SHEET OF AGENCY: Money Matters
ANNOUNCEMENT: EXPOSING BARE FLESH FOR INDENTURE
The stentorian voice of a male guard rang out in the tiled corridors of Dr Crenshaw's exclusive spa, heralding my arrival. "Laurie, our new HR Chief," he proclaimed.
A whirlwind of thoughts inundated my mind. What would my daughter Felicity think when she learns how her mother's acquisition would affect her?
Acquired, not hired.
"The terms of employment and indenture," Angie, The Institute's imposing Administrative Assistant, shared during our meeting, "may seem similar, but they have striking differences. Indenture is more than a contract; it's a conversion, a shift in status. With free labor, individuals can come and go as they choose. An indentured servant, though, is binded to a contract for a determined period of time."
"Five weeks ago," I remembered, "my husband and I bought Felicity's bond. We set terms to spread our financial obligation across 15 years. Upon default, our property, which included Felicity, would be up for forfeit. If we failed to maintain payments, my daughter and I would be at risk of exposure to public auction, with my husband included in the auction too. We both were tied to 15-year indentures."
"Visit this," Angie gestured. Just below the window, an orderly line of people -- 40 women and 10 men, their hands tied behind their backs -- prepared to embark on a voyage into unfamiliar waters. "These are the ones who've defaulted on their debt," Angie clarified. "Recently captured locally in Capitalland."
I noticed that most of the captives were women. "Afraid to trust money?" I inquired, "Or could it be easier to manage, control, and manipulate females?"
A self-satisfied air settled onto Angie's face. "The Institute is all about profit, maximizing it with ruthless efficiency. Women generate more revenue than men, especially at auctions where good deals are made on their bodies. It sounded like a sensible decision to select those who will enrich our coffers."
"Why," I questioned, "their exclusive invitation to me rather than my husband?" This thought had been nagging at me.
"The distinction is significant," Angie explained, "Twenty years ago, indentures were clear-cut, long-term contracts, but now they're more ambiguous. If you commit to this indenture, you'll have the power to choose which individuals you wish to retain, and rehabilitate, who might be returned to their previous lives, assisting with loan repayment, or those destined to be privately sold or auctioned."
Angie led me once more to the window. The ritual had commenced. The captives removed their shoes, then their upper garments, allowing a guard to visually inspect their pockets and feel along the seams of their former clothing. Their clothes, inside out, whipped against the fragile skin. They were then instructed to shed their bottoms, then their underthings. Once naked and shivering, the guards swirled personal effects like lingerie in front of them.
"This practice is a customary ritual," Angie continued, "a showcase of the descent from freedom to servitude, stripped bare, raw, and vulnerable, their dignity reduced to naked ambition."
Angie retreated to her seat. "Poor Felicity," I sighed, "A similar public spectacle, sacrificed for her beauty and exploited for her charm, was enacted in her presence, arousing both disgust and desire in my husband."
"After purchasing Felicity, she spent time getting educated at the Institute," Angie filled me in, "Her studious tendencies earned her a position at the Institute, bringing in a meager income and helping her family with the loan repayment."
"What if," Angie launched into my current predicament, "you fail to meet your credit obligations? Then you could meet a similar fate as these others, awaiting the next step of the auction process."
"Wrecked by a disaster," I despaired, "but what about my husband? How would he fare in a context where my demise made him vulnerable?" Such unpredictable consequences disturbed me.
"Abandoned debtors make easy pickings," Angie observed, "Face forfeiture, Felicity might be auctioned as well. As for you," Angie continued with a hint of sarcasm, referring to my own situation, "you're on your way to joining the ranks of those about to be sold or auctioned off. I can't imagine how my husband would cope with that."
Felicity is intelligent enough, Angie mentioned without addressing the question posed, " If people overlooked her height, she could potentially be a courtesan or prostitute. However, her height being only 5 feet 5 inches makes her a couple of inches shorter than what high-class courtesans prefer. Hence, she's more likely to end up in a house of prostitution."
"Women are expected to generate profits for the Institute," I complained, "Can't you help me and free my daughter?"
"It's all about the worth of the person in debt," Angie described a dreadful future, "You're less valuable for being a domestic or a prostitute than your daughter is for being a call girl or courtesan."
"And what about men like my husband or those 10 men down there?" I inquired. That question seemed to appear and vanish in my discussions with Angie.
Avoiding a straightforward answer, Angie offered an appealing option instead. "Indenture into a professional caste," Angie observed, "The Institute requires a new Human Resources chief." Gazing through the window at the seized bondspeople kneeling before a blue-cloaked security person wearing latex gloves, Angie noticed, "A professional caste servant's submission could be `ritualized.' It's a private and respectable process."
On the decided day, in Dr Crenshaw's personal spa, I was set to undergo this ritual. During the ritual, I would provide full submission to The Institute and the tall, athletic, Dr Crenshaw. In return, The Institute Director would appoint me the Institute's new HR head.
Entering the hot tub to greet me, Crenshaw's bare body looked powerful, sandwiched between his two muscular, body-waxed guards. I instinctively gazed from his hairy, curly, dark blond chest to the institute director's bushy pubic hair covering his dangling testicles.
Behind me, Angie, Crenshaw's administrative assistant, delicately rubbed my back while she murmured reassurance in my ear, "Nudity encourages candor, honesty, and trust during business meetings."
Looking at her small baby bump, I joked, "You don't have anything to hide?" An appreciative smile crossed her face. I had known Angie for just a short time, but I realized this was special.
"Buck naked?" Angie returned the quip.
Yes, In Crenshaw's private pool and spa, I remained completely naked. For the ceremony, my hair had been trimmed into the tidy kennel cut that females at the institute were given. My body was glistening, smooth after waxing, traces of pubic hair formed a narrow triangle pointing towards my "entrance".
Inspecting me before the ceremony, Angie casually stroked the chunky hair left across my mound, saying, "This pointed vortex leads to the central attraction." Teasing my nipple instead, Angie remarked, "Hair is less of a beacon to guide the manly member towards the treasure, but rather, a reminder of natural hair color for the potential buyer at the slave auction."
I reacted by shielding my breasts in reflex. Angie swatted my hands away and admonished me, "Be unashamed; have no regrets! 40-year-old, firm boobs, tight butt, and slim waist show that you withstood two pregnancies!"
"My daughter!" I declared.
"The Institute gains profits through the `Milk of Human Kindness'," Angie explained, "It collects money, not from ethical guidance that would require subsidizing a debtor, but by assessing the value of the serviceman's skills against the potential winning bid at auction. Sound business decisions are based on dollars and cents."
"I see," I chided Angie, "As new as I am to the Institute, I understand that it benefits from `Milk of Human Kindness.' Do lactating women have greater chances of being selected for work at the Institute's milking parlor instead of being restored and released or auctioned?"
Stroking my nipple, Angie thought aloud, "`Milk of Human Kindness' could earn the Institute money. With each lactating woman, it rings up more and more cash, cha-ching - cha-ching!"
When I bent down to kiss Angie's fingers, tempting my now sensitive nipples, I disturbed the mood. Moving her hand away, Angie apologized, "Unfortunately, we'll have fun together, but..." Her voice tapered off.
I smiled. "I'm no longer bashful since my Debt Consolidation Agreement. To raise enough money to purchase my daughter, I had to give up modesty. Being stripped naked with other women for inspection, I went through barcoding, branding, and installation of tracking devices in my breast and butt."
As I pressed my lips to my nipple, Angie thought back, "The idea of Dr. Crenshaw demanding nude meetings with his main staff left me feeling uneasy. The procedure of standing in line to undress, be examined, and then redress for the meeting was time wasted."
"A captivating story!" I exclaimed, "It's intriguing how Dr. Crenshaw's out-of-the-ordinary way of having team meetings naked developed from a commitment to openness into a secure setting for females."
I breathed out heavily. "A situations like these would evoke a mix of emotions with complete freedom during such a meeting."
"Respecting each other, intact males in attendance," Angie shared, "get locked in chastity. Dr. Crenshaw's male security and household staff are castratos."
Decision made, I felt goosebumps rise. Was my body aroused with anticipation or fear of the unknown?
In a private spa, Dr. Crenshaw greeted me. "Newly added professionals might find these meetings discomforting. I believe in observing a person without accessories, detached from their symbols of status, prestige, power, or position." He turned to Angie, "You're in charge of leading new inductees through the orientation to the specific demands of the Indenture process. Do you have anything to include?"
"This is a significant role," Angie said, "determining whether each bonded individual should be kept for re-training, return to regular life, offer for private sale, or just put up for auction."
"So, you play God," I said.
"That's quite appropriate," Dr. Crenshaw agreed firmly, "our role is straightforward: the Institute doesn't make money housing people. Making wise decisions based on financial worth is essential."
Seeing the slaves as people was odd. A bonded person was a converted subject, changed from human to something mail order brides dishonorable, an object, property, a mere item. What rights could they possess? The rights of cattle.
"This is the task," I pointed out, "to choose those put up for auction, retained for re-training, or those returning to normalcy."
"Being objective is difficult, even though it's key," Angie conceded, "yet, human emotions still have to be taken into consideration."
Dr. Amy's prominent belly, due to her pregnancy, contrasted with Angie's condition.
Angie spoke of her pregnancy, "We obey orders and do what's expected, yet there's a little wiggle room based on our preferences. When presented with my soon-to-be bond contract, Angie explained, "I opted for efficient artificial insemination with limited downtime. Amy chose the thrill of being taken."
"What options are available to Felicity?" I asked.
"One final detail to settle," Dr. Crenshaw said, "we need to determine the course for my mate, Laura's remaining personal property, the slave girl Felicity."
A guard appeared and called for my daughter Felicity to be announced. No matter how prepared I was, seeing Felicity naked, waxed, and shorn left me uneasy. I couldn't help but wonder how she'd feel upon seeing her mother revealed as a naked, sex slave under contract. Looking at her father, he looked at me with raw desire in his eyes. Electric shivers raced down our spines. Our hearts beat faster. We connected. Felicity stood with her head down, submitting to our commands.
My eyes met my husband's. Our desires collided. The idea of Felicity as our slave got us stirred up. We felt the thrill of having her with us to serve. I had to yank my husband back to reality to end the fantasy.
We came to the realization that we couldn't take care of her. We bought her contract but to shield her from herself and us, we placed her under the care of the Institute until we could discharge our own obligations.
Her father handed over his ownership rights to me as part of his credit restructuring.
"It all makes sense here at the Institute," stated Angie regarding the conditions tied to my contract, "when you consider it from a monetary perspective. With men unfit for work as servants or manual laborers in the industry or fields, we keep men on a tight leash and make them work off their bond, assuring their dedication since if they fail, if they falter, we take their... well, you know."
I took a deep breath, holding back tears as Dr. Crenshaw's personal guard read out, "`Bondswoman Felicity, age 19, 5 ft 5 in, 125 pounds, red hair, hazel eyes, 32--28--30, no scars, no tattoos, birth mark on left buttock, bar coded on right hip, repossessed for failed auto loan, bond sold to Laura Bogan who voluntarily surrendered her indenture, title to bondswoman Felicity transferred to The Institute as per terms of Laura's 15-year agreement."
Heavily sighing, I nodded my agreement.
"The bondswoman Felicity, under proper behavior," Dr. Crenshaw's personal guard listed the terms of the Indenture, "will remain at the Institute, under its authority, but may not be used for breeding except..."
Despite my desire to see Felicity freed, I knew I'd be disheartened. In an ideal world, an attractive girl like Felicity could be easily enticed into taking on too much liability. But once Felicity was returned to the loading dock and stripped naked, my 15 years of sacrificing my own freedom would have been for nothing.
"Except," the guard continued, "that both slaves may be inseminated simultaneously by hot infusion."
I glanced at my daughter, naked, restrained, head down, and wondered how long she'd been there. Just over a year. Prior to our financial setback that left our bond in default, keeping Felicity in school rather than finding herself on the auction block as a mistress or prostitute seemed preferable.
Would a reaction appear on her face? What should I anticipate?
"It's just sound business sense," Felicity replied to Dr. Crenshaw's request for her opinion, "men are willing to pay a premium for the unusual, sex with two females, even more for a forbidden union between a mother and daughter, and even more if there's an attempt to impregnate them both. As long as I receive the standard bonus at the end of my tenure, why not?"
Angie added, "In the end, even the most personal interactions are reduced to a matter of dollars and cents."
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