Chapter 21Revised.   The Politics of Bondage*

The goal of all Capitallian laws is to create the economic 
and social conditions under which those who have not 
the talent or vision to contribute much to society 
will find it necessary to serve those who do have 
such talent and vision.

From the Capitallian Declaration of Independence, 2089.

*The author wishes to thank corsair for his contributions to this chapter. This 
revision contains changes of style, not substance.  Persons who read 
earlier version need not re-read the chapter to understand what follows.

The meeting of the “Reform Slavery Now” umbrella organization that had been discussed that day at Green’s office had actually been delayed a week.  During that week I spent a few days with Morgan Richmond and his wife and then got settled into my new apartment once the painting was complete and all my old furniture moved in.  It was so refreshing to be living independently again and to be living among my own things in a place I could call home.  

The very day I moved into my new place I had received an invitation from Bill to accompany him and Morgan Richmond two days hence to the meeting that we had discussed.  The day before the meeting I got a call from the Chairman of the umbrella group.  She had heard about the tragedy of my personal experience when I ran afoul of the ill-conceived slavery laws.  She wanted to know if I would be willing to give a short presentation in front of this meeting recounting the highlights of my experience.  While I am not a shy person, the idea of telling such an intimate personal story in front of a crowd was daunting to say the least.  My resistance melted when she assured me that what happened to me would help to inspire and mobilize others to fix what was wrong.

The meeting was held in the ballroom of one of New York’s most prestigious hotels.   On the way to the meeting Bill gave me a crash course in Capitallian politics.  I had known since grade school that there were two major parties – the Civil Rights Party (CRP) and the Economic Freedom Party (EFP).  But I had not really understood the differences between them other than that the EFP was reputed to be a pro business party and the CRP stood more for the rights of the individual.  Bill told me he had always voted EFP since he believed if our nation were to prosper we must have a robust and untrammeled business world.  He did acknowledge that my own recent experiences had caused him to question some of his beliefs.  

Before we could enter the ballroom we stopped at a table first where Bill and Morgan identified themselves as members and were given sealed ballots to fill out later.  As a non-member I was not given a ballot.  There were some very prominent signs cautioning that only persons comfortable with nudity should enter the hall.

As Bill, Morgan and I entered the room the buzz of many animated discussions filled our ears.   Approximately five hundred people were there.  There were perhaps a dozen or so naked young slaves, male and female, who were offering citizens drinks and, in some cases, apparently soliciting citizens for sex.   I looked at Bill for some explanation.

“These people really are slavery enthusiasts”, he responded.  “They want to ‘reform’ slavery mainly as a way to make sure that slavery remains acceptable to the public, and to their own consciences.  Naturally they are most comfortable when they can be waited upon by their inferiors.”

I saw Paul Gregory in the crowd.  He was the company psychologist at Masterson Automotive.  He had listened to me when nobody else would.  I knew he had helped to set in motion the chain of events that led to my freedom.  There were also people here tonight from the Abolish Slavery Party (ASP), a minor party but well respected in this town.  As we took our seats Bill saw someone he knew from years ago. He was sitting with a group of people who were carrying signs for the ASP.  Bill asked me to come along with him and be introduced.

“Mr. Maxwell!”  I heard him say with genuine warmth in his voice.

“Why Bill Steelforth!  I am glad to see you at this meeting.  Perhaps you are teachable after all!” the old man replied.

“Stephanie, this man was my high school civics teacher.  He and I had quite some discussions on the slavery issue back in the day.  Mr. Maxwell, this is Stephanie Glenn who has had some unfortunate experiences with our slavery laws of late.  Perhaps you have heard something about that?”

“Indeed I have Bill.  And I understand that you, young lady, are scheduled to address this meeting.  While I express my sympathy for the injustice you endured, I also feel that your decision to address this meeting may indeed help to propel this discussion in the right direction.”

I smiled warmly at this and after he and Bill shook hands we made our way back to our seats, as others also found their seats.  I felt butterflies forming in my stomach.  There were a lot of obviously wealthy and important people gathering here tonight and I felt somewhat out of my league.  Edgar had also arrived and took a seat next to mine.  He told me that he too had been invited to speak of his experience as a slave but had declined, feeling it would be too embarrassing to talk about anything that personal in front of a large crowd.

The Chairman, a rather attractive African-American woman who appeared to be in her mid forties, called the meeting to order, encouraged the speakers to each keep their remarks very brief as their would be voting and possible amendments to propositions from the floor to follow.  She then introduced the first speaker.  He was from the EFP and launched right into a statement of what his party felt should be the guiding principles for this reform effort.

“Madame Chairman, friends, there has been a lot of talk about the need for radical reforms to the institution of bondage that has done so much to help Capitallia compete in world markets.  There are those who say that a business that employs slaves must have constant monitoring by the slave advocates, that we must let indentured servants communicate freely with the outside world, and that we must not intrude into their thoughts too much nor wipe out too many of their memories just before we release them.  But most slaves would be useless to industry if these things could not be done.   We have trade secrets to protect. “
“Come come man!” a heckler in the audience shouted.  “Surely even you EFP types see that the present system is corrupt!”

The speaker did his best to pretend that no interruption had occurred and continued.
 
“We in EFP do recognize that some reforms are long overdue.  But we ask that reforms be reasonable and that each proposed reform meet a cost-benefit test.  We should all keep in mind too that slavery is supposed to be a punishment.  It is important that society express its confidence in the business world by allowing our business people to have appropriate discretion in all of these areas.  That is all I have to say.”

The speaker took his seat.  There was vigorous applause but it came mostly from one side of the room.  I gathered that most of the EFP people were sitting on that side and were applauding one of their own.

The Chairman again took the podium.

“I think this might be an excellent time to introduce a very special person who has agreed to address us tonight.  I think many of you may have heard of her story.  She was recently set free by a court after having been unjustly sentenced to ten years of indentured servitude for debt, and actually serving the first year of that sentence.  Her name is Stephanie Glenn.  Please come up to the podium Stephanie.”

At the mention of my name there were gasps of surprise, delighted smiles from some, and a murmur went through the crowd.  My story had been reported in the news after the Court set me free.  There had been editorials written about my case.  Again I felt the butterflies.  How could I discuss anything so personal in front of this huge crowd?  Edgar smiled at me and squeezed my hand to give me courage.  Somehow I kept putting one foot in front of the other until I was behind that podium looking out at those faces.  I saw kindness in many, but some stern expressions and clenched jaws from others.  Evidently some felt threatened by what they assumed I would say.  Then there were some men who were smiling at me but not in a very polite or respectful way.  I felt they were looking at me as a sex object.

“Good people”, I began, “I appeal to your sense of justice.  I know you are all gathered here because you recognize our system is not working as originally intended.  I have been persuaded that if you all heard what I went through that it might make a difference.”

There was some coughing and an audible intake of air from some of them.  Others were looking very pleased indeed that I was speaking of my experience.

“As a citizen and as a professional, I went to work after graduation for a local firm and was sexually desired by my male supervisor.  I have been asked not to name the firm or the supervisor.  When I said no to him he falsified debts against me and used the indentured servitude law of our nation to make me his sex slave!”

I blinked back tears at this point and knew that my face had drained of color and I paused, as there were audible reactions all around the room.  Some were sympathetic.  Others were frankly disbelieving.  Still others were smirking.  I went through the whole sequence of events in detail from my job interview to the day the CEO informed me that I would be bearing a child for he and his wife and that I had nothing to say about it. 

“Finally I was rescued by three brave men.  They are all here tonight.  One shall remain anonymous, as I would not want to jeopardize his present employment.  The other two I will identify.  They are Bill Steelforth of the Steelforth Agency, well known to most of you, and Morgan Richmond of Richmond Slendabond, also well known to this audience.  With the help of these gentlemen the necessary evidence and lawsuit was formed to bring about my emancipation.  I hope my experience may help to shed light on the issues I am sure you will soon be voting on.  Thank you.”

I stepped away from the podium.  At first there was a stunned silence.  Then gradually the audience began to clap rhythmically and the clapping went on for a very long time.  I thought I saw new respect even from some of the men that I thought had leered at me on my way up to the podium. As I took my seat, Edgar squeezed my hand again and whispered to me.

“They respect your courage to tell that kind of story.  I wish I had that kind of courage.”

The Chairman again took the podium.

“I want to introduce at this time our next speaker,” she began. “He is a man who taught high school civics for many years before his retirement.  Some of you may have been in his class. Now, in his senior years, he is pursuing a passion of his that is to work for the abolition of slavery in Capitallia.  He has been a regular contributor to Abolition magazine. He is the spokesperson for the Abolish Slavery Party.  I know his viewpoint is at odds with what most of you think but let us give him a respectful hearing.”

There were actually a few boos, but mostly polite applause, as old Mr. Maxwell walked with some difficulty toward the stage.  As he approached the steps a young naked male slave who had been sitting on the floor in the first row at the feet of his owner suddenly jumped up to assist him in mounting those steps.  He graciously thanked the slave who returned to his former position.
 
“I come not to ‘reform’ the institutions of slavery and indentured servitude, but to urge you to abolish these practices.  I would hope that the moving story you have just heard from the young lady would cause you to at least consider that option.”  

“Now I have a word for you, young man, who assisted me up these steps.  I recognize you as having been, until two years ago, a prominent stockbroker in this town.  Your name was well known as one of the up and coming generation.  You were, for many years, on the list of the 100 most eligible bachelors.  Now I dare you to join me here at the podium for a few minutes?  I have a few questions I would like to put to you!”

There was a brief whispered conversation between the slave in question and his owner, a middle aged and somewhat paunchy male who Bill told me was a prominent banker in this city.  Then the slave rose to his feet and walked up the steps to stand and face Mr. Maxwell and the audience.  The older man was clearly surprised to see the young man had accepted his challenge, apparently with his owner’s permission.   There were some intakes of breath around the room, both at the beauty of this slave’s naked physique, his generous masculine endowment, and his apparent audacity in going up on a public stage to respond to a citizen’s challenge.

“What do you want of me sir?” the young slave asked.

“Many of my generation were saddened”, old Mr. Maxwell continued, “when we learned on the news that you had been convicted of insider trading.  Now you are both a slave and an involuntary prostitute.  Your owner brings you to public meetings such as this one and has you walking around naked, strutting your stuff, and wagging your penis at any man or woman who shows the slightest interest in your body.  Now I ask you, young man, is that a just punishment for the crime of which you were convicted?”
 
“My master has given me permission to respond to you sir.  As I see it I have a debt to pay to society for the crime I committed and I am proud that I have been given a way to actually repay that debt by providing pleasure to my betters.”  

“Why do you say that these people are your ‘betters’ as you put it?”

“Because, sir, they are all productive members of society and citizens and have committed no crime.”  

“But are you not ashamed to be as you are before all these people?  Do you not find it degrading, especially after the success you had achieved in life before your conviction?”

“I am not ashamed to be of use to others, even by ‘wagging my penis’ as you put it, at all who find me attractive!  I can tell you sir, that I feel much happier serving my sentence by being useful to society and to my master than I would feel locked up in a 6’ x 9’ cell, with nothing to do for the next 15 years!”

“Young man”, old Maxwell responded, “I admire your courage in coming up here to make your statement.  I think we all catch your drift even if we all do not agree with you.  But you have made your point.  Please take your seat now.”

With that this superb specimen of masculinity graciously bowed to Maxwell and climbed back down the steps to take up his place at the feet of his obviously pleased owner.

“You have made the same argument young man”, the old man continued, “that most slavery advocates make when say that without slavery we are back to locking people up in cages for many years.  I say that it is better to lock a man up in a cage for twenty years than to take away his dignity by making him the slave of another man. 

We are a spin-off from the United States.  The founding document of that nation asserted, “We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal …”

“For those who delight in inequalities, Jefferson’s words must ring hollow.  You are inspired instead by the rank inequality of one person being forced to serve the sexual desires of others, as this young man has been forced.  You take comfort perhaps in the words of Aristotle who once endorsed slavery in ancient Greece.  But I must remind one and all that we are not living in ancient Greece or ancient Rome.  We are living in a modern industrial democracy and our culture is informed by thousands of years of progressive thought.”

 “I promised the Chairman to keep my remarks brief.”

With that he slowly walked back to his seat to the sound of polite applause.
The Chairman again took the podium and introduced the final speaker of the evening, the spokesperson for the CRP.  She stepped briskly up to the podium amid mild applause.

“Fellow progressives … and future progressives …” There was good natured laughter at this.  “I find I must defend our platform from both sides.  We have just heard a moving speech from a much revered civics teacher and student of history – telling us to abolish what has become the signature institution of our society.  On the other hand we have heard from the EFP that they have a hard time admitting the institution even needs fixing.”

Some boos and hissing were heard.

“I like to think my organization is somewhere in the moderate middle.  One of the areas we think is most in need of reform is that of forced sex – of indentured servants being forced to have sex with their masters or being prostituted to the general public.”

The problem arises when the distinction becomes blurred between penal slavery and indentured servitude for debt.   In the case of our last speaker, Stephanie Glenn, her sentence was for a ten-year indenture, not slavery, and the judge specified that the sentence was non-punitive.  I think it is clear from her story that she was treated much as any penal slave would be treated. “

“A person who has been sentenced to indentured servitude is said to have an obligation to labor for a particular master for certain stipulated hours and to be generally obedient to that master during the stipulated working hours.  Outside of working hours that person is entitled to have a private life.”

“In Stephanie’s case arrangements had been made through the court that she would perform professional services as an accountant during her indenture.  Her professional services alone would have provided restitution for the relatively small debt she was convicted of.  Yet she was also prostituted against her will, in spite of the fact that sexual services were not part of the labor specified in her indenture.”

“What happened to Stephanie illustrates the need for better and more comprehensive monitoring by slave advocates.  We are arguing also that all advocates have had the personal experience of having been an indentured person or slave.”

“Another major concern of the CRP is that bio-implants and mind control technology not be abused.  The potential is certainly there that an indentured person could have his or her mental and emotional privacy violated or could have memories deleted for possibly illegal or immoral reasons – even to wipe a slave’s memory of knowledge that his or her employer had committed a crime.”

“We in the CRP love and respect the institution of indentured servitude for debt as much as anyone here, but we maintain that if we are to preserve this valuable institution and maintain the public’s trust, we must fix what is wrong.  That is all.”

The Chairman walked back to the podium and made the final announcement of the evening.

“Gentlemen, Ladies, if those of you who were given ballots will now open those ballots, I will proceed to read the various propositions we are to vote on tonight.  The list of propositions and the results of your voting on them will be delivered to the Select Senate Sub Committee when they go into session next week on the bill to reform indentured servitude.”

She proceeded to plod through the various proposals and then the voting began.  We did not learn the results of the voting that night.

Bill turned to me and asked if I would join him for a drink in the hotel’s bar.  I accepted.  As he made conversation I began to sense that he was interested in a serious relationship with me.  Then he invited me to accompany him back to his apartment so that he could show me his “art collection”.

“Bill”, I replied, “I do value your friendship and am grateful for the help you have given me, but I sense that you have an interest in me that I cannot reciprocate”.

He looked crestfallen.

“You are a very attractive man Bill, and you surely have many qualities that I admire.   But I have been raped during my year of slavery.  Not raped once, but raped repeatedly by my boss, by the General Manager, and by the customers.  I don’t know if I can ever feel intimate toward any man after what I have been through.”

“Steph”, he responded, “I think I understand what you have been through – at least as well as any male could.  I am a patient man and I can wait until you have had a chance to heal.  Please give us a chance.”

“Bill, to be perfectly honest there is another problem.  I cannot feel intimate toward a man who is so enthusiastic about this slavery business when I no longer believe in it.   I once did believe in it – until I was victimized by the system myself.  I can never feel quite the same about it again.  I found myself agreeing more with your old high school civics teacher than with any other speaker tonight.”

“Will you not give me a chance to defend my profession?”

“I am not sure that we will ever see eye to eye on that, Bill.  And there may not be any point given my other problem.  Let us just agree to be friends and let it go at that.  I am tired now so, if you don’t mind, I would like to call it a night.”

He walked me out and hailed a cab for me.

My new apartment was off of 42nd Street in a low-rent neighborhood.  It was only supposed to be temporary, only until I found something better.  The subway stop was over a block away, but the rent was affordable.  I had an option to rent for another year if I had to.  I got into the cab and my thoughts turned to what the young male slave had said about preferring slavery to being locked up in a cage.  He actually had said that he found his punishment as an involuntary prostitute to be a just way for him to atone for his crime.   Perhaps he had a point.  I would have to think more on this.  I was tired and soon fell asleep to the monotonous sounds of traffic.  

“Miss, this is your stop.  Let me walk you to your door."  The cabbies voice had sounded through the intercom.

I looked out at the drizzle and the wet pavement.

"That’s all right," I said.  "You may as well stay dry.  I'll be okay.  You can watch me from inside here and leave when the doorman lets me inside my apartment building.  I'll be safe then."

The wind blew rain in my face so I pulled my hood low over my brow and walked from the taxicab to my door.  My cloak was calf-length and warm, not like the slave cloak I had to wear out of court, the one that left my butt hanging in the breeze and flashed my pussy at every step.  The doorman was named Ralph and he looked like a football player.  He was unfailingly polite.  I never asked his background because he was entitled to his privacy.  Ralph walked me to the elevator.  I paused in front of the open door.

"Ralph, do you know of a convenience store nearby?"

"Miss Glenn, I can have someone deliver whatever you need," Ralph said.  "It is a miserable night and I'd feel bad if something happened to you."

"I just want to get something for breakfast," I sneezed.  Ralph handed me a tissue before I got my purse open.  "Thank you.  I need to get some cold medicine, too. I won't be long."

"There is a 24-hour shop on the next block," he told me.  "It is staffed by three slaves.  They live there and somebody is always up.  I can call someone to deliver--"

"No, Ralph.  I'm a big girl and I can take care of myself.  I have my stun gun and I'm not afraid to use it."

I would regret my words.

"As you wish, Miss Glenn," Ralph said.

"Ralph, it isn't any of my business, so I won't be upset if you don't answer," I blew my nose again.  Damned this cold! "Are you a slave?"

"I don't mind, ma'am.  I am an indentured servant.  This job requires being bonded for insurance purposes.  Indentured servants are cheaper to bond.  When my indenture is up, my employer will pay my first year's citizenship taxes.  I'm attending school, too.  I'm training to be a security guard at the Federal Compound, but I need to complete college."

"Thank you for trusting me," I said.

The walk out to the store was uneventful.  I was tired, and the night was cold and damp.  The slave working at the store was Stacy.  Slave labor made the full-service convenience store profitable again.  The police called self-service convenience stores Stop-and-Robs because the customers had free run of the store.  Full service stores kept the clerks behind bulletproof glass.  Stacy was scantily clad, but not naked, not lewd.  

"I recognize you, Mistress Stephanie," Stacy said.  "I want to thank you for what you're doing.  I was enslaved for debt.  Jobs are scarce.  I lost mine when the store I worked at went to slave labor.  Now I'm here for the next 9 years.  It isn't so bad and I'll have something left over when I'm free."  

Stacy filled my order for one breakfast bar, one WakeupJuice in a self-heating can, a bottle of ColdQwell and a box of Tampax.  As I paid with my credit card, I remembered that box of Tampax in my purse that betrayed me in Chicago. I silently gave thanks that I wasn't going to have to streak naked through this cold October drizzle to my apartment like I did in the warmth of a Chicago summer.  

My purchases were in a bag in the air lock--a device that prevented the slaves from escaping.  In accounting school I learned that the little pass-through was equipped with scanners that detected the contents of the bag and would match it to my receipt.  The outer door would only open when the receipt and the contents matched and when the inner door was closed.  This system almost eliminated stock shrinkage.  Shoplifting was impossible.  

"Stacy, could I buy you a candy bar or something?" I asked the counter slave.  

"You don't have to, Mistress Stephanie," the slave said.

"I want to.  It's no trouble."

A few minutes later I was walking in the rain feeling really good about myself.  Stacy had chosen a chocolate bar and she said that she was going to share it with the other slaves that worked there.  I pulled my hood lower as the rain whipped into my face.  Water beaded against my weatherproof cloak.  My feet were wet, but fashion sometimes hurts.  

"Miss Stephanie," a child's voice said from behind, "could you spare a dollar?"

Blame the rain.  Blame my cold or the drink I had with Bill after the meeting.  Feeling smug about bringing a bit of pleasure to some slaves.  Normally I would have been more wary.  I turned and faced the child, a shivering boy just under my own height.  He wasn't dressed for the wet weather and his face was angelic.  I reached in my purse for some change when a shadow moved in front of me--and I was grabbed from behind.  

Sergeant Major Coxswain’s voice echoed in my imagination across the years: 'AMBUSH!'  She had been my training instructor in the New York State Police Reserve.  All citizens had to prepare to assist their state, region or the nation in time of national emergency in at least one line of work other than their normal career.  I had chosen the Police Reserves.

My reactions were immediate--I dropped my purse and grabbed the hands as they touched me.  My right heel stamped on my assailant's foot and he screamed as I jerked his finger backwards.  It snapped and I felt it rather than heard it because the boy behind me was screaming in pain.  I'm no warrior and I cried for the poor child as I pulled his arm straight up over my head and shoved my shoulder into his armpit, then bent forward at the waist.  He flipped right over me and slammed into the sidewalk.   I let go because his scream shut off when he hit the hard pavement.  

"Erin!" the child in front of me screamed.  He whipped out an object and it emitted an electric arc.  The child's snarling faced was no longer angelic. "You're going to pay, bitch!"

My own stun gun and cell phone were in my purse where I dropped them.  My long strong runner's legs were hobbled by my fashionable skirt and by my all weather cloak and I was tottering on high heels.  My police close combat training was mostly legwork for offense--I use a soft martial arts style that uses the attacker's movements against him, but my kicks give me standoff range.  I run like a gazelle, too.  But I wasn't wearing my martial arts clothes nor was I in running shoes -and as I said, I had dropped my stun gun.  

The boy in front of me extended the arcing electrical device and I slapped it away with my right hand, grabbed his wrist with my left, stepped into him and whacked the side of his head with my forearm.  He was stunned long enough for me to apply a wristlock and make him drop the device.  It broke when it hit the pavement, sizzled and when out.  The boy screamed as I applied pressure, pivoting back to my right and twisting his arm the other way as I took him to the ground.  I didn't want to hurt the child more than I had to, but I was going to have to do something.  I tripped over the other child, Erin, and the first child and I fell to the ground.

"You can use gravity or you can be its victim," Susan Coxwain had told us many years ago.  When you get attacked you will be knocked down.  Go down on your terms, with gravity as your ally, and the perp will be yours.”

I spun while in the air and fell on top of the child.  His breath woofed out as we hit.  I put him in a carotid choke-out hold and applied pressure.  He struggled a moment, then went limp.

"When a suspect resists arrest, leave nothing to chance." Sergeant Major Coxwain's advice thundered in my head.  But they were just children.  Street urchins.  I didn't want to hurt them.  I got to my feet, found my purse and bag, picked them up.  I pressed the emergency services button on my cell phone.

"No signal!" the cell phone said.  I looked at the display and the screen showed five empty circles and the words 'no signal' in flashing red letters.  Then everything went blank.

                        ****************************************************

Much later I awoke.  I wasn’t sure how long I had been out.  The first thing I became aware of was that I could not move.  I found myself restrained on my back on a bench of some sort.  There was a wide leather belt securing my waist to the bench.  My arms and wrists were pulled way over my head. My legs were spread wide and held by ankle cuffs attached to rods coming out of the foot of the bench.  The next thing I experienced was that I was quite naked. As my blurry vision cleared I found a familiar presence standing over me.  It was Mel Zigler.  The two boys I had fought with on the streets were standing in the background, looking on with glee and lust in their eyes.  I figured that I must be in some kind of laboratory since there was a lot of electronic equipment nearby.  Zigler suddenly turned from me to the boys.

“Kim, Erin – you guys really blew it!  If I hadn’t come along just when I did and fired that stun gun at her she would have gotten away from us!”

The older of the two boys, a slender red headed youth who appeared to be about 16, then pointed an accusing finger at the younger boy who could not have been more than 13.

“Kim”, he shouted, “If you hadn’t been so stupid as to call her ‘Miss Stephanie’ she might have thought we were just panhandlers and fallen for our act!”

I saw a look of resentment cloud the younger boy’s face, the one who had been called ‘Kim’.  He was shorter and had a stockier look than Erin.

“That’s enough Erin!” Zigler shouted.  “What’s done is done.  I have more important things to attend to then watching you two lads point fingers at each other.”

With that Zigler turned back to me.

“OK bitch”, he hissed, “I have you just where I want you.  I heard about your visit to the prosecutor’s office.  Luckily for me the prosecutor is a friend of mine from college days.  He gave me a heads up on what you had in store for me.  There won’t be a trial if you are not around to testify.  But first I want to know about all the evidence you have against me - witnesses you planned to call and anything else you have up your sleeve!  Let’s get you into a more obedient frame of mind then, shall we?”

“I have a little persuader here that should be just about right to pry that information from you!”

With that he reached with his right hand over to a table and picked up a penis shaped probe with an electrical cable attaching it to a generator.  With his left hand he reached toward my crotch.  I jerked violently when I felt his cold clammy left hand touch my vulva and begin to spread my labia in preparation to insert the probe.  Despair began to overcome me as I realized he was going to electrically torture my sex.  He touched a control and I was soon writhing with sensations of an approaching orgasm.  I fought it.  Then he increased the voltage and I felt intense pain in my genitals.  

“OK bitch.  You will now tell me the names of all the witnesses you were going to call!”

“Fuck you!” I spat.  

After five minutes of me writhing in pain he realized this was not working and pulled the electric probe out of my vagina.  I saw him pick up a thick steel ring with electrical wires trailing away to a control panel.  It appeared to be some sort of magnet.  It hinged open and he placed it around my neck and snapped it shut.  Then he was fiddling with the nearby control panel.  He pushed a button and I heard a loud hum for a few seconds.  He released the collar from my neck.

“There”, he said to the boys.  “That should re-activate her implant and make her respond to hypnotic suggestions again”.  

He obviously did not know my implant transponder had been surgically removed.  Maybe I should play along and let him think he had me under his control.  He spoke what sounded like a code phrase that meant nothing to me.  I pretended to be hypnotized.  He gave me a series of commands that I followed without hesitation.

“Well boys, she seems to be responding well to commands now.  Let’s put that to the ultimate test.  Let’s see if I can get her to orgasm on command.”

With that he picked up the penis shaped object once more and again separated my labia to insert the probe in my vagina.  Soon I felt mild electrical stimulation down there.  I knew at once they I would need to fake an orgasm to sustain the illusion that he had me under his control.

“Ooh – do that again Master!” I cried out as I began to writhe on the table within the limits of my bonds. 

 I began to think of the sexiest thoughts I could, willing my nipples to erect, willing myself to juice.  I hoped I was creating enough of an illusion to fool Zigler.  Just then his cell phone rang and he pulled the probe out of my vagina and laid it back on the table.  He walked some distance away from me and I could just barely hear him speaking to someone in hushed tones.

“Then I will meet you at the usual place.  Don’t worry man – there will be no loose ends.”

He hung up and turned back to the boys.

“I have to leave for an hour to meet someone.  Feel free to have a bit of fun with the bitch if you want.  I have re-activated all her slave training.  She will do whatever you ask her to do.”

With that he left and I heard the laboratory door slam shut and the faint sound of his climbing some stairs in the distance.  I knew from that remark about “no loose ends” that this man would kill me later – after he got the information he wanted.  I knew he would very likely kill the boys as well

“What are we waiting for Erin?”  the younger boy asked.

“Right on, Kim.  Let’s not waste our chance!”

With that the two boys began stripping off their clothing.  They both had hairless bodies and had obviously spent quite a bit of time in the gym.  Kim, the younger boy, was first to be naked.  Between his stocky legs I saw a small flaccid penis, un-descended testicles and but a sparse growth of black pubic hair.  He began playing with himself.  

Erin was next and his body was a contrast in every respect.  He was a slender lad and long of limb.  Between his long slim muscular legs was a crowning glory of dense red pubic hair, a happy trail running up his six pack abs, generous and low hanging testicles and a rather long penis that was starting to become erect.

Kim started things by taking a position near my head.  He began rubbing his little limp dick all over my face.   At first I twisted my head left and right to avoid it.  

“Do you like this bitch?” he sneered.

I could see this was turning him on and he became tumescent.  When he presented his little half hard dick to my mouth I decided I had better play along so the boys would think I really was under their control.  I stuck out the tip of my tongue and teased the tip of his little penis until I could taste a drop of his pre cum.  He was getting harder now and began to push his small rod into my mouth.  I let him batter at the gates of my teeth for a while to tease him, then opened wide and took him in.

Erin was watching all this and had become fully erect.  I had to admit he was a good-looking lad though I had no desire for sex with him.  He took up a position between my widely spread legs and began battering at my nether gate.  I did not want him inside me but it seemed there would be no way to avoid that, restrained as I was.  I also knew that I would have to fake pleasure to sustain the illusion for the boys.  I could see drops of pre cum forming at the tip of his long penis and feel the wetness of those drops on the lips of my vulva.  

“Let me have it big boy!” I said with what I hoped was a convincingly erotic come hither smile.

He used his hands to open my labia and thrust forward burying himself in me to the hilt.  
“Ooh … ah”, I moaned as I began to writhe for the boys.

Erin was now pistoning in and out of me with long deep strokes.  Kim was having more difficulty because he did not have my head in the best position for his thrusts.  I continued to writhe and forced a smile.

After several minutes of Erin’s thrusting he looked up and spoke to his companion.

“We really do have the bitch under our control – just like Zigler said!”

"Yeah, man," Kim drooled  "But before you come in her let’s flip her so you can do her ass and I get a better angle into her mouth!"

They had bought it, I realized!  My baby sitters believed that I was under their control.  Kim released the clips holding my collar to the table.  Erin unfastened my wrists from the point above my head on the bench.  A waist strap and cuffs on my ankles kept me immobilized against the bench with my legs spread.  They made me sit up and Erin clipped my wrists together behind my back.  

My left leg was released and I did nothing.  My right leg was next.  Then Erin opened the buckle on the waist strap.  

"Oh, masters, please hurry," I cooed.  I was still trying to act like I was aroused.  

Would they buy my submissive slave bitch in heat act just a moment more?  I had been writhing in simulated desire restrained by my bonds so that I was as limber as could be under the circumstances.  Now if they would only just --

Erin was on my right and Kim was on my left.  The bondage bench was in the middle of the room.  I had a chance as Erin, hampered by the injuries I had inflicted on him earlier, rolled me in Kim's direction.   The splinted fingers of his left hand and his torqued left shoulder gave me enough room to pull back my strong right runner's leg as I fell to the left.  I kicked as hard as I could from my awkward position, driving a heel into Erin's solar plexus.  My kick propelled me into a much-surprised Kim and I fell on top of him when we both crashed to the floor.  Kim reacted more slowly than I did.  I rolled off of Kim and to my feet.  As Kim tried to rise I snap-kicked Kim in the side of the head.  Kim's head struck the bench's support leg with a hollow thud and Kim slumped to the floor.

"Bitch," Erin wheezed as he got to his feet.  

I leaped up on the bench, my sculpted leg muscles generating more than enough thrust because of my marathons and because of the humiliating naked exercise programs MAG put me through, and I executed a clumsy flying leap that knocked Erin down.  I fell over hard.  Pain meant nothing.  Anger fueled by hours of torment and by fear allowed me to shrug off the impact and kick Erin again.  He grabbed my legs and for a moment I thought I was dead--but Erin moved in between my long strong legs so that I couldn't kick him any more.  He realized his mistake when I clamped both legs around his arms and chest and began squeezing.  I rolled on the floor, pinning his head against the bench.  He coughed and gasped and his face turned purple because my muscular thighs were compressing his chest, were preventing him from drawing breath.  Erin convulsed and shuddered.  I held on long moments more to make sure than he was out.

It was hard to wiggle out of that clinch, but I managed.  I forced my joined wrists over my solid glutes and down my legs, scraping skin--and shifting my cuffed hands in front of me instead of behind me.  I got to my feet and looked at the boys.  Erin coughed, recovering from lack of oxygen.  I was afraid that Kim was moving again.  

At that moment I appreciated being in this strange room with my two foes naked except for their bandages.  There was an assortment of bondage gear on the walls hanging from hooks set in pegboard.  I grabbed several handcuffs and secured Erin's wrists around the leg of the bench.  Kim was next.  I straddled him, ignoring the stab of pain from my abused crotch as I clipped one cuff around his wrist.  Kim snarled and clawed at me and I torqued the cuffed hand and shut the other cuff attached to Kim's wrist to the bench's leg. 

"Let me go!  I'm going to kill you!" Kim screamed at me.  I was shaking violently.  He couldn't reach me.  "Get back here, cunt!"

Erin groaned.

What time was it?  Zigler could be back any minute.  I had been very, very lucky that the boys had underestimated my desperation, had overestimated the degree of control that they had over me. I glanced around the room looking for my clothes.  They were not inside.  I tried the laboratory door--I wasn't going to stay in that room!  It was locked.  With my hands bound together I hammered at the door in frustrated rage.  Behind me Erin began cursing me too.

The remote control fob!  I looked for it and it was out of reach of both boys. If either one of them gave me any trouble I was going to hurt them very bad.  I skirted Erin and bent over, picking up the remote.  Put something on?  My hands were cuffed in front of me and the boys were both smaller than me--I wasn't going to be wearing THEIR clothes.  I pointed the fob at the door and began pressing buttons.  The lights went out, the alarm rang, the lights went back on--and the door slid open.  I dashed from the dungeon and used the control fob to shut the door again.  A short set of stairs led up.  The hallway was chilly and I was naked--but I wasn't going to stay.  My life depended on getting out of there.  The second door at the top of the stairs swung open after a bit of experimentation.  

I found myself in what appeared to be an office.  There was a box in plain sight that held my clothing, shoes, purse and cell phone.  Quickly I pulled a few things on.  The high-heeled shoes would be useless.  I ran out into the street barefoot.  I wasn’t sure where I was but it looked like somewhere in lower Manhattan.  I ran as fast as I could for several blocks until I was able to hail a cab.  Only then did I pull out my cell phone and dial a number.  Bill Steelforth’s number.