This story was written for a commission

Content Warnings: BDSM Fantasy, non-consensual, M/f, maledom, F/f, lesdom, bondage slavery, kidnapped, sex slaves, anal play, chastity, sensory deprivation, The Narcine Corporation 

ARRIVAL

Will was ready and waiting when the delivery came in.

“What’s the haul?”

“Three females,” Brett answered. “Aged twenty-four, twenty-five, and twenty. We fed and watered them when we got in, so they’re good for awhile.”

There was a round of gagged groans and muffled cursing. Nothing Will hadn’t heard a thousand times before. He looked up from his clipboard just long enough to take note their restraints–cuffs at their wrists and ankles and fat ballgags stuffed into their mouths–before he asked the transporters questions to fill out the basic information. Approximate heights, cup-sizes, hair colors, etc.

One of them, a brunette with roughed up curtain bangs and mostly black clothes on, clearly had a pair of nipple piercings underneath her shirt.

“Kinky one, huh?” Will smirked as he reached out and felt at the hidden metal. “You might like it here.”

She averted her eyes, face flushing bright red.

Will chuckled. “Anything we need to know?”

Brett, the heavy set square-jawed man holding two of the women, didn't respond. He wasn’t much of a talker. But his partner Darlene, a black-haired woman with bare, muscled arms and a loose ponytail flowing out the hole of her baseball cap, was.

“Nothing’s in their systems except maybe some booze. The franchisee got ‘em one by one, all physical captures.” This training facility was under the direct supervision of their corporate bosses, but most of the people who did the actual kidnapping were “franchisees.” Former freelancers the Corporation “bought out.” There were some standards and codes the head honchos expected everyone they employed to follow, but when it came to franchisees they mostly just let them do what they were used to.

The girls didn’t like hearing about their abduction. The pierced brunette and the shorter blonde one shrunk away while the third, an Asian with a face redder than her embarrassed friend was raving and ranting at them. It sounded like she was trying to curse them all out.

Will just nodded. “Alright, let’s get them ready.”

Brett shoved the first new piece of merchandise forward. Will took her arm and pulled her close enough to get a good look and feel, ignoring her struggles as he did. This was the twenty-four year old Asian. Her black hair was in an edgy looking pixie cut with purple highlights and her loose jeans and baggy tee-shirt didn’t look like they did much for her even before they were ruffled up from captivity and transport. She wore sneakers and had probably lost a jacket or sweatshirt at some point. Will took a second to confirm her B-cup breasts and nice, firm ass before he broke out the fabric shears.

The young woman hadn’t exactly been behaving so far, and the sight of the shears didn’t make her any more compliant. Her eyes went wide and she tried to pull herself free of Will’s grasp, but was too tired to put up a real fight.

“Nnnnghhoo!” She shook her head back and forth while futilely attempting to back away. Will just sighed and motioned for Bob, the security guy on duty, to step in and help.

“Hold still,” Will commanded as the guard got a firm grip on her shoulders. “It’s gonna be a lot harder to avoid hurting you if you move around too much.”

The combination of the guard’s grip, Will’s order, and the undeniable logic of his words seemed to finally cow the young woman. She stopped struggling and held very still as Will cut into her clothes, removing them piece by piece until they were shreds on the floor and the Asian woman was standing naked among it all.

“Oh, hey. I almost forgot,” Will said as the guard was picking up the soon-to-be-incinerated scraps. “Darlene, someone brought some of those cookies you like in the breakroom. There should be plenty left by the time we’re done here.”

“Wwwwwgh!?” That was one of the captives. The one with messy white-blond hair, wide eyes, and a nice pair of D-cup tits. She plainly couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

Darlene gave her a smack to the ass. “Quiet down,” she ordered. Then she turned to Will.

“We saw Frank bring them in on our way out this morning. Already had a few. But thanks.”

Will replied with an absent nod as Bob finished tossing out the ruined clothes and picked up an armbinder. The sight of it brought new life to the Asian woman’s struggling and he had to focus on bending her over the room’s padded table, slipping off her handcuffs, and wrestling the leather monoglove up her limbs. Soon enough the straps were over her shoulders and secured tightly. The new slave wouldn’t be going anywhere.

“Put down a note on how stubborn this one is,” Will said to Bob. “She’ll need a firm hand at first.”

“Fhhuuugh ooou!”

With the armbinder on, everything else went by pretty quickly. Next was the hood. The Asian woman burst out in a new round of struggles when she saw the eyeless mass of leather about to be pulled down over her face, but it didn’t amount to much between the armbinder, her position bent over the table, and how tired she was. After that came the posture collar, which seemed to take most of the wind out of her sails. Then they switched out her ankle cuffs for a sturdier leather pair.

She came alive once more when it was time for the plugs. Will could feel her jolt when the first one, cold from the lube, first touched her. She found more energy than he would have guessed to make a valiant effort to squirm away. Sheesh.

But once again she was too tired and too restrained to put up real resistance. Will noted that her clit seemed bigger than average. More sensitive too, judging by the little moan she let out at his touch. The toughest part of plugging her was how tight she was at the sphincter.

“mmmMMMMMPH!!”

“This is the first time anything’s been up here,” Will declared over her objections. He was just about finished twisting the plug into her. There was a groan. She was shaking. Will could hear her ragged breath beneath the zipped up face of the hood.

Finally, with both plugs inside her and a belt running around her waist and through her legs to hold them in, Will and Bob attached a short chain leash to her collar and then to the waiting rack near the door.

With the first item done, Will turned back to the rest of the new merchandise and their handlers at the entrance of the room. Brett and Darlene, now holding one woman each, both had the flat expressions of people who were used to waiting. The women were bug-eyed staring at their friend.

At least they were, until Brett called out one word in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Next.”

CASSANDRA

“Alright ladies, listen up!” Came a voice once Priscilla and Ellen were as bound up as their friend.

This couldn’t be happening. This. Could. Not. Be. Happening.

Those thugs who jumped them last night—Cassandra Linh couldn’t even tell if it really was last night or if they had been transported in that pitch dark truck bed—had forced her and her friends Priscilla and Ellen into handcuffs. They’d stuffed rags and ball gags into their mouths and stored them away like prisoners. Then they passed them off to people who treated them like livestock instead of people.

Cassandra had been forced to wait, chained to a wall, for these people to finish subjecting her friends to the same humiliations as her. She squirmed and pulled at the chain at her neck, unable to get any sense of where she was with the hood blocking her sight and the leather thing holding her arms behind her back. Her shoulders were already aching and the fucking things they’d stuffed inside her ass and vagina kept shifting around.

When Priscilla and Ellen were as restrained as Cassandra they were all led through this place in a coffle. Chains ran between each of their collars, ending with an actual leash at the front of Cassandra’s throat.

“The three of you are now private property. Slaves.”

No. No no no fucking no. 

“That means these sexy bodies of yours–” there was a squeal that sounded like Ellen. The fucker must have touched her “–aren’t yours anymore. They belong to your owners. Right now, that’s us. In the future… who knows?”

Cassandra couldn’t listen anymore. “Fuuuhhgh ooou!”

The speaking man, it was a new voice and not one of the people Cassandra saw before this hood was forced onto her head, ignored her.

“In the coming weeks and months you’ll be trained to behave and obey. If you misbehave, you will be punished. But before that we need to process you. You’ll be taken in one by one and asked a series of questions about your background, medical history, that sort of thing. We’ll be getting your records ourselves, so if you lie we will find out and you will be punished for it. That’ll be in a few hours.”

“Hhhnoughss?!” That sounded like Priscilla.

“Yes, hours. We have another shipment coming in later today and we like to get it all done at once. In the meantime, we’ll let you have a little something so you don’t get bored.”

The plugs inside of Cassandra abruptly came to life, vibrating intensely enough that she could only gasp as she struggled to stay upright. Waves of pure physical pleasure were exploding out of the Asian woman’s most sensitive areas.

“Mmmmmgmhpppph!” Cassandra could hear her friends moaning as loudly as her.

“Enjoy it while it lasts, ladies! From here on out only good girls get pleasure!”

The vibrations intensified out of nowhere, and Cassandra’s knees buckled under the force of it.

This couldn’t be happening.

TRAINING 

Three Weeks Later 

It had been a couple months since the new guy started, and he couldn’t believe how routine it all was.

First you got the inventory out of bed. They slept in cots, their collars and cuffs chained to the bed frames, leather mitts on their hands to keep them useless, and their heads still entrapped in hoods. The hoods were a near-constant thing for the slaves, on their heads for most hours of the day to keep them blind and remind them of their new positions in life. It usually only took a week or so before they were so grateful to have them taken off that they obeyed without trouble.

At that point in the training, there was a slight change. The inventory would get new hoods with removable blindfolds and zippers to make it easier for gags to go in and out when they were bad or good. This was the point where the blindfolds and earplugs became punishments instead of standard. The inventory didn’t like it when they weren’t allowed to see or hear, but they had to learn those senses were privileges for them now, not rights. Slaves didn’t have rights.

It didn’t take the new guy long to learn that all you had to do to get a naughty slave in line at this point was bring out the blindfold. Just showing it to one of them was almost always enough to make them behave. One of the slaves he was usually assigned, the asian one with the purple highlights in her hair, acted out more than most others. He was soon very familiar with the fear that made her eyes go wide when he pulled out the blindfold. The way her head would shake and she tried to back away. As if. With fetters and that armbinder on her it was easy to get her under control and the blindfold on. She only needed the earplugs a few times before she got the message after that.

After the wake-up call came the day’s first bathroom break and “shower.” Which was to say they were all hosed down and given some towels to dry off with. Next was breakfast, though the new guy wasn’t sure if you could call the supposedly nutritious paste they were fed a meal.

Then came the day’s training. For a guard like the new guy, that mostly meant hauling the inventory around all day. Taking them to and from the different rooms where they were given their lessons, made to exercise, and bound and gagged in all kinds of different ways with all kinds of different things to get them used to their new lives.

It was pretty interesting at first, but it got routine fast even if it could still be fun from time to time. Every few days the new guy would get curious and poke his head in. Just yesterday he caught sight of the brunette with all those pre-acquisition piercings in a tight hogtie. Aw, man. It was great.

First her arms were bound ramrod straight with rope so tight it looked more harsh than the armbinders. The nylon material was at her wrists, her elbows, and even onto her upper arms to keep them jutting out. Her wrists were then bound to her knees instead of her ankles, which were folded over the arms and bound to her elbows. Then she was left to wriggle on the floor while the rigger occasionally poked at her nipple and pussy piercings. The new guy chuckled loudly enough that the rigger heard and waved him over to mess with her a bit. He’d brought out a nice pair of anatomically correct dildo molds to shove up her holes. Fun day.

Sometimes the new guy got to volunteer for stuff. The inventory had to practice what they learned on someone, didn’t they? To the new guy’s surprise, his favorite times to volunteer were the ones he didn’t need to drop his pants for. Lap dances were something he always tried to sit down for. A couple of times now he got to be the practice dummy for that white-blonde with the big titties and butt. Ellen, he thought he remembered the purple-haired asian calling her early on.

Hot damn, she was good. Just oozed sex. When she danced for a trainer she would constantly be giving them little touches here and there, just at the right moments and in the right places to send jolts of electricity up and down the new guy’s body.

Okay, maybe the new guy was wrong about it all being too routine. This job kicked ass.

Still, the more tedious parts of the day never went away, no matter how many fun bits there were. Herding the inventory from room to room, then back to the cafeteria for lunch, then over to a new lesson, then off to their bathroom break.

Taking them to the bathroom always took a chunk of minutes, since it involved pulling their otherwise ever-present plugs out of both holes and stuffing them back in when they were done and clean.

The schedule was never exactly the same from one day to the next, because making the entire process too routine might help the inventory get a good feel for the time of day. But for the guards, moving them to each different destination was all more or less the same.

And at the end of each day, it was time to get them all back into bed.

“What’s playing on these headphones anyway?” Asked the new guy at bed time one night. He and Bob were on guard duty today, getting the inventory down so they could rest up for their next day of training. “I mean, I know the gist of it is that they’re telling them they’re slaves now. But do you know what the headphones literally say?”

Instead of answering out loud Bob tossed the sleeping hood he was putting on the head of the pierced brunette over to the new guy. “Listen for yourself.”

It took a bit of fiddling to get one of the earbuds embedded into the hood turned out enough for the new guy to stick one in his ear.

The first thing he heard was all the white noise, sounding like a steady rainstorm thumping on the roof above your head. It was actually kind of soothing. Then came an abrupt, discordant SMACK accompanied with an immediate squeal. The new guy recognized a cry of pain and the sound of a bare palm striking an ass when he heard them. He was listening to a punishment. The voice came on at the same time as the next smack.

“You know better than to disobey, slave. Disobedience is punished. You are property. A toy. A slut. An object to be enjoyed by your betters. This is what happens when you are disobedient. 

For the next few dozen seconds he heard instruments of pain and their resulting cries, all accompanied by the hypnotic voice reminding the listener how important it was to obey and be good. Thunder would sound in the background, the wind would pick up.

Then the audio shifted. The raindrops softened a bit and the new guy thought he could hear some chimes in the distance. Audio of punishments and pain faded away in favor of the familiar sound of a buzzing vibrator that went on for a bit. Eventually an accompanying moan joined it.

“Obedience is pleasure. A good slave knows her place, knows to be obedient. When you are obedient, you may be rewarded. Being rewarded is a great privilege. You love it when you are allowed to feel pleasure.” 

And more platitudes like that then went on for a bit.

The new guy took the hood from his ear and tossed it back to Bob. “Is listening to that stuff really going to make them all obedient?”

Bob shrugged. “This facility isn’t meant to do all the training, the rest of that happens when they get where they’re going. Here we just do most of the breaking. The audio tracks reinforce what we teach them all day. Isn’t that right, honey?”

The brunette Will was speaking to gave him a polite nod and raised her head so he could pull the hood over it, careful to insert the earbuds in so she could listen to the track meant to reinforce her new place in life.

The new guy didn’t give it much more thought as he and Bob finished putting the inventory to bed for the night.

PRISCILLA

Priscilla didn’t have much trouble falling asleep anymore. At first it had been just about impossible. The discomfort of the bonds at night, the incessant audio in her ears telling her to be a good girl, and the sheer horror at the situation. Now she didn’t think much of it. She was used to the cuffs, collar, and hood. The audio was barely more than background noise. She was just too exhausted from day’s training to freak out at night when she wanted to sleep.

How long had it been since Priscilla and her friends were brought here? Weeks? Months? She knew it wasn’t too long, but she already had trouble focusing on anything that wasn’t between her legs. By the time the trainers took her aside to tattoo the QR code on the back of her neck, where it would be easily hidden by hair or covered with a skin-colored sticker, she barely cared. She was paying more attention to the gently humming vibrators they attached to her nipples and inserted into her to distract her.

At this point sex was essentially the focus of Priscilla’s life, along with bondage and the occaisional burst of pain. Priscilla didn’t like it. She dreamed of escape just like everyone else. But she didn’t quite see the point in actively fighting back. Her captors knew what they were doing. She would never stop keeping an eye out for a chance to break away, but she also knew how unlikely it was that she would get a chance.

So she endured. She obeyed. And whenever she could get away with it, she took what little pleasure she could from it. The vibrators were now a welcome distraction instead of an unwanted intrusion. Bed time was a genuine break from being pushed and pulled around, even if it did come with the earbuds telling her to be a good, obedient slave. Obeying wasn’t that hard, after all. What was the big deal?

Priscilla was even starting to take pleasure in the times she was bent over a bench or a table and trained. She didn’t really like it, but she could deal with it.

Hey, it was better than being punished.

They wouldn’t be in this place forever. Priscilla heard the guards or the occasional managed talk about how the slaves would be sent off to new places eventually. Trained to serve customers at other “facilities” owned by the people who owned this one, or maybe even sold to others. That couldn't be worse than this, and the pierced brunette was oddly sure that she would be able to breathe more easily once she got wherever they would send her.

INSPECTION

Once a week, the facility’s manager and its Corporate liaison inspected the inventory. Not every slave. That would take up far too much of their time and they were busy people. Instead they would inspect every slave who had been in the care of her staff for approximatly a month. That was enough time to get a read on how the basic process of training and breaking was coming.

There were poles in the inspection room. Ten at a time, though it was rare for all ten of them to be used at once. The poles were extendable, and at the tip of each was a silicon dildo tip to plug the slaves up anally. There they would stand as they were inspected by the head honchos of the place.

The transporters who first brought the slaves in were expected to be there too. They could have a unique insight to how far the merchandise had come since they were first picked up, and how far they might need to go yet. So a month after Cassandra Linh, Priscilla Horton, and Ellen Schroeder’s new lives started, Brett and Darlene were right there with them.

It was just about Darlene’s favorite part of the job. For her, jumping ahead to see how the sluts had adjusted was just plain fun. She even liked to arrive early to help get all the slaves prepared for presentation. It was the first and one of the most obvious ways to judge how far the slaves had come, since getting their first Corporate butt plug was one of the first things that happened when they arrived. Today’s presentation would feature seven women overall, though Darlene had only transported the three whose names had stuck in her head after a month of checking their files.

It was the early afternoon, just after lunchtime. Darlene was helping to herd today’s property to be inspected through the hallways. She was near the front of the line, giving Cassandra a light shove now and again to keep her on track. The others didn’t need that as much. They were all bound up in their armbinders and hoods, unblindfolded at the moment. Even Cassandra had become a good enough girl that she was allowed to see more often than not.

The first test came when the slaves entered the room and saw the floor mounted dildos set up in a row. Every one of them froze or paused at the sight of them as they walked inside.

“Hurry up, sluts!” Darlene called out, taking care not to shove anyone. “All of you stand at attention in front of a pole, we’ll get you on them one by one. Chop chop!”

There was hesitation, but it passed in seconds for each of them and then the slaves were following instructions. None of them had to be forced or directed past that point. Each and every one marched up to a pole in two neat rows.

“Let’s start with you, troublemaker,” Darlene teased Cassandra, who took a deep breath and stiffened up but made no attempt to resist, fight back, or even say anything. It almost disappointed Darlene, she’d been hoping to get a bit more fight from the bitch. But that was fine, she knew how to mess with her.

Once Cassandra was positioned over the dildo, Darlene went to one knee so she could start extending the pole. She used deliberate movements to draw out the process. After years of use the poles made plenty of squeaking noises as they were moved, so Darlene knew Cassandra was getting an earful as she inched the thing up, not too slow but not fast at all. It didn’t take long before Darlene saw the Asian slut start to shiver and shake in place. The anticipation was getting to her, and that made Darlene smile.

She heard Will snort and Brett chuckle. They both knew what she was doing. Neither of them had moved to impale the other inventory as she worked. They were too busy enjoying the show.

Finally, after about twenty or thirty seconds–which probably felt like a lot longer than that to poor Cassandra–the dildo made contact with the slave’s skin. Cassandra jumped a little, jostling herself out of position without meaning to after waiting what must have seemed like forever.

“Don’t move, troublemaker. You know better than that.” Darlene paused long enough to deliver a good smack to the bitche’s backside, enjoying the pained grunt she got in return. Then she was back on the job, Inexorably and consistently pressing the dildo further and further up, guiding it into the rim of Cassandra’s backdoor hole. She had to push just a little harder when the sphincter attempted to stand in the way, drawing a long, pained grunt from Cassandra until–there!

“MMMmmph!” Cassandra’s grunt ended with a flourish as the dildo was shoved all the way inside of her until she had to stand just a little on the balls of her feet to give herself that last, miniscule bit of space.

“There we go,” smirked Darlene. She added another smack to Cassandra’s other cheek. “Remember how much she squealed the first time you gave her a plug, Will?”

“Oh yeah. And now she’s a good girl, taking what she’s given.”

Cassandra whined some more shifted in place as she was mocked, driving the dildo a little further into her. But Darlene was already moving on to the next space and ordering Priscilla into position.

The brunette slut with the piercings that had since been replaced by new ones had become a good, obedient slave in her time in the training facility. She barely reacted to anything anymore and did her best to keep a straight face at all times, only breaking when she got a little pleasure out of it. It was both good and bad. Obedience was good, but the facility didn’t want to wipe out every slave’s personality. They wanted some life in their inventory. That was one of her main reasons why Corporate Training Facilities only did the initial breaking and let the inventory’s destinations handle the rest of their training.

Fortunately Darlene knew just how to pull some life out of the slut.

There were no cautious, deliberate motions this time. Dalrene didn’t methodically torment Priscilla with a steady pace the same way she had with Cassandra. She just shoved that dildo right on up into the brunette.

“OOOAAMMMPH!” Cried Priscilla. She jumped too, just as involuntarily as Cassandra had. It didn’t matter. Darlene was still pushing the dildo up and that jump only served to drive it further into her ass when gravity brought her back down.

“MMMmmmmMMMMMPHhhh!” Her voice went high and low as she adjusted to the abrupt intrusion. Darlene laughed out loud and heard the others in the room do the same.

She was still chuckling when she came to the third of “her” girls, Ellen Schroder. The white-blonde twenty-year-old was shaking the way she always did, more out of raw sensuality than fear. Ellen was always shoving herself up against anyone who came close, probably not even aware that she was doing it. Darlene hadn’t needed the toxicology report to know that the big-titted hippie girl smoked a lot of weed in her previous life. Even now, a month after being forcibly made to go cold turkey, she still managed to seem high as a kite more often than not.

Ellen stood over her dildo with no complaint, and this time Darlene decided to fake her out. She jammed the dildo straight up, stopped when it touched her ass, then brought it back down. The muscular brunette slaver made a show of repositioning Ellen before jamming the dildo up again, just far enough to enjoy a little gasp from her blonde plaything, then brought it back down.

“You just can’t hold still, can you?” Darlene’s teasing elicited an adorable little whine from the slut. “Don’t be naughty now. You don’t want to get in trouble, right?”

She actually shook her head and moved a little, a meek no coming across beneath her good and gag. Darlene’s smirk was a wide open smile now. The big-titted, big-assed bitch was practically begging for it.

No more fake outs. Darlene shoved this third dildo up this third slave’s ass more carefully than she had with Ellen’s friends. She was rewarded with a relieved sounding gasp from her target.

Darlene looked around. All three of the slaves she had delivered were now standing at attention, on the balls of their feet, impaled on floor-mounted dildos and all set to be presented to the higher ups.

Setting up the rest of the slaves didn’t take as long. Darlene hadn’t delivered this batch and wasn’t as inclined to mess with them. There was a chubby Latina with a rose tattoo on her left wrist, a petite black-haired white girl under five feet tall who still squealed nice and loud after her month of captivity, a taller blonde from detroit with plenty of tattoos all over her body that didn’t make a sound, and a skinny ebony milf who still tried to muffle curses at her owners. But they all took the dildos, stood at attention, and were presenting themselves just as easily as the first three.

That was when Mr. Green and Ms. Brown stepped in.

Mr. Green was the facility manager. Darlene and everyone else’s boss. A stocky man, and perhaps shorter than most would expect the manager of a slave-training facility to be at five feet and five inches. Every day he wore a suit—usually pinstriped—that did nothing to disguise the obvious solid muscle underneath it. The man was built like a brick shithouse.

Despite the name, nothing about the corporate liaison Ms. Brown wore was actually brown. She had fair skin that was never even tan and her pale blonde hair was matted tightly into a long ponytail and her eyes were a vibrant green. Her crisp skirt suit was navy blue enough to look black in the right kind of light, complete with sheer dark pantyhose.

It was Mr. Green that decided if the new slaves were ready to be moved along, and Ms. Brown who would decide where each slave would be sent. After this inspection they would confer in private, go over the inventory’s files, and decide what to do with each of them.

“Mr. Green, Ms. Brown,” greeted Will. He was effectively in charge of the presentation.

“Will,” greeted Mr. Green. “Let’s not stand on ceremony today. Show me what we have.”

Darlene was grinning. She loved her job.

ELLEN

It had been a day since the inspection, but Ellen felt like she was still standing on top of that pole, squirming while the dildo-tipped top of it was filling her up and making its presence known with her every movement. She couldn’t get the words of those Green and Brown managers out of her head. A month of training had accustomed Ellen to being treated like livestock, but those two had gone even further than that. They’d discussed her, her friends, and the other kidnapped women in the room as if they were objects instead of living things.

“Have all the procedures been followed?” asked the man, his dispassionate voice at odds with the friendly smile he directed toward his employees. “Contraceptives? Laser Depilation? Are they chipped?” 

“Yes sir,” answered the man who had been there to welcome Ellen and her friends with hoods, armbinders, and butt plugs on that first day. “None of them have shown adverse reactions to the food laced with the standard aphrodisiac and contraceptive agents. They’ve all been shaved in the standard places, the laser depilation applied, and the trackers installed. All by the book.” 

“Why hasn’t this one been marked yet?” That was the woman whose blonde hair was more gold and almost as bright as Ellen’s. She was standing over Ellen, her hand abruptly at the nape of her neck, holding her hair up. “No barcodes anywhere. That should have been done by now.” 

“Those are scheduled for her tomorrow.” 

Now it was tomorrow, and Ellen was strapped down to a bench awaiting whatever marks they were going to ink into her skin. A barcode, the woman had said. And she’d mentioned serial numbers later on in the conversation. Ellen guessed it would be going on her hip, that was where the people here had been spreading cold gel on her just a few minutes ago. She couldn’t see anything. Her hood today included the blindfold even though Ellen hadn’t done anything to warrant a punishment. It must just be “standard procedue” when it was time to tattoo the slaves.

Slaves. Ellen really wished a month or a few weeks or however long it had been wasn’t enough time for her to get used to that word. But it was.

“Alright sweetie,” said a new woman's voice. Ellen hadn’t encountered this person before today. She heard the sounds of a person sitting down on her left side and found herself trying to inch in that direction. “You just hold still, alright? This will go a lot faster if you don’t try to resist at all.”

Ellen took a deep breath, nodded her head, and tried to settle into the leather bondage bench she’d been strapped to. Her hands were splayed out to her sides, her legs chained securely to the metal, padded stands that held the whole contraption up. Whatever was going to happen to her, it was going to happen no matter what she thought about it.

“Good girl,” said the woman, and Ellen tried to ignore how much her heart fluttered to hear it.

DECIDING THEIR FATES

“So,” said Mr. Green to his colleague. “How much time will you need to pick out their destinations?” 

Ms. Brown was still looking over the files, her eyes mechanically scanning page after page at a pace most of her colleagues envied. Speed reading was a useful skill. “Not much time. The Asian one, she’s got enough spirit to make for a good cage girl. I’m sure plenty of customers will enjoy her red, angry face when they bind her up in the near future in either Vegas or Monaco.” 

Cassandra started most nights off in a cage. She remembered laughing at gogo cages like this in rare clubs back before her kidnapping, wondering what kind of person would choose to go up and dance in cliches like that. Now that she was forced to go up and dance in one, she was starting to see the appeal. There was something kind of thrilling about being cut off from the heavy crowd, even if she was still technically within reach. Anyone could reach through the bars and grab at her legs.

And, more often than Cassandra would prefer, they could pay to have her taken out of the cage. Then Cassandra would be their captive for the rest of the night. On those nights Cassandra would be dragged along by the leash that was otherwise attached to the top of the cage. She’d be arm candy until they took her off into one of the side rooms with all the bondage equipment. Cassandra wasn’t the most popular cage girl, but she wasn’t the least popular either.

When she arrived at the club in what she eventually came to learn was Monaco, there had been just enough of the purple highlights in her hair that her new managers decided to go all the way and dye it all a bright neon purple. And not just on her head, the neat little strip of fuzz between her legs that seemed to be all the hair she could grow down there now was dyed too.

Her outfits were the same shade of purple too. Cassandra was usually dressed the way she was tonight: in a tight latex outfit. There was bustier, complete with matching opera length gloves, panties, and thigh high stockings to go underneath her thigh high boots, which were the only things that weren't latex.

Sometimes they’d put her in other outfits. A bunny girl costume, a full on catsuit with optional ears and tail, a tight minidress, anything the bosses thought would be sexy. The only constants were the plugs and the color. All of it was always purple. Even the earplugs they gave her to not destroy her hearing in the loud club were purple.

They’d gone so far as to rename her Violet, to match.

But Cassandra tried to look on the bright side. At least she wasn’t stuck having to pretend to be happy like the waitresses. Poor bitches. They always had to keep a smile on her face. But Cassandra? She couldn’t be as angry as she wanted, that would get her punished, but the whole point of cage girls was that they would resist, at least a little. She could flip off the assholes who tried to grab at her and cuss at the customers who paid to take her out of the cage.

It wasn’t much, but it was something. Enough to make her smirk.

“Based on what I’ve read and seen of the pre-pierced brunette, she’s the opposite. Gets just enough genuine pleasure that she’ll do well as a standard servant. She’ll go to one of the resorts, either mountain or beach. Whichever needs new staff the most. They can decide if she’d make a better maid or room girl. 

Priscilla lay waiting on the bedroom, her limbs spread-eagled across the bed and bound to each of the four posts. Against all odds she had come to enjoy living at this mountain resort. Most of it, anyway. The views of the Alps were breathtaking. All she had to do was look outside and see gorgeous snowy peaks.

She’d grown more comfortable in bondage. By now Priscilla almost felt strange when she wasn’t at least cuffed and fettered, much less rope-bound to a luxurious bed. She wasn’t always bound like this when awaiting a guest. Sometimes she would simply be collared to the bed instead, or bound at the wrists and told to kneel at the door. By now she had decided that being spread-eagled was her favorite way to wait.

Admittedly, the vibrators in her pussy and ass helped. They were kept at a pleasantly low intensity to get her hot and bothered for the guests that would be arriving at some point. Priscilla didn’t know how long that would take. In her short experience it could be minutes after the sexy, tightly dressed slave-bellhops delivered the guest’s baggage or hours later. They might decide to go to dinner or spend some time on the slopes before finally coming up to their room.

And when they did, they would find Priscilla waiting for them. They would find her in sexy black lingerie, her piercings hair visible underneath, her hair expertly styled–if a bit mussed from lying in bed for so long–and her limbs bound. A complementary bed slave for them to enjoy.

Priscilla was still waiting for her chance to run. But in the meantime, she’d resolved to make the best of her situation.

“As for the younger blonde one… I’m still deciding.” 

“Oh? You think she’s a good candidate for auction?” 

“I do. I know she doesn’t look like much, but something about her seems… inviting. She could probably fit in any Corporate facility, but I think she’d fetch a high price on her own. 

Ellen lived on a yacht now. She hadn’t expected that. A mansion, sure. She’d pictured that. Or a fancy apartment in a big city. In some of her more extravagant fantasies she’d even imagined living in a castle somewhere. Somehow a yacht never seemed to cross her mind. But her Mistress loved the water. She basically lived in the Mediterranean, near one of the islands close to Italy or Greece or maybe Turkey. And that meant Ellen lived there too.

Sometimes she would stand by the water, thinking about how far she might make it if she dove in and attempted to get away. Not far. She knew that much. Her memory of that day when the trainers’ bosses came in and talked about her and her friends was still vivid. She was chipped. All Corporate slaves were chipped, even the ones like Ellen that weren’t owned by the Corporation anymore.

When Ms. Brown had informed Ellen she would be auctioned off, the white-blonde twenty-year-old had instantly pictured herself on a stage, being bid on by a fast-talking salesman like she saw in the movies. Instead she’d been shoved in front of a camera and told to dance around, talk about herself, and let herself get bound and gagged while moaning and mumbling into said gag.

Then. a couple hours later, she was sold.

Jacqueline Baudelaire was the woman who bought Ellen. She was French, and wealthy enough to spend most of her time cruising around on a yacht, toying with her slave. Ellen’s Maîtresse was old enough to be her mother, a tall woman with lusciously long black hair and a penchant for feeling Ellen up whenever she felt like it. Her stone-faced butler was teaching Ellen to speak French.

Ellen thought of this all one morning in bed, her sleeping owner’s arms draped over her while Ellen snuggled into her hold without meaning to. There were a lot of things she didn’t like about her new life. The endless materialism of the wealthy, for one. But she found increasingly that this was her primary complaint. The rest of it, the slavery, her lack of agency, the knowledge that Maîtresse Jacqueline might one day sell her on… she didn’t mind it as much as she should.

Things could certainly be worse.