Accidentally on-Purpose

Part two of a multi-part story about a young woman working as an intern at a slave market. It is set in the same world, city, and place as my previous series

Three Sisters

so it may be useful to read that first. Note that this story contains bondage, slavery, physical harm including branding and whipping, non-consensual sexual submission, and a character's struggle to come to terms with all of it. All characters are at least 18 years of age.

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Note to readers: I worked some backstory or history of the world into this part, hopefully it doesn't feel too forced and helps explain - or at least hints - why some things are the way they are.

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"You okay?" Sandy asked.

"Yeah, just need a minute to catch my breath" Michelle said. "I didn't expect us to go through them so quickly." She wiped a bead of sweat off her forehead with the back of her forearm.

"

Go slow to go fast

; a coach of mine swore by that, and she was usually right. You start off with each one slowly to focus on form, then as they get into muscle memory they speed up."

Michelle nodded, leaning against the wall of the HCI classroom. It was after work, and Sandy was teaching her to perform the basic control positions, AKA "The Foundation." A lifelong swimmer, lettered in high school, Michelle was in good shape but even so, the last round had left her winded.

Sandy leaned against the wall next to Michelle. "You're doing really good, though. You've got the individual moves down, all you need to do is combine them into a single flow and you'll be golden."

"As long as Ms Steiner is happy, that's all that matters to me." Michelle said between pants.

"No worries there. You'll do fine, she just has really high standards, not just for us but for herself." Sandy said.

"Why? Why is this important to her?" Michelle asked. "She told me something about learning to follow and learning to lead, but don't think that's all there is to it."

"Heh, I'm surprised she told you that much" Sandy replied. "But yeah, part of it is her theory of leadership, which I think is sincere — she really thinks it helps gain insight into the minds of slaves — but I think the other part of it is that she's just a natural perfectionist."

Michelle nodded. "We've been here almost an hour. Do you want to call it a night?"

"Sure," Sandy said, "keep it up on your own, then let's meet again on Friday and check on your progress."

"Okay, sounds good." Michelle said. "Thanks again for doing this. Can I repay you with dinner Friday night?"

Sandy glanced at her sharply for a moment before falling back into laid-back mode. "That sounds nice, thanks. You ready?"

Michelle nodded again, and Sandy pushed off the wall and headed toward the door. She was wearing a ribbed tank top and track pants; Michelle had spent the entire time trying to get a good look at her back to no avail. She sighed, pushed off the wall and followed Sandy out the door.

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Since she had stayed late, Michelle treated herself to a rideshare car and arrived home less worn out than she did from riding the bus. She hated riding the bus, but she had to for the essay: experiencing the lives of the working class and all that.

Opening the front door, she saw the telltale blue glow of the TV coming from the back of the house; Dad must have waited up for her.

Indeed, he was sunk into the couch watching The History Channel — what is it with fathers and The History Channel? she wondered — so she came up behind him and kissed him on the top of his head.

"Hi Daddy!" she said. "What's on?"

Her father reached out and squeezed her hand. "Hey sweetheart, welcome home." He waved at the TV: "Oh, just something on the war."

Michelle sighed: the war, of course. Hers was the first generation to be born after the Sino-Taiwanese War, or the Russian-Chinese War, or whatever they were calling it now. Because of the weapons unleashed the world population is a fraction of what it was when her parents were born.

Now the show was talking about the bio-engineered "Widowmaker" virus that had devastated the male population, targeting anyone with a Y chromosome. Not only did it kill lots of men, it screwed up every remaining male's reproductive system: only about one out of every four children born now are males. As a young woman, that statistic was terribly depressing.

Still, time with Dad was time with Dad. "Scoot over" she said, and climbed over the back of the couch.

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The next morning Michelle was checking in a new arrival when she paused and called Sandy over.

"Would you look at this?" Michelle asked, handing Sandy the data pad. "She's already owned and trained, and she's typed as a domestic, and she's listed as NFS. Why is she even here?"

Sandy looked over the fields. "Yeah, this is pretty new. You got the Not-For-Sale flag right, but look down in the comments field: she's here for punishment."

Michelle raised her eyebrows. "Punishment?"

"Yeah, it's a new service they're trying out, so the software hasn't been updated yet." Sandy handed back the data pad. "Pay to get your slave publicly punished by a professional in front of a crowd. I think they're doing it monthly until the advertising catches up. If you look at the end of the comments there's a code: in this case, she's getting whipped."

Michelle looked at the woman. She was quite pretty, surprising that she was only graded Choice: white creamy skin, reddish-brown hair and a generous spray of freckles over her face and shoulders. Maybe it was her body? She's not fat, but she has naturally wide hips and small breasts. Too bad, Michelle thought, I think she's quite attractive, even if she is wide-eyed and trembling.

She had arrived in a car, which was unusual in itself, and a very well-dressed older man with a thick mane of silver hair had led her up to the entry door by a leash (she was already naked, collared, handcuffed and gagged), handed the leash to Michelle, returned to his car and left without a word.

Michelle replaced the slave's silvery collar with an HCI model, then removed the ball gag. "Can you understand me?"

The slave cast her eyes down and replied "Yes, ma'am."

Michelle recited her spiel: "You are at the Houston, Texas location of HCI Incorporated. You are here to receive punishment, apparently, which is new to me. I am required by law to tell you that the collar you are wearing can deliver a powerful and extremely painful electric shock if you attempt to leave this building without permission, and all HCI employees are authorized to use any means necessary to compel you to comply with all orders given to you, and those means include electrical shock and whipping. If you follow my instructions you will not be hurt. Do you understand?"

Without hesitation, the woman replied "Yes, ma'am."

Sandy nodded, then told Michelle "She can skip the processing line, and you can take her straight to holding. Now that she's listed as "received" it's the responsibility of an Auction Ops person to take her from there."

Michelle clipped a leash to the slave's collar, and led her through the maze of pens and cages to one with "019" painted on the floor in front of it. She put the slave inside, but as she sat down on a plastic bench the watching Michelle was overcome with curiosity: "2904, do you know why you are being punished? Because I don't."

The woman looked directly at her for the first time. "Mistress," she said, "because I am a slave and it pleases my master."

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Michelle hurried out of the pens back toward her station, but as she reached the first control door (an automatic door that only opens for HCI employees, it acts like an "air lock" to keep escapees from leaving the pen area) she literally ran into the warehouse crew foreman, Ed.

"You must be the newwwww girrrrrrrrl" he drawled, grinning, as Michelle took a step back. As foreman he didn't have to wear coveralls, so he wore a plain work shirt with an HCI patch above one pocket, jeans, a heavy leather belt and boots, and his omnipresent ball cap. He put one hand high against the wall and looked down on her: he must have at least a foot of height on me, she thought, maybe more; he is literally almost twice my size. "I'm Ed, warehouse dayshift foreman" he said, and held out his hand.

Michelle took it — his hands were incredibly rough, like sandpaper — and gave it a shake, but Ed did not release his grip.

"I believe I saw you bringin' a sweet little thing into this pen" he asked, looking around. "Which one did you put her in?"

She looked up at him and couldn't speak for a moment; when his gaze swung back to her she managed to stammer "nineteen."

"Show me" he said, but then pulled her along behind him. They reached 019, he unlocked the door and — still gripping her — walked into the pen. The slave looked up at him, too startled to lower her gaze.

"Hello there," he said to her, "I'm Ed, and I'd like to welcome you to HCI. You doin' alright so far, little red?" The slave nodded at him.

Ed swung Michelle around in front of him, and with one hand pushed her against the wall to his right; she was now between 2904 and Ed, but to one side, like a point on a triangle.

"It's a tradition for new residents to show off their cock sucking skills" he said, "and especially for ones who're gonna be here a few days and don't want to make anyone upset at 'em." Ed unzipped the fly of his jeans and unreeled (that's the word that came into Michelle's head) the largest penis she had ever seen, even larger than the porn stars she was familiar with, in length and girth...and it was still flaccid. Both women stared at it in something like amazement.

"I'm gonna borrow this if you don't mind" he said to Michelle, taking the leash from her hand and clipping it to 2904's collar. Ed took a step back and pulled the slave off her bench and onto her knees in front of him (with Michelle to her left side, watching dumbfounded). She skillfully took the head of his cock into her mouth, massaging the glans with her tongue. His cock grew erect quickly, and as the slave took more of it into her mouth he started pulling back-and-forth on the leash, controlling her rhythm. As her lips grew closer and closer to the base of his shaft, he looked over at Michelle and took the side of her face in one huge hand, his rough palm on her cheek. Ed ran his thumb along Michelle's lips a few times before firmly pressing it inside her mouth — or trying to, because Michelle clamped her teeth together.

Ed smiled at her, a predator's smile.

Michelle was frozen with fear and uncertainty. Ed was huge, and older than her, and not especially good looking, and more than a little gross. But watching him take what he wanted without shame or hesitation was kind of hot, and she wasn't sure why.

"

Ahem

." All three froze and looked around at the source of the throat-clearing; it was Ms. Steiner.

She stood calmly, with her hands clasped behind her back. "Mr. Monroe, I believe you have duties to attend. Please do so now, and release my clerk" she said.

"You got some

balls

on you, I'll give ya that" he said. "You know the deal—"

"Any "deal" you imagine you have does not extend to the areas under my purview," Ms. Steiner replied in a steady tone, "which includes these pens and Miss Tran. Please leave now or I will take the matter up with Mr. Hastings, and your military record will not protect you."

Ed looked at her for a moment, then released Michelle, dropped the leash, carefully tucked himself back into his pants, and departed, looking directly at Ms. Steiner the entire time.

"Miss Tran, if you please" Ms. Steiner said. Michelle left the pen, closing and locking the door behind her — but not before glimpsing Ms. Steiner slide what appeared to be a small semi-automatic pistol into her blazer pocket.

The two women walked out of the pens, Michelle a pace behind Ms. Steiner. When they reached the intake desks, Ms. Steiner turned and addressed Michelle.

"As I am sure you have surmised: I saw Mr. Monroe enter the pens after seeing you and the slave enter, so I attended in case I was needed. Mr. Monroe is a dangerous man, and should you ever find yourself confronted again you must contact me immediately; Miss Preston will show you how to set up a panic button on your data pad." Ms Steiner paused, then asked "Do you have any questions?"

"Umm, no, no ma'am. I will be more careful, ma'am" Michelle said, then more quietly: "And thank you, ma'am."

Ms. Steiner nodded. "Of course, Miss Tran. You may resume your duties."

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"So I asked Sandy later and she said that Ed and Mr. Hastings were in the Marines together, and had fought at the Battle of Kaohsiung, and Mr. Hastings was badly hurt, and Ed won a medal for taking command of their tank and killing a bunch of Chinese soldiers with it. So after the war he gave Ed a job. But Sandy thinks Ms. Steiner has more pull with Mr. Hastings than Ed does, maybe even with corporate, so she might not have been kidding when she threatened him. But I swear she had a real gun, like she was ready to a drill a hole in him if he gave her any crap." Michelle started laughing in spite of herself.

She was sitting on her bed, doing one of her regular nighttime video calls with Lena. "That is

so

crazy

" Lena said. "You should be writing all of this down and turn it into a movie!"

"I know, right?" Michelle said. "Oh, I meant to ask you: the red-headed girl is getting whipped on Saturday. You want to go see it? I can get us good seats, probably. If there are seats."

"Sure," Lena said, "I've never seen one in person, sounds like fun. Did you—" A loud crash somewhere in Lena's room caused her to jump, look around, then sprint off-camera. She returned a moment later, rolling her eyes: "It's just someone throwing a temper tantrum. Look." She took the phone off its stand and pointed it at the high, raftered, wood-paneled ceiling of her room; the camera finally focused on a small shape slowly making its way along one of the rafters, knocking lights (designed to look like camping lanterns) off their hooks and onto the floor.

"What's wrong with Oswald?" Michelle asked.

"Oh, he's still upset because Hedwig got out of his cage and flew around the room earlier. Apparently birds of prey are a sloth's natural enemies or something." Lena made a dive off her bed onto the floor, catching a falling lantern before it hit the ground.

"Looks like you got your hands full, boo" Michelle said, doing her best not to burst out laughing at her exasperated friend. "I'll talk to you tomorrow night!"

"Okay, goodnight boo-boo!" Lena replied, still looking up at the ceiling. "MARIA!" she shouted, "I NEED THE LADDER AGAIN!"

Michelle shut off the phone. She loved Lena like a sister, but she couldn't admit to her how she felt during the incident with Ed. She still wasn't completely comfortable admitting it to herself.

She opened her laptop, pulled up the command position tutorial videos, and set the laptop on her dresser before turning to stand in front of her full-length mirror. She looked at herself, then on an impulse she stripped off her t-shirt and shorts, leaving herself standing in her underwear, playing with her long loose hair about her shoulders. Michelle dropped down on all fours and retrieved her purse from under her bed. When she sat up, she glimpsed herself in the mirror: a beautiful young woman, on her knees, clad only in her bra and panties. She turned and faced the mirror, placing her open purse on the floor in front of her. She unhooked her bra, lowering it and admiring her small, firm breasts, then reached into her purse and pulled out a black HCI collar; it was a training model, so it didn't require a data pad to open and close, which is a good thing because she had swiped it when no one was looking. She slowly and carefully closed it around her neck, getting a little thrill from the

click

, pulling her rich black hair out from under the collar so that it cascaded down her shoulders. Michelle shifted left and right, admiring herself, then sat down and extended her legs out, pulling off her panties. Back on her knees, she reached into her purse and took out a pair of HCI handcuffs, also training models that could be opened with small hidden levers. She fastened her hands behind her back and looked in the mirror: she was the perfect vision of a naked, collared, handcuffed slave kneeling before her potential purchaser. She cast her eyes down submissively, and felt her pussy start to moisten. She shuffled around so her back was the the mirror, looked over her shoulder and twisted her arms around, admiring her cuffed wrists. Then she lowered her head to the ground and thrust her behind into the air, looking past her knees into the mirror and imagining what her new master might think: am I not beautiful and desirable...?

The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, and Michelle scrambled to ditch the restraints and dive under the covers. "Shelly, dear" her mother called out, "are you still up?"

"YES MOM!" she shouted. "Just watching some videos before I go to bed!"

"Don't stay up too late, you have work in the morning!" Mom called from the landing "Good night dear!"

"G'night!" Michelle replied. She sat on the corner of the bed and started the first tutorial video, watched it for a moment, then stood up and took one more look in the mirror before starting on the first circuit. It just felt more

right

to do it nude, she thought, y'know?

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"How do you stand it?" Michelle asked.

Sandy lowered her glass. "Stand what?"

"Y'know, everything? Being in a slave market, around naked helpless women all day, having power over them, doing things to them, knowing that they're going to be sent somewhere to be sex slaves?" Michelle asked quietly but insistently. "Don't you get turned on?"

Friday night, and the two co-workers were sitting in a booth at Michelle's favorite restaurant, Opal's, talking and gossiping and laughing. About an hour ago they had been in the classroom at HCI so Michelle could perform the six basic slave commands ("The Foundation") and get Sandy's feedback. Sandy grinned and complimented her and said she was ready for Ms. Steiner on Monday. Michelle was pleased, reflecting that she was very happy with her relationship with Sandy — she felt like they were becoming good friends, which probably explains why she felt comfortable asking her a fairly personal question.

"Of course I do" Sandy said. "But I also understand that it's dangerous there; one wrong move and you could wind up on the block, or worse. So I do my best to look at it as a job and not get too wrapped up in what's happening or let my crotch do my thinking. But it's still hard at times."

Michelle pushed her plate aside and folded her arms on the table. "Yeah? For example?"

"For example I sometimes think about calling Cal on

myself

..." Sandy said, and immediately blushed. She looked at Michelle and the two of them burst out laughing.

"That

would

be pretty hot" Michelle agreed; she looked up at the ceiling and said, "I still think about that slave he brought in on my first day, and how he had her chained with her face down and her bottom up, wearing a hood so she had no idea what was about to happen, and if he stopped on his way to HCI and went in the back of the van and..." She looked back down at Sandy, and the two started giggling like schoolgirls.

"Yeah, it's hard" Sandy reiterated. "Sometimes I don't know if I'll ever get laid, much less meet anyone nice, y'know?"

"I kinda do" Michelle replied sympathetically. "I went to St. Andrew's — prep school — and out of a class of about two hundred we had exactly 63 guys. I took my best friend Yelena to prom, and St. Andrew's had a better ratio than some public schools. I mean, look over there," she nodded toward a table where a handsome young Asian man in a vest and tie and waist-apron was talking to a table full of (mostly female) guests, "That cutie is Jason Le, and I have had a

huge

crush on him since ninth grade. I would crawl over broken glass in my birthday suit to go on a date with him, but it's never gonna happen. The competition is too much, and that's just among free women." Michelle sighed. "So I come here sometimes, and try to get seated in his station just so we can chat a little bit."