The screen went blank and 502 stared at it dumbly.
“Over here, 502.”
The slave whipped around and saw a man standing at the entrance to his cell. The tall man was marked as a staff member: he wore a buckled leather cuff around his right wrist and a heavy, stainless steel chronograph on his left wrist. The name tag on his navy polo shirt read “Chris.” Khaki cargo pants tucked into Corcoran boots were held up with a wide black belt that had various items hanging from it. Chris’s muscular build, dark hair and goatee make 502 think of a dominant porn star ready to pounce on a submissive who would become his victim.
Chris pointed to the floor immediately in front of him. Moving quickly, 502 walked over and knelt in front of him.
Continue reading Three Slaves – Part 05
Number 502 headed towards the open wall of his cell and out into the corridor.
“Stay where you are, 502. You’ll regret leaving your cell unescorted.”
He whipped around to see who spoke, but there was no one. As the voice continued, however, he saw the speakers built into the ceiling. He also noticed the cameras in each corner of the room, attached to the ceiling.
“Open the top drawer and put on the items inside. Then read the documents on the desk. Your orientation will begin in about an hour.”
Number 502 debated for a moment, and then turned to the set of drawers along the wall. Stark naked in a strange building, he doubted that he would make much progress in terms of escape. Disobedience didn’t seem like a good idea either, although he hadn’t opened the drawer or read the documents yet . . . .
Continue reading Three Slaves – Part 04
The slave woke slowly. It took him a while to get a grasp on his surroundings and circumstances. As his eyes came into focus and his hearing because more acute, he realized he couldn’t talk. His mouth was filled with a penis gag.
“Welcome back, number 502.”
Number 502 recognized the voice of the “doc.” He tried to turn his head in the direction of the voice, but found his head was strapped down. He let out a small cry that came out as a gurgle.
“Try to relax as I explain. Note that this is not a conversation. You’ll learn more about your situation shortly, but for right now you need to know that you are here to play the roles we assign you. Think of yourself as a member of Mr. Crummles’s troupe.”
Number 502’s eyes widened slightly, either from the reference or from the “doc” coming into view.
“Yes, 502, we know about your fondness for Dickens. We know a lot about you. Mostly, we know you like to be controlled and you will fit well into your new occupation.”
Continue reading Three Slaves – Part 03
The Third Slave
The third slave didn’t know how long the ride had been, just that it seemed to last forever. He was shifting uncomfortably from the pressure on his bladder when the van came to a stop.
The driver opened the door of the van and stepped in. Before unlocking the slave’s leg irons, the driver pulled up the legs of the slave’s jeans and locked a stun cuff onto each of the slave’s legs.
“Do you want me to demonstrate these?”
The slave shook his head vigorously. He’d seen demonstration videos online.
“Then keep your mouth shut and follow my instructions.”
The driver removed the slave’s wrist shackles and fitted him with transport irons: A waist chain with a handcuff on each side. After these shackles were in place, he removed the leg irons and freed them from the ring in the floor. The driver directed the slave to sit at the edge of the van, his legs dangling out. The driver reshackled the slave’s legs. The slave was grateful that the irons went over his jeans and away from his Achilles tendons.
Continue reading Three Slaves – Part 02
Note: the change between pronouns (he/it/his/its) reflects the state of mind of the master and/or slave at that moment in the account.
The first slave was taken to a mine. His irons and collar were removed, but a ten-pound collar was locked around his neck. He would be fitted with the equivalent of an Organ boot: a weight around his ankle that would prevent him from running. In the mines, the collar would be chained to a ring near the slave’s work spot and his leg iron removed. The iron would go on again when the slaves were rotated out to be fed and watered and rested. At night, lucky slaves could have their heavy collars removed if they offered the guards their bodies.
The slave dealer herded the two remaining slaves into the back of the van. Leg irons, run through rings welded to the floor of the van, were attached quickly and the doors slammed on the cargo.
Hours later, the van arrived at a rural location. The driver was met by a tall man in a sheriff’s uniform. The two men talked briefly, exchanged envelopes, and then the dealer opened the door. He unshackled one slave’s feet, neck, and wrists. The slave gave no thought to escape, particularly since the sheriff held a taser.
Continue reading Three Slaves – Part 01
All is true.—Shakespeare, Henry VIII
The text message read: You have two minutes to get dressed and be ready. Unlock the front door.
I was brushing my teeth when I heard the noise at the front door. Then I heard, “Police! Announce yourself!”
It’s hard to announce yourself with a mouthful of toothpaste. I spit, rinsed, and moved from the bathroom to the bedroom as the officer repeated himself and I called out, “I’m here.”
“Come out here!”
I walked into the dark hall to see a flashlight and a gun pointed at me. The officer’s specific words after that escape me. They were nonstop directions that ended only when I was lying face down on the carpet at the end of the hall, arms out to the sides, palms up. The officer knelt, grabbed my left wrist, pulled my arm to the middle of my back, and applied the handcuffs. After he brought my right hand back to complete the job, I realized he had my palms facing out. He instructed me to stand, providing assistance as I did. He grabbed my left arm and led me out the door.
Continue reading 12 Hours