Indenture: Dollars and Sense

THE INDENTURE: RITUAL PRESENTATION: DOLLARS AND CENTS

The deep resonance of a male guard echoed off the tiled walls of Dr Crenshaw's private spa, announced my entrance, "Laurie, the newly acquired HR Chief."

A thousand thoughts swept through my mind. How will my daughter Felicity react when she learns how the terms under which my person was acquired affect her?

Acquired? I thought to myself, not hired.

"The statuses of employment and indenture," some weeks ago, Angie, The Institute's tall lean Administrative Assistant, explained when she solicited me to take the post, "are similar but different. Indenture may be a contractual arrangement, but it is," Angie chuckled, as she rubbed her the bubble on her belly, "more than a contract. Execution of the commitment is a conversion, a change of status. Free labor can come and go as it pleases; an indenturee, bound for a chain of years."

"When we," I anguished, "my husband and I, purchased my daughter's bond, we took on a 15-year obligation to stretch our payments out over 15 years. With our default in the economic downturn, our property, my daughter's bond, would be forfeit. My daughter and I might face sale at auction. What of my husband? My husband and I both owe 15 years on our indenture. Right?"

Angie rose. She walked around the desk and bid me to stand up and look down on the concrete slab below the window. "What do you see?"

Right underneath the window, people,40 women and ten men, exiting a bus, hands tied behind their backs, staggered off balance into a line. "Repossessed defaulting debtors," Angie commented, "a local round -- up nearby in Capitalland."

"Mostly women," I noted, "drowned in the backwash against profligate spending, easy credit and liberal bankruptcy. Today, in consequence, a person's word is their bond and their bond is secured by their person. The riddle is why does the burden fall on women?"

"The Institute is about profit. Females produce it," Angie replied, "Women are easier to manage, more cooperative, easier to classify, more versatile in placement and yield more money at auction. Our choices make good sense because they produce dollars and cents."

"Is that why I was invited to accept an indenture, while my husband's obligation was modified?" I asked.

My question went unanswered for the moment. Below us the ritual had begun. After kicking off their shoes, the debtors were ordered to strip.

"Out in the open? In public?" I gasped. The sight was captivating. Methodically, after the captured debtors discarded first their tops, a guard went down the line inspected pockets and turning the garment inside out felt along seams. On command, bottoms were shed, then underthings. As the captive stood shivering, the guard upturned the cups of women's bras. With a smirk, guards dangled thongs in their former owner's face.

"It's part of the ritualized reduction to servitude," Angie broke the trance of ritualized degradation, "a presentation, marking the conversion from freedom to indentured servitude. "Angie returned to her seat.

"I guess my poor daughter Felicity faced the same humiliation," I exclaimed.

"You saved your daughter from sale into prostitution," Angie recalled the transaction, "Felicity's case was examined. She was selected for private sale and presented to you."

Yes Felicity this was all about her. Hair cut short, bare body waxed leaving a narrow wisp of red hair across her mound, Felicity was exhibited to me and my husband. Hands bound behind her back, head bowed, Felicity was a tragic beauty. I'm sure my husband had a hard on, both appalled and aroused by the thought of Felicity's potential as a prostitute. "Our daughter," I exclaimed as I slapped him back to his senses to discuss purchase of Felicity's indenture.

"Should you accept this indenture," Angie introduced the duties I would assume, "you would select among the females -- and the males too -- we detain who we would retain and re-train, who might be returned to resume normal life, loan reinstated, who for private sale are reserved or simply to auction removed."

I sighed. Indeed, how would Felicity take the terms I had agreed on. How long had Felicity been here at the Institute? After acquiring her in a private sale, my husband and me agreed to leave her at the Institute to continue her schooling remotely. The Institute gave her a job which provided her with a small stipend and helped with the monthly payment on the loan.

"At the moment," Angie raised my current status, "you yourself face default. You have a choice: you could be one of those shivering naked bodies on the loading dock, awaiting classification, fearing what's next," Angie warned, "Your property forfeit and Felicity -- maybe you too shipped to auction."

"Swept away in a disaster," I moaned, "But my co -- obligor, my dear husband, what comes of him in this," I snickered, "happily ever -- after?"

"Felicity is smart enough," Angie continued without answering the question, " If her height were overlooked she might end up as a courtesan or a call girl, but her height, 5 ft 5 in is a few inches short of what the sophisticates seek in a courtesan, house of prostitution is more likely."

"Women bear the burden of producing profit for the Institute," I griped, "Can't you take me and free my daughter?"

"It is about the value of the person who has gone into debt. You are less valuable as a domestic or a slut than your daughter is as a call girl or courtesan," Angie painted a grim picture of possibilities, "Plain good business sense is a simple matter of dollars and cents."

"And males, like my husband, like those 10 guys down there?" I asked. That question seemed to bob in and out of my discussions with Angie.

Intent on side-stepping a direct answer, instead Angie offered the more attractive alternative. "Fate provides an opportunity for a professional caste indenture," Angie observed, "The Institute needs a HR chief." Peering out the window, at the repossessed bondspeople bent at the waist awaiting inspection by a blue coated security person donning latex gloves, Angie noted, "Accession of a professional caste servant may be `ritual bound.' It may signify submission, but it is private and dignified."

On the appointed morning, in Dr Crenshaw's private spa, I would be subject to ritual presentation. Formally presented in the nude, I would offer complete submission to The Institute and tall, muscular, Dr Crenshaw. In turn, The Institute Director would accept me as the new head of The Institute's HR.

Emerging from the hot tub to greet me, Crenshaw's bare body stood out between his two burly, body waxed smooth guards. My eyes were drawn down from the hairy curly, dark blond pile on Crenshaw's chest to the institute director's bushy pubic hair partially concealing his dangling ball sac.

Standing behind me, tall angular Angie, Crenshaw's administrative assistant, rubbed my back as she whispered assurance in my ear, "Nude meetings, Dr Crenshaw believes, promote candor, honesty and trust."

Turning to glance at the little bubble in her belly, I suggested, "Nothing to hide?" My suggestion brought a pleasant smile to her face. I had known Angie for only a short train of days, but I realized how rare that was.

"Wearing nothing but a smile?" Angie returned the repartee.

Yes, in Crenshaw's private pool and spa complex, I wore nothing more than a smile. For my presentation, my hair had been clipped to the kennel cut worn by women indentured at the Institute. Body glistening, waxed smooth, traces of pubic hair in a narrow inverted triangle marked the pathway to my gateway.

Inspecting me during my preparation for the ritual, Angie, running a finger along the stubbly remnant across my mound, quipped, "the vertice pointed at the vortex! More sensible than salacious, the wisps of hair are less of a direction -- finder for a pulsating penis than proof at an auction of a slave-girl's natural hair color."

Reacting instinctively, I mechanically covered my breasts, Angie swept my hands away. "Be proud," Angie upbraided me, "have no regret, 40 year old, firm of breasts, tight butt, and thin waist, body without stretch marks didn't betray two pregnancies. No wonder you qualified for a loan large enough to qualify your purchase of an attractive nubile," Angie snickered, "would -- be starlet."

"My daughter!" I exclaimed.

"The Institute profits not through the ethereal guidance of `Milk of Human Kindness' which would have us subsidizing the defaulting debtor," Angie instructed, "but by correctly weighing the value of the debtor's services against the potential upset price at auction. Business judgements made in good sense are resolved by calculating the dollars and cents."

"Oh," I chided Angie, "As new as I am to the Institute, I realize The Institute profits from the `milk of human kindness.' Capture teams repossess females over males at a rate of 2:1. Do lactating females have a greater chance of being retained for employ at the Institute's milking parlor over restoration and reinstatement or referral to auction?"

As she gave my nipple good natured teasing, Angie thought aloud, "`Milk of Human Kindness!' Quite profitable for the Institute. It makes the register ring, with dollars and cents, Kaching - Kaching!"

When I leaned forward to kiss Angie's fingers tantalizing my tit, I broke the magic of te moment. Abruptly withdrawing her fingers, Angie apologized, "We'll have some fun together, but ..." Her voice trailed off.

I smiled. "By the time," I assured her, "I accepted the Indenture to pay off a debt run up by my daughter, I unlearned bashfulness. To qualify for the loan to buy my daughter, I had to abandon modesty. Finding myself group -- stripped with other females for inspection, I endured barcoding, branding and insertion of tracking devices in the flesh of my breast and butt."

Giving my nipple a kiss, Angie recalled, "When Dr Crenshaw began to insist on nude meetings with his principal staff, I did find that submission disconcerting. The process of standing in line to get undressed, inspected, for the meeting to be attended, and then re -- dressed was time wasted."

"Interesting place," I suggested, "Dr Crenshaw's private space!"

"A fascinating tale untold," Angie reflected, "how Dr Crenshaw's naked tete-a-tete unfolded, from official meetings in the nude, of the management team, evolved from an eccentricity focused on transparency into the security of the females immured in a harem."

I sighed. "It seems so exotic it would evoke mixed emotions in the complete abandon of a nude presentation."

"Our persons are respected. Intact males present at meetings," Angie advised, "are locked down in chastity. Dr Crenshaw's male personal security and male household staff are castratos."

Once I made the decision to accept the Indenture, I felt my nipples go erect. Did my body tingled with anticipation or shrink with fear at the unknown?

In the private spa, Dr Crenshaw greeted me with an explanation, "Newly accessioned professional caste servants may find these meetings unnerving. I believe in presenting the person un -- festooned, plucked of plumage, stripped of tokens of power, prestige, precedence and position. Displaying the person in the natural state removes the distractions of daily life and allows me to interact directly with the subject in front of me. Angie, you are going to shepherd through the orientation to the particular demands of in -- processing newly raw material bound by an Indenture, have you anything to add?"

"Laurie, the task at hand is to decide with each bondsman," Angie's voice was firm, "whether to retain for re-training, return to normal life and reinstate the loan, reserve for private sale or simply remove to auction."

"Play God," I commented.

"That may sum up the practical effect of the role created by implementing these three Rs, but the concept," Dr Crenshaw was emphatic, "is rather simple and straight forward: The Institute makes no money warehousing humanity, What reasonable choices we may make must find a basis in dollars and cents."

Humanity was an odd term to use for bondsmen, I mused. A bonded person was a subject, converted by their indenture to a thing, an object, properly property, just a chattel. What rights could they have? The rights of cattle!

"My job," I observed, "`Playing God' is to select those removed to auction, retained for retraining or who returned to normalcy."

"It's a heavy burden to put on one person's shoulders," Angie admitted, "as much as we strive for objectivity, a human element must factor in the determination. You will have my help and Doc Amy's."

With nothing to hide, Dr Amy, breasts burgeoning, nipples darkened, belly ballooned, showed her pregnancy more dramatically than Angie.

Angie had compared her impregnation with Amy's. "We're slaves and do what we're told, but still there is some accommodation of individual preferences. With my proposed indenture in front of me, Angie explained, "I was efficiently artificially impregnated with a minimum down time. Dr Amy wanted the rush of being taken."

"What choice, do these terms," I asked, "give Felicity?"

"One final matter to resolve," Dr Crenshaw reminded, "before we can conclude, to decide specifically, how to finally devolve, Laura's remaining personalty, the fair bondswoman Felicity." Taking a breath, Dr Crenshaw commanded, "Produce Felicity immediately."

In his deep resonant tones, the guard called for production of my daughter Felicity. Although I knew what would happen, my heart sank when another nude burly male guard, body waxed, penis shriveled, a firm hand on Felicity's bicep, brought Felicity into the room. Nude body waxed except for the landing strip slave girls at the Institute wore, Felicity kept her kennel clipped red head properly bowed.

My heartbeat faster. How would she react to confronting her mother stripped naked subject to the terms of an indenture which pledges rendering joint sexual services? Would Felicity feel betrayed by her father who abandoned his claim on her as part of restructuring his loan?

When Felicity was exhibited in all her glory to my husband and me, I looked at my husband and he looked at me. His eyes burned with excitement. As excited as we were, we were appalled at the same time. A shiver sent an electric shock down our spines. We held hands. I felt our temperatures rise; our pulses, race. Temptation drawing all three of us together was too great to resist.

The thought of Felicity as a slave at our disposal to do whatever we would invited appraisal of her assets luscious lips drawing kisses, bare breasts at our behest, succulent tits so titillating, ovate belly button for thoughts so wanton, a welcoming slit set to admit. I had to slap my husband to bring him to break the spell of the fantasy.

We knew then. We couldn't take her home. We bought her bond but for her protection from herself as much as from us, we left her in care at the Institute pending redeeming our indentures.

Her father ceded his ownership rights to me as part of the restructuring of his loan.

Everything here at the Institute makes sense," said Angie of the conditions attached to my bond," when you think in terms of dollars and cents. With men unsuited for work as servants in the household or as brawny laborers in the field or factories, we keep men left at large on conditional liberty on a short tether working off their bond giving us their all. Their dedication assured for if they fail, if they falter, we take their balls."

I took a deep breath. Tears welled in my eyes when Dr Crenshaw's personal guard announced, "`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 buttocks, bar coded on right hip, repossessed for non-payment of a car loan, indenture sold to Laura Bogan who has since surrendered on her own indenture, title to the bondswoman Felicity transferred to The Institute subject to the terms of Laurie's 15 year indenture."

I sighed, but nodded agreement.

"The slave Felicity, subject to good behavior," Dr Crenshaw's personal guard continued to expound the terms of the Indenture, "is to be retained at the Institute, subject to its will, but may not be used as breeding stock except..."

As much as I might have like to see Felicity freed, I knew disappointment would have been inevitable. In normal life, a good-looking girl like Felicity would be easily persuaded to overleverage her person. When Felicity wound up stripped naked, back on the loading dock, my sacrifice of 15 years of my life would be in vain.

"Except," the guard continued, "that both slaves may be breed simultaneously by hot infusion."

I looked to my daughter, naked, bound, head bowed for a reaction. How long had she been here? A little over a year. Until my husband's business reverses left our indenture in default, keeping Felicity in school through the Institute seemed preferable to seeing her wind up on the auction block as a courtesan or prostitute.

Would I see a reaction? What should I expect?

"It makes good business sense," Felicity answered Dr Crenshaw's invitation for a comment, "men pay more for the bizarre, sex with two females, even more for a sex-capade with a mother -- daughter team, even more to attempt to impregnate them both. As long as I get the customary bonus at the end of my term, why not."

"In the end, even the human touch," Angie observed, "revolves around a question of dollars and cents."