naked girls. They’d waited in the pens most of the day, growing more and more terrified as the reality of their situation sank in. At one point, some of the human traffickers, there was no doubt that’s what they were or what their plans for the girls would be, came by and inspected the pen of scared, weeping female captives. More time passed before the slavers came again and moved them out of the cage.
All of the women from their pen, plus two more cages similarly packed with women and girls, were herded at gunpoint to another part of the warehouse where half a dozen trucks; big military models with canvas covers over the backs, were waiting. Alexandra and Becky were loading in one of the trucks, along with four other girls. Stacia found herself being lifted into another. The backs of the trucks had wooden benches fitted on either side of the bed. She was seated in the middle of the left bench, squeezed between two other kidnapped girls with a trio of naked captives opposite her. They were all chained down by their collars. Then two of the slavers, dressed in plain, unadorned military style fatigues climbed in the back, cradling nasty looking submachine guns in their hands, to guard the women during the journey.
When all the trucks had been loaded with kidnapped girls, the convoy began to roll out. Stacia saw little of where they were going. Once, when the back flaps came loose lightly, she caught a brief glimpse of the city, a section foreign tourists never came to, before one of the guards fastened it tight again. An hour later, when it happened again, she saw only a narrow dirt road, the truck behind them in the convoy, and thick jungle pressing in on either side.
The rest of the time, Stacia’s world was limited to the back of the truck, noisy with the sound of the truck’s heavy duty engine, stinking of diesel fumes and dust kicked up by the trucks ahead of them and baking in the hot, tropical sun. It shook and bounced as the roads went from merely bad to awful to practically nonexistent. The truck’s suspension, assuming it had ever had one, had been shot long ago, so the passengers in the back were jarred with each rut and bump and there was no end of either.
The last few miles were the worst, following a steep, narrow switchback up the side of a hill or mountain. At the top, the trucks came to a halt once more. Outside, Stacia heard voices, muffled by the thick canvas flaps. They parted, briefly, and a scowling face peered in, looking over the six terrified women inside. Having passed inspection, or whatever that was, the truck rolled forward maybe another hundred yards and halted once more.
At last, the two guards roused themselves from the lethargy they’d slipped into at a point in the trip when even ogling the pretty, naked girls in the truck grew tedious. One of the men slung his gun over one shoulder and hopped out, lowering the truck's tailgate and throwing back the canvas flaps. The other, meanwhile, began unchaining the girls, starting with a slender brunette closest to the back. Dropping her chain back into the truck bed, the man lifted the startled girl up, bodily, and handed her down to his partner who set her on her feet behind the truck.
Two more girls went out and then it was Stacia’s turn. She blinked, passing from the dim, canvas tented interior to bright, midday sun. The young woman looked about in horror and amazement at where they had been brought. The back of the truck looked back out, over the steep hillside which they had climbed. The road itself was only occasionally visible, often only a telltale gap in the tree canopy. Beyond, stretching as far as she could see was an endless expanse of unbroken greenery.
Between her and that primordial mass of jungle were fences; three of them, one after another with gaps in between five or ten yards of bare dirt. Overlooking the fences were guard towers, wooden structures two or three stories tall from which searchlights and the barrels of machine guns poked out threateningly.
“This way! Move you dumb bitch!” A man in the same featureless fatigues growled, rounding on Stacia and some of the other girls gazing out through the fence. He was armed with an intimidatingly big gun holstered at his side and in his hands a short leather whip which he plied without mercy across the shoulder of the closest girl, drawing a muffled scream from her.
Hoping to avoid similar punishment, Stacia turned and stumbled in the direction the man had indicated, joining the crowd of other girls marching from the trucks deeper into the camp. It was a sprawling affair, surrounded by the fences and more watchtowers. Half the space was open ground, with fields of some sort of crops. The other half had buildings, preconstructed structures of corrugated metal, curved on top, rather like an airplane hanger.
The camp was crowded. Stacia saw dozens of men in fatigues, carrying whips or guns, but they were outnumbered at least five or six to one by women and girls. Like Stacia and the new arrivals, all the females she saw were naked, save for the collars they wore. Many also sported gags and manacles on their hands and feet. Many of the captives were out toiling in the fields, supervised by male overseers. Others were doing some sort of exercises in the open spaces between the buildings or hurried about the camps in short lines being led by guards.
The new arrivals were marched to the center of the camp where there was an open parade ground. They were taken to one end, in front of a structure consisting of a long, horizontal wooden beam suspended ten feet off the ground on sturdy poles. As the girls were lined up, Stacia caught sight of Alexandra and Becky, shuffling into place with expressions of shocked disbelief. She tried to hurry and join her friends, but before she got there, the young woman was intercepted by one of the guards.
“Get in line, dumb slut!” He barked and slashed his short whip across her breasts. Stacia staggered, yelling into the gag as fire exploded across her tits where the leather had impacted. Sobbing, she shuffled to the place in line the man pointed out. “And don’t move!” He snapped. “Or else…” Stacia cringed as he raised the whip again, threateningly, but fortunately he did not use it on her again, turning to wheel on more poor girls who were slow to line up with the rest. Soon, all of the new arrivals stood in three rows, trembling with terror at the nightmare to which they’d been brought.
The captives waited a quarter of an hour or more. Any attempts to leave their place in line or try to communicate, was met with the same sort of punishment Stacia had already experienced. Given her tits were still throbbing from the slaver’s whip, she didn’t dare do anything that would give her captors an excuse to inflict that same sort of pain or another part of her body.
Finally, a small group emerged from one of the large, shed-like buildings. The man at the front wore the same sort of plain uniform as the rest, but the way he carried himself, swaggering along, made it quite plain he was in charge here. As he strode up, he looked at the ranks of nude, shackled women and girls with a cruel leer.
Behind him came a quartet of men, carrying thin wooden canes. Each held the end of a long rope, the other end of which was tied around the wrists of a naked, collared girl. The whole group came to a stop in front of the rows of newcomers. The four girls with their hands tied were led underneath the wooden arch. As they did, the men holding the ropes threw the free end over the beam. Two of the men then grabbed hold of one of the ropes and hauled hard on it, lifting the girl tied to the other end up by her wrists until she hung suspended a couple inches off the ground. After tying it off securely, this was repeated with the next girl in line.
As this was going on, their leader stepped forward to address the newcomers. “Listen well, cunts, because I’m only going to say this once and if you fail to take these words to heart, I guarantee you will suffer for it!”
He paused, to let the words sink in before continuing. “It doesn’t matter who you were before you were captured. Now you are all slaves, the property of our organization. It doesn’t matter where you came from, because you are here now.” He waved a hand to encompass the whole of the camp. “I’d advise you to give up any thoughts you might have of escape. Those fences are electrified. The inner one will merely hurt. The middle will knock you out, the outermost is lethal. Any slave spotted outside the fences will be shot on sight. But if you are, somehow, the first one to make it outside the camp, you only have a hundred miles or so to reach the nearest settlement, across the deadliest, hellish jungle you can imagine.”
He paused again, letting the impossibility of overcoming such daunting obstacles fix in the captives’ minds. “The only way you will leave this place is when you are ready to be sold. And we only sell slaves once we are sure they will obey their masters. Obey immediately, without question! Anytime, anywhere, anything! Until then, you will work and you will train. Your lives are now very simple: obey and you will be fine. Refuse, try to resist and see how you will suffer…”
By now, the four girls were all suspended by their wrists. The lead slaver gestured to them. “These slaves all refused to obey. Some of them tried to fight back. See the results of their foolishness…” At a gesture from their leader, the other slavers lay into the four girls with the canes. Ungagged, the piercing screams the slaves let out echoed over the campsite. From her place in line, Stacia watched, horrified as the girls thrashed around, unable to escape the rain of blows. She wanted to look away, but the guards prowled about, threatening any girl who turned her head away from the awful spectacle.
After a brutal ten minutes of this, all four hung limply from the ropes, moaning and sobbing brokenly. Their naked bodies were covered in the marks of the canning. Over their pained weeping, the lead slaver addressed Stacia and the other new arrivals once more. “So you see your options clearly. Obey, or end up like these four…and obey sooner or later anyway.”
He and the other four marched away, leaving their victims strung up as an example. Meanwhile, the other guards got the lines moving again, marching them to some of the huts. Fighting back tears, Stacia shuffled forward with the rest to begin her training…