Kingdom of Slaves

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

Kim studied the two men. One was about forty, bald and bearded, with a wiry build which spoke of hard work and hidden strength. She suspected he seldom spoke or smiled. The other man was much younger and heavier. His face was earnest and boyish, a college football player, she decided. The other one looked like a retired soldier. Mentally, she gave them nicknames, “Baldy” and “Muscles”. Both men wore brown shirts and slacks that could have been work clothes or uniforms.

“Come with us,” said Baldy.

He turned and led the way. Kim followed, wondering how she would go about pumping them for information. Baldy looked too taciturn, but muscles might open up and tell her what she wanted to know. Neither of them seemed inclined to introduce himself.

Muscles stood aside in the doorway and let her pass, then fell into step behind her. The move could have been accidental or planned. Kim felt like the filling in a girl sandwich, and it made her uneasy. She almost felt as though she were marching under guard.

There was a huge refrigerator truck parked in the alley. The side door of the truck was open, and a stepladder was set up in front of the door so that it could be entered easily. A woman was standing by the door wearing a brown uniform. She had high cheekbones and a sharp chin. Her dark hair had been braided and wrapped into a bun. The way she stood suggested to Kim that she was very fit. Even in low shoes she towered over Kim.

“The express to Domain is about to leave,” she said cheerily. “All aboard.”

The cheerfulness seemed false, like the patter of a guide on a cut-rate tour who doesn’t want the tourists to realize they have been cheated.

Behind the gaiety was the suppressed eagerness of a hunting cat, a sort of dark joy. Alarm bells were starting to go off in Kim’s head, but curiosity shut them down. Members of the press are used to getting grudging respect, even in unfriendly third world countries. If things got hairy, she could always flash her press card and give up the game. It would mean the bum’s rush, probably, if Charlene had been right about Domain’s passion for privacy. Before she let that happen, Kim wanted to find out as much as she could. There was no way she was going to waste the entire morning without getting a story of some kind. Holding her purse like a shield, she stepped into the truck.

The interior of the truck had been hastily outfitted as a camper. There was a table and chairs, cupboards, a refrigerator, a stove, and three beds made up with clean bedding. An area in one corner had been partitioned off for a small bathroom. In another corner was a bare mattress. It lay as though it had been cast aside, an afterthought.

All the changes were utilitarian rather than cosmetic. Behind the spare furnishings was the riveted sheet metal that covered the walls when the truck was manufactured. Iron rings were bolted into the floor and walls for tying down cargo. Two heavy chains, equipped with hooks, dangled near the ceiling. A meat truck, Kim decided, wondering at the carelessness that left all this hardware inside it. The four of them stepped into the truck together. Muscles came in last, closing the door behind him.

“We have a long drive ahead of us,” explained the woman, observing Kim’s curious inspection. “This suits our needs.”

Kim wondered if it was poverty or a miserly spirit which kept the citizens of Domain from chipping in together to buy themselves a proper camper.

“We have a formality to take care of before we get under way,” said the woman briskly. “There is a paper for you to sign. Since you’re here, I assume that you intend to come with us.”

Kim wanted to start firing questions, but she had to play along just a little longer. Maybe she would overhear something really important if they thought that she was one of them.

“Yes,” she said.

The woman handed Kim a document. “Read and sign.”

Kim read:

“I, the undersigned, do consign myself to Domain, trusting my body, soul, and mind to its dictates, and pledging complete obedience to its laws. I shall hereafter be identified by my new designation CAS 123.”

That was all. A simple printed form with no address, masthead, or logo at the top. The number at the end had been typed in.

Political nuts, Kim decided. She hoped they weren’t another survivalist group. The Herald had carried a survival nut story last month, and wouldn’t want to bother with another one for a while. Whoever they were, they seemed to take themselves very seriously.

There was a space at the bottom for her to sign. Kim shrugged. In for a penny, she thought. She took the pen that the woman held out to her, then realized that she would have to empty her hands to sign the paper. The woman ended her confusion by relieving her of her purse.

“I’ll hold this for you.”

She almost signed her own name, then caught herself and wrote “Charlene Weaver”.

She turned, startled to see the three people crowded closely around her. Their faces were intent. Trying for levity, Kim asked, “Do I get my I.D. badge now?”

“How about an I.D. bracelet?” said Baldy. Something cold closed around her wrist. Kim turned to look at a heavy metal band about three inches wide and half an inch thick. She couldn’t see any catch for removing it, only a ring riveted to its side, and a narrow slot like a keyhole.

“Hey!” she turned, confused, to look at Baldy, and Muscles snapped another bracelet upon her other wrist.

“HEY!” she said it louder this time. Grasping her forearms, the two men lifted until her feet lost contact with the floor. They used the rings on her bracelets to hang her on the hooks dangling overhead. Kim started to scream for help, remembering everything she had been taught in self defense classes, and wishing vainly for the can of pepper spray in her purse. There was enough slack in the ceiling chains for her feet to reach the floor. She stood on her left foot and tried to kick Baldy with her right, but he saw the kick coming and sidestepped. Her shoe came off and sailed across the room to bounce off the wall. Her struggles robbed her of breath, and her screams grew fainter.

“This truck is insulated,” the woman said calmly, when Kim paused to draw breath, “no one can hear you.”

They gagged her anyway. The rubber gag they forced into her mouth and strapped in place resembled a short, thick p***s. The two men stripped away her remaining shoe and socks, spread her legs, and shackled her ankles to rings set in the floor.

The woman fished through Kim’s purse, found her wallet, and removed the cash. Then she threw the wallet and purse into a trash barrel. It was the last thing that Kim saw before the blindfold descended.

They cut off her clothes with a knife.

A diesel truck rolled south, carefully observing all traffic laws. There was no company name on the truck to tell what sort of cargo it might carry. The “cargo” swayed in her chains, rocked by the truck’s motion. She had been allowed enough slack to touch the floor with feet that were fastened far apart. If she stood on her toes, it eased the strain on her wrists and chest, but her leg muscles tired, and most of the time she would hang limp, her joints silently protesting the traction. Mute and blind, she could only endure and wait.

A cool hand touched her breast, causing her to stiffen and try to draw away. She heard a soft chuckle.

“Don’t be so timid, sweet thighs,” it was the woman’s voice. Her cheeriness was gone now, replaced by husky menace. “I know it took courage to come here. Let that courage sustain you. You’re a Class A Slave. You have status now, a place in an orderly system. I offer you acceptance and affection. I offer you penance and absolution.”

The hand returned to toy with Kim’s n*****s, teasing them into erection with pinches and finger flicks.

“I offer you pain and pleasure.”

Two hands worked her now, stroking and teasing, bringing responses from the wracked and trembling captive.

“The life of a Class C is not for you. They are only painted whores, insolently parading in their finery, red silk on their throats, invitation in their eyes, and a sneer on their lips. I don’t care for them at all.”

The hands tested the firmness of Kim’s flanks.

“You’re much too pretty to be a Class B. I would hate to see your lovely hands grown rough with work, your leather collar stained with sweat, your eyes dulled by a life of drudgery.”

A fingertip teased Kim’s navel.

“Your life will be a glorious adventure. Your steel collar will be a badge of honor proclaiming to one and all that CAS 123 dares everything, endures everything, and surrenders everything. When you bow down to kiss your Master’s feet, you will wear a secret smile.”

A feather light touch against her belly made Kim damp. She strained to close her legs.

“You will not be punished merely for disobedience, but for our pleasure as well. Though one Master will own you, you will obey everyone. There is nothing you have the right to demand or refuse.”

As she spoke, the woman’s hands had traveled down until one of them was cupping the furred mound of Kim’s s*x, while the other stroked her buttocks. When a finger slipped into her slit, Kim was anticipating it and actually leaned into the touch. The hands were exciting her, even while the woman’s words were inspiring fear.

They wanted to make her a s****l slave! It was hard for Kim to believe that Charlene had volunteered for such a fate. Then she thought of Charlene’s humble nature, her need for love, and her desire to please.

Kim hardly noticed the hand trailing down the cleft of her buttocks, for the busy fingers that pleasured her in front absorbed all her attention. She was caught unaware when a finger suddenly burrowed into her anus. She lunged forward and sought to evade the assault. Her muscles clenched against the invading finger, attempting to expel it.

Suddenly the hands were withdrawn and Kim stood swaying, her panting breath whistling through her nose.

“So!” said the woman softly. Kim could hear her cross the room, open the refrigerator, pop the top on a can, and slide a chair away from the table to sit down. The woman’s gaze upon her body was something Kim could feel. She was naked and afraid, stretched open painfully, displayed like a butterfly; and this woman was sitting down to have a drink and enjoy the show. The knowledge of just how cold and merciless her captors might be was beginning to sink in.

“You’re trembling,” said the woman. “You should be. It’s my job to examine and observe you on the way to the training camp. I am the one who decides just how unpleasant your stay there will be.” Papers shuffled. “I’m writing on your chart right now. It’s quite obvious that you are an anal virgin. This is a very bad thing for a Class A slave to be. Your ass is going to be in great demand. Any Class C can be f****d in the usual way, and most of them are experts at fellatio. If a man’s pleasure is sodomy, he seeks out a Class A, and a lovely ass like yours is almost certain to attract attention.”

She delivered this lecture with utter seriousness, though she could not keep the delight out of her voice. The prospect of Kim’s suffering seemed to please her.

“So that little asshole that you guard so jealously is in for some heavy treatment. The muscles must be stretched and trained to relax. Not a day will go by when you are left unpenetrated. You will be f****d with objects and by some of the biggest c***s you have ever seen.”

She stood up then, and Kim could hear her moving about the room, gathering something up. Kim felt arms reaching around her as a belt was buckled around her waist. A cold buckle dangled against her belly, a leather strap tickled the cleft between her cheeks.

The finger was back at her anus. This time it was covered thickly with lubricant and slid in deeply in spite of her resistance. The finger felt alien as it squirmed inside of her. When a second finger was added, she felt pain, and protested inarticulately into her gag. The fingers turned and wiggled, stretching, making her twist against her chains as she struggled to free herself of the impalement.

When the fingers were removed, Kim was empty for a moment. Then she felt something else being forced in. It was a smooth, hard cylinder. Unable to see, Kim could only estimate its size by the pain it caused her. The fingers at least had been warm, living tissue. The object now being introduced into her most intimate orifice was unyielding and cold.

“Relax your muscles,” the woman commanded. “Unless you want it to hurt going in.”

It went in deep, deeper than any fingers could have reached. Kim could feel her flesh settling around it, making way, warming the intruder with its own heat.

“It won’t fall in,” the woman assured her. “The base is flared.”

The strap between Kim’s legs was drawn up between her cheeks and her labia before being buckled tightly in front. The strap divided her loins in a grip both painful and stimulating, driving the object deep into her and holding it there.

“You see,” said the woman. “You didn’t like my little fingers, so now you have a big plug up your ass. This is lesson number one. Slaves should never complain, because things can always get worse. I have larger plugs for you to wear later, but right now I want you to ponder the futility of resistance while you are being whipped.”

“There’s a rest stop ahead, I’m pulling over.” The male voice had a tinny, mechanical sound. Kim heard a click and the crackle of static. Then the woman said, “All right, I’ll put the coffee on.” Kim decided that there must be radio communication between the cab and trailer.

The woman’s hand patted Kim’s bottom affectionately, then delivered a series of rapid, stinging slaps to both cheeks. Kim lunged forward in surprise, seeking escape from the sudden pain.

“It looks as though you have to hang around a bit longer to wait for your whipping,” the woman said regretfully. She walked away. Kim could hear her rummaging through cupboards, running water, and lighting the stove. The truck slowed and stopped, idling. There was a knock on the side door. The woman spoke into the radio.

“Otto?”

“All clear here.”

The woman unlocked the door and let him in.

“We’re making good time,” said Otto, coming in. “Is she behaving?”

“Does she have a choice?”

Though she couldn’t see them, Kim could feel their eyes upon her. She was completely exposed in this position. This fact had brought her shame before, now it brought terror. She was going to be whipped, and every inch of her body was an available target. In her fear, a memory came, the memory of a summer that she had shut out of her mind until now.