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From: Rachel Gumm <cheapslave@googlemail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Free Market {Rachel Gumm} (M/F M+/F bd ds toys humil reluc nc ScFi) [4/5]
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Date: Sun, 12 Jul 2009 04:10:09 -0400
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                              Free Market

                       M/F bd ds toys reluc ScFi

(C) 2009 Rachel Gumm.  You may freely distribute this story digitally,
but only in full, crediting me as the author.  Please send feedback
to me at cheapslave@googlemail.com - it makes writing these worthwhile.
My homepage at http://erotica.writerpilot.com/authors/view/rachel-gumm
has all my stories available for download.





There were distant voices.  Slowly, consciousness settled in.

Jane tried to think of the last thing that had happened to her.  She
was in a room with beige walls, soft carpets...  She was having some
sort of procedure done...  Then she remembered.  She was having a
key made for her chastity belt.  A personal key.  An illegal key.

Something must have gone wrong.  She wasn't in the office anymore.
She was lying on a stiff bed of some kind, not like the one underneath
the machine.  The sounds were all harsh, as if bouncing off bare
concrete.  The voices were unfamiliar.

She opened her eyes.

She was lying down on a mattress covered in stained white cotton,
the room around her a featureless slab of grey concrete.  The wall
to her left had a stainless steel toilet bowl protruding from it,
and the one to her right had a heavy looking door set into it.  The
door had no handle.  It wasn't anything like the one at work, however.
Whereas the familiar door of her workplace had consisted of white,
vertical, metal bars and an oversized lock, this one was a featureless
metal rectangle.  Clearly, it wasn't for show, to merely _look_ like
it was secure.  It was purely functional, offering her nothing to
grab onto.

It took a few seconds for her to realise where she was.  She was in
a prison.  A _real_ prison.

"Hey!" she said, much weaker than she'd intended to.  Her throat was
dry.  She let out a cough and tried to sit upright.  She was barefoot,
wearing only a dull coloured jumpsuit, featureless save for a number
embroided into it, covering her right breast, and a miniature zip
at the front that led from her neck all the way down to her crotch.

No, she was wearing more than just the jumpsuit.  She reached down
tentatively to feel her crotch.  She was still in the belt!  In
prison, she wouldn't even be able to pay to have it removed, she
realised, not even for a few minutes.  It was now essentially a
permanent fixture of her body.

She walked up to the door, trying not to let herself get emotional.
"Hey!" she repeated, louder this time.

She listened patiently to the voices coming through from the other
side of the door.  They changed tone, as if broken off from their
monotonous conversation to talk about how the new prisoner must have
woken up.  Or maybe she was flattering herself that they even noticed
her, or cared.

She jumped back, startled, as clanging sounds came from the door,
the loud scraping of metal on metal as someone turned a heavy duty
deadbolt lock.  She kept a safe distance as the door swung open and
two authoritative looking men with short haircuts and narrow gazes
strode into the room.  She peered past them to see more men standing
outside, but none were looking into her cell.

"Prisoner number thirty-two thousand, seven hundred and sixty-eight,"
said one of the men to her, practically shouting, "you are hereby
formally charged with attempting to create or otherwise obtain an
unauthorised key in order to circumnavigate the fair commerce
protection device installed on your person." He took in a deep breath.
"As a substantial amount of footage was taken of you complying with
this suggestion in your place of work, as well as attempting to
undertake said act at an agreed unauthorised commercial venue, it
has been deemed by the court that no trial is necessary.  You are
therefore hereby subject to mandatory integration into the class of
unpaid servicing persons, known colloquially as slaves.  A suitable
owner has been found for you, and you are to be delivered to said
owner immediately."

"What?" Jane tried to grasp the implication of what the man had just
said.  "There must be some mistake--"

The other man walked behind her.  Before she could turn around to
see what he was doing, he grabbed her arms and held them in place
behind her back as the first man unzipped her jumpsuit, exposing a
thin sliver of her naked skin.  She struggled, but the man behind
her just pulled her arms tighter together.  Intense pain seared
through her shoulders, and for a moment she thought she was going
to pass out.

"What are you doing?" yelled Jane.  "Get off of me!" She tried to
kick reflexively, but the man in front of her just bent down and
grabbed her ankles, his grip so tight that she imagined it might
leave a mark.

"We've got a kicker here!" he said.  Some of the men from outside
immediately trickled into the room, as if she posed a threat to
merely two of them.  These ones were carryig things.  Gleaming metal
things.  She could barely take it all in, but it looked like one was
carrying heavy metal chains of some kind.  She went wide-eyed at the
sight of what one of the other men was carrying: it looked like a
device modeled after a giant earwig, a long stick with two menacing
looking prongs at the end.

Without any kind of introduction, the man with the device walked up
to her and thrust it into her stomach.  An electric shock overwhelmed
her.  Her whole body instantly went tense then limp as she screamed
in pain.  She would have fallen to the floor had her arms not been
held up behind her.  Instead, she just doubled over, letting her
body hang limply in the man's arms.  She suddenly realised she was
crying, her breath short and jagged as tears streaked down her face.

"That should calm her down," sneered the man with the device.  He
spat on the floor.

Jane watched helplessly as the men got to work.  They removed her
jumpsuit - they'd doubltessly dressed her in it in the first place
anyway, she realised - and laid her down.  Not on the hard mattress,
as if that would have been too considerate, but on the cold, hard,
concrete floor.  Its little bumps and imperfections, its thin layer
of filth pressed against her naked flesh, made her wish for something
she'd never thought possible.  She wished she was back in her former
employer's cell, crawling on her hands and knees on the smooth, tiled
floor where she'd spent countless hours servicing the desires of
ugly, perverted men.

She fought the urge to struggle as the men encased her wrists and
ankles in gleaming metal cuffs.  She tried not to think about what
they were doing or why, or to look directly into the eyes that were
looking her exposed body up and down.  She tried to think of something
else as they locked the restraints shut with strange devices that
looked like a cross between screwdrivers and electric drills, making
a whirring sound that set her teeth on edge.  The restraints evidently
weren't designed to be removed again once they were locked in place.

She wanted desperately to get up off the filthy floor and run away,
but the men completely blocked the doorway.  Instead, she just looked
at the man with the device.  He grinned down at her, as if to indicate
that he was itching for the chance to use it again.  The pain in her
stomach intensified as if telling her not to try her luck.

Jane felt her new wrist cuffs being locked together behind her with
what must have been a very short length of chain.  She looked down
as her ankle cuffs were padlocked together with an old chain that
looked equally short.  Finally, the man behind her loosened his grip
a little bit, fully aware that any attempt to escape on her part was
now clearly futile.

There was a squeaking noise from the next room, the sound of small
metal wheels in need of oiling.  The men blocking the doorway moved
out of the way as a large device was wheeled into the cell.  Jane's
eyes went wide again as she saw what it was, glimpsing it first from
behind the bodies, then staring at it in horror as the men parted
to let her get a good look at it.

"What are you doing?" she said, her tone of voice more pleading than
demanding, as she looked at the cage in front of her, barely big
enough to accomodate a fully grown human.

"No!" she screamed as she was lifted up, a desperate plea that fell
upon deaf ears.  She tried another reflexive kick in spite of the
grinning man's unspoken promise, but her legs just spasmed pathetically
together, her ankles joined by the chain, as more hands grabbed her.

She tried to make another conscious effort not to fight back, letting
the six or eight hands shape her body into the position they wanted.
Her legs were tucked into a kneeling position as she was lowered
into the cage, her hands pressed hard against her bottom.  She spread
her legs as her head was shoved down onto the floor of the cage, her
shoulders touching her knees and her breasts pressing against her
thighs.  The metal bars that comprised the cage's lid were lowered
down above her, sealing her in with a definitive clank that echoed
in her mind.

Jane listened to the men attaching a heavy padlock in place at each
of the cage's top four corners, snapping each one shut.  Finally,
they took their hands off her body.  She stared out of the side of
the cage, watching helplessly as anonymous feet walked out of the
room.  She tried to move her head to look out the other side of the
cage, but she couldn't tilt it up high enough to scrape her chin
against its smooth, metal floor.  As far as she could see, the men
no longer had faces, just strong hands, and weapons.

One pair of feet remained, and when she strained to look up as high
as she could, compounding her neck ache, she saw the familiar earwig
prongs in the man's hands.  "Please, no," she begged, fresh tears
dripping onto the cage floor, but it was too late.  He'd made his
decision.

Her back felt like it was on fire as electricity cursed through her
helpless naked body once more.  "That's for trying to kick us," said
the man.

Unaccustomed to the shock, she felt herself do something she hadn't
done since she was a child.

"Hey, looky here," said the man.  "She's pissin' herself!"

Slowly but surely, as she felt the only kind of relief she could
have, a small puddle formed on the cage's metal floor, creeping along
from her feet, past her legs, finally making its way to her cheek
and hair.

Her empty bladder offered little comfort; the other feet turned
around, and she heard all the men laughing at her.  She felt like
she could die from embarrassment, but in a way, the person she was
had already died.  In her place would be an obedient little slave.
Not right away, of course.  She still hated the idea of being made
to do whatever someone else told her to.  Admittedly, this was what
she'd alawys done, but now she no longer had the right to say no.
She'd have to do everything she was told, no matter how much she
hated it.  Eventually she'd wear down until doing what was necessary
to avoid being punished would become doing what was expected of her
to avoid displeasing someone.  Her master.

"Wait until she's stopped dripping," one of the men said, his tone
of voice suddenly cheerful, "then bring her out back for hosing down.
Then we can box her up and ship her off."

Jane winced, but no one saw her face.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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