Capture Team Pt 03 Change Of Command

Capture Team PT 3 Round-up: CHANGE OF COMMAND

It was early in the grey light of the morning, in front of a Second floor accessory apartment in a frame house in River Bend near the University. The wooden frame house was our first stop on the round-up of my capture team in this college town.

My mission this morning was leading a simple operation repossessing the person of defaulting debtors. Next to me, Colette, the landlady, a 40 year old woman, yawned. Behnd me were tall brawny blond headed, Cliff and Logan.

Still in her bathrobe, reddish brown hair undone, Collette, at my nod, tapped on the door.. "Melanie, I need to talk to you," the landlady, as she knocked, emphasized the word 'please' when she requested, "Melanie, please come to the door."

In the college town of River Bend, the landscape around the University was doted with frame houses with accessory apartments, whose income allowed homeowners mostly women like Miss Collette to hang-on. Toughened by the struggle to stay afloat where an economic inversion ended the reign of liberal bankruptcy and easy credit, landladies like Collette were the Institute's greatest asset in locating debtors who had secured a loan with a personal indenture requiring of young women, seven years of service. Men had to offer 10 years.

Inside the apartment, I heard shuffling of feet; the smack of a hurried kiss. When no one answered, Landlady Colette handed me the key. I nodded to the Landlady to return to her rooms on the first floor.

Chances are Miss Collette's indenture was also in default. Hopefully, the tip the Institute paid Collette would bring her current or at least out of jeopardy of being taken by a capture team like mine.

Entering with tall Cliff and Logan whose blue police uniforms contrasted well with their blond hairs, I ordered Melanie Rucker to freeze. "Good Morning, Melanie, I am Special Agent Tina, a repossession specialist, employed by the Institute. The Institute has purchased your Indenture and now enforces its rights to your person and property," I smirked as I looked around the room, wobbly wooden table and chair, "such as it is."

Melanie blithered that with more robots in use after raising the minimum wage, she found herself out of a job in the student cafeteria at River Bend University. "If I only had a little more time," Melanie cried.

"The notice of delinquency, default, and levy gave you 15 days to pay or to surrender at the Institute," I reminded Melanie. "When the 15 days expired you became subject to levy."

"Subject to Levy," those words cut like ice. When Institute was required to resort to levy, the indenture lost three more years. Oh, well, even I had to give an Indenture, a voluntary one, to get my job. Why should anyone else be special?

This was a routine mission. I knew to let the subject of the repo try to explain. The subject usually went easier if someone listened to their all too familiar tale of woe.

As the subject yammered, my mind drifted back to the beginning of this mission. I had been dressed in a formal blue Institute Security uniform, with white gloves, a neatly starched blouse, skirt and stockings on my way to the Institute for my promotion to Lieutenant when I was diverted to a routine round up at the temporary detention center hidden in an eerier, isolated Victoria house in River Bend. I bristled with indignation at the potential loss of pay and seniority and the pomp of having The Institute Director himself pin my yellow bars on.

Before I could explode at Sergeant freckle -- faced Jenny as I reported in her office in `The Dungeon,' the basement of the old Victorian structure, I was startled when Sergeant Jenny shooting me a warm smile, rose and took my hand, "Oh," she chuckled, "I see you still prefer the skirt to the trousers." Detecting my chagrin, Jenny apologized for dragging me away from a promotion ceremony officiated over by Dr Crenshaw, The Institute Director himself, "I'm going to have to get used to standing for you, holding the door open and saluting you, Lieutenant. Before we can celebrate let me cue you in on the mission."

I learned that the routine mission concealed an important operation I would take charge of. Jenny, seated behind an old wooden desk, apologized for dragging me away from my promotion ceremony in order to assist with "what seems to be," her tone was emphatic, "a routine round up -- mostly of young women -- none of whom are expected to put up a fight-- some of whom may be pregnant."

"I've done such operations dozen of times," Annoyance filled my voice when I assured Sergeant Jenny of my familiarity with such mundane matters.

"Let me introduce you to the real mission in River Bend," Jenny drew out of her top desk draw a picture of a full-frontal picture of a six-foot-tall young man, curly black hair coated his naked body. The legend on a placard to the left of his left foot read LT BERNIE. "He absconded from the previous team which operated here some months ago. He may be soliciting or recruiting Indenturees. He is regarded as a traitor."

With Melanie blathering away in front of me in that drafty apartment, my ears were open for any information about the person the Institute sought.

Melanie claimed she had gotten a line on a job that promised to give her the money needed to repay her debt. Her information was not particular enough, no names, no places, no particulars as to the type of work. I sighed Melanie would have to go with us.

Positioning themselves to either side of Melanie, Cliff and Logan hands on their belt stood ready with a taser to deal with the first sign of resistance.

Noticing two coffee cups on the kitchen table, I asked, "Are you living with anyone?

"I was," Melanie was choking on her words, "He ran off."

I swaggered as I advanced to the table. Lifting each cup and feeling that they were still warm, I noted, "The `He's' usually do run off, darlin` Melanie. Not very long ago. Is he still here?" I nodded to Cliff to check out the other room.

I was hoping Cliff would find no one hiding in the closet or clinging to the roof. Males were a great deal of trouble. They often put up fights. To calm men I felt might try to fight, I'd remind them, "Testosterone poisoning has a cure most men don't welcome."

On arrival at the spooky old Victorian capped by eerie spires, I became aware that extraordinary circumstances surrounded this mission as soon as I pulled my car into the concrete sunken parking lot hidden behind high overgrown hedges.

Outside in a cage near the cellar entrance, Mary, a former Sergeant and instructor at the Institute' Security school, was behind the wire barefoot and bare assed, a ponderous belly peeking out of the blanket she clutched. A quick shaking of her head advised me not to notice her and to pass on. I paused for a second to ponder. What lunacy had I walked in on?

A yelp sounded from the back of Melanie's apartment. Logan was about to move in the direction of the disturbance. I signalled him to stand fast. Out of the back, Cliff came with a handcuffed woman in loose flannel pajamas, top flapping opened, revealing bare D cup breasts, in her struggling against Cliff's hold. "Terri," Melanie exclaimed, "my next-door neighbor. She came in for coffee."

"She's coded," Cliff declared as he threw her face down against the table.

As Cliff held Terri's neck against the table. I told her I would read the code off her butt whether or not she cooperated. The question is do you want to be removed naked like a tramp or clothed such as you are with respect to your dignity.

When the struggling stopped. I warned her that her bottoms for would be lowered to read the code. "We'll put you back together in a jiffy."

Bottom bared revealed a nice apple shaped ass. With her physique, this Terri would probably sell well at auction. Her head secured by Cliff's hand around her neck, Terri looked to me with pleading blue eyes. Blue eyes and blond haired Indenturees were often retained by The Institute for breeding. Non -- traditional couples lined up to adopt their offspring.

I took a breath. With a person not on our list, I could decide whether to take her. Nothing would be said if I let her go, but I was expected to decide such questions according to the potential for profitable recovery.

Given the mission from Sergeant Jenny to a round up focused on women, I posed the question, "Did you ever wonder why the Institute focuses on rounding up women and not men?"

"The Institute decides on the risks it wishes to take," Jenny asserted, "in relation to the expenses incurred in a recovery and the difficulty in bringing the product to market. Women fetch higher prices at auction, are easier to control and surrender without a fight. Our job is to implement the Institute's directives not to debate them. An indenture, taken up by the Institute, is a commitment to do whatever the Institute has required."

Jenny led me to a tailor's platform, raised a foot off over the grey painted concrete basement floor where she exclaimed, "Before we proceed further, a certain ritual must be observed." Pointing to the platform, Jenny ordered, "Up on the platform. Get undressed. I need to get your promotion photo Hurry it along! Your pay grade becomes L.T. as soon as I upload your picture." Jenny took a deep breath. "Too bad we can't announce your promotion today and celebrate."

"Shouldn't I insist you strip naked and join me in the celebration?" I snickered as I opened my blouse and swept it off my shoulders.

"I'm sure," Jenny declared, "you'd prefer a lively romp with the Institute Director together with the bull and heifer of choice, but we will arrange for a celebration after the round up. We'll invite the Institute Director. I wonder can he come?"

We both chuckled together.

Reaching behind me, I unhooked my bra and slipped it off, letting my DD breasts bounce in front of her eyes. Laughing as I dangled my bra, I smirked, "You're as wicked as they say."

"The Institute decides," Jenny exclaimed.

Terri's code showed a recent declaration of default. "Man," Terri growled, "I heard of a guy who's paying big bucks to girls willing to undress on camera and take a squirt of man juice."

"Who, where?" I gently leaning over Terri prodded her for details.

"Do you think I'd be handcuffed with my pants pulled down to my knees if I knew this guy looking to pay girls to do porn?" Terri snapped.

Intelligence is vital to find an elusive character who clings to the shadows.

In my initial meeting with Sergeant Jenny in the dungeon of the old Victorian structure, intelligence gathering was the subject of discussion.

"I suspected," I responded, "a much more serious situation when I saw Mary stripped naked behind the wire, bulging pregnant belly dragging the ground, ready to drop her load," I paused. "I'd love to know why you're holding her."

Jenny assured me, "I hope to have Mary an important role in gathering intelligence from an expected haul of pregnant females. Due to their condition, I will have to return with the haul to the Institute in case one goes into labor. It's the curse of having been picked up by the Institute when I was in Nursing School and allowed to continue. I do what the Institute requires. I asked for someone to be assigned who can take over. The Institute expressed its confidence in you."

In Melanie's apartment, I, hands on my hips, exuding the confidence of control, ordered Melanie to turn around and lean against the table. "Now I need to read your code. Take off your pants and undies for me. Suspiciously, Melanie threw a bashful glance in Cliff's direction."

"You're Institute property," I exercised control, "part of its inventory, while entrusted to my custody, you're entitled to be protected, in my care your person is not to be molested."

I reflected I had been advised that messing with inventory and corruption in the previous capture led to LT Bernie's defection and Mary's detention. Besides Cliff could not have messed with inventory. His probe was locked down securely in chastity for having gotten too careless during a skin-frisk of Mary as Mary was brought into Jenny's office for a discussion.

On the mirrored tailor's platform outside Jenny's office where detainees were stripped and searched, Cliff released a deep sigh as his hands migrated up Mary's sides to massage her breasts. "Soft and sweet," Mary swaying gently assured Cliff, as Cliff unbuckled his belt and allowed his dungarees and boxers to drop to his knees freeing a bulging erection, "tender meat, hands so agile, swift of feet, pregnant, but not fragile, broiling body heat."

Mary had swiftly moved a leg to knock Cliff over. Jenny and I sprung into action. "OK, Mary," Jenny commanded her, "demonstration is over."

Righting herself, Mary placed her hands behind her back, ready to be cuffed. Laughing Mary asked, "Sergeant Jenny, is eh--Tina next?" Noticing me next to Jenny, Mary quipped, "One of my pupils from the Security Academy! Tina isn't it? Are you reassigned here to River Bend join me in the Hen House?"

I picked Cliff off the floor. Looking at his throbbing erection, I remonstrated with him, "Thinking with the wrong head got you in a fix. My instructor in security school, Mary is one tough witch, she could drop a litter of sextuplets and still break you in two."

Jenny interjected, "Why do you think the Institute had her inseminated? Strength of character?"

Turning to Jenny, I recommended, "Sergeant, shall this man's gears be bound up, rendered chaste, before the round -- up?"

Cliff yelped a protest, "Mary was cooperating gleefully. I thought she was submitting peacefully."

To Melanie's request that Cliff look away while she disrobed, I reminded her, "The Institute requires otherwise."

Submissively Melanie removed her jeans and panties. When she bent over on the table for a reading of her bar code, her butt was partially covered by her silk blouse. "The static from your fine, clingy silk top may interfere with the reading of the code. Take it off," I ordered. To her inquiry about her bra, I added, "you might as well take that off too."

When Melanie presented herself naked, looking down at her feet, I laughed, "skinny girl, thin waist might work for porn but B cup boobs, maybe identify as a man playing the masculine gender role with another girl wearing a strap on. Even so, there's not enough curves to bring your account current." After reading the code, I whacked her bony butt. "Stand up. Get dressed. Don't cry. A few weeks in classification and training at the Institute with three hot meals a-day you'll wonder why you didn't walk in and surrender when you received that notice."

Turning to Cliff, I ordered him to remove the prisoners to the van.

On our way out of the apartment, with Melanie and Terri, clothing disheveled, tops unbuttoned, restrained hand and foot, I posted the notice of seizure. NOTICE OF SEIZURE OF INVENTORY. INSTITUTE PROPERTY. DO NOT ENTER WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION. "Let's move on to our next location," I declared.

Most stops were rather routine. We found a few places vacant. These places showed signs that the departure had been recent and in haste. "It looks like the indenturee scooted, from the dishes in the sink, recently. After we drop our cargo, we can come back. We'll either clean the flat out or take the Indenturee if she's returned."

"It's mostly junk, some rags, furniture, open cereal boxes that needs to be tossed," Cliff protested.

"If the indenturee returns, taking her stuff makes life difficult for a runner," I advised, "Our thrift shops can go through her clothing and furniture. The food, they give away in the food locker."

Besides, I had the itch and two men available, or one and one half-men. Would Cliff have to remain chaste during festivities? It depended on who was in charge when the celebration began.

"The itch," Mary had confessed in Jenny's office, "and fraternization with superiors or subordinates is a dangerous game which we think we can control. Every time you give in to it, you have to make it that much more exciting."

Repressing a bemused smile, Jenny and I locked eyes in a momentary glance. We were both thinking of a silly rill from the Institutes Security School. "The Itch, keep it fun, no room for one -- on -- one, play the seductress to take their seed, play the bitch, when you no longer need."

Prodded by Jenny to explain, Mary recalled, "Bernie had a certain charm, a way of reaching people. After we cleared the cages, the team divided up the flats and houses to clean out. Bernie'd select the ones where the indenturee had scooted. Bernie and I would break in. If the indenturee were found. Bernie'd make the indenturee strip naked to read the bar code. We'd clear the apartment out while the indenture, cuffed hand and foot securely, shivered swiggling on the floor. Then, once we retrieved whatever property was forfeit, Bernie and I would provide theatre for our captive audience.

"Bernie'd order me to attention," Mary recounted, "And I'd click heels and stand still like a statue. While he circled around me inspecting. "'Hmm,' grunted Bernie, "Please remove your blouse.' I unbuttoned my blouse and untucked it from my skirt. Before I undid my cuff buttons, I allowed my blouse to flutter open revealing a red bra."

Mary continued the narration, "Bernie screeched, `Just as I suspected, non-regulation underthings. Sergeant Mary, you are out of uniform. Well get it off.' When I reached under my blouse to unhook my bra, Bernie used a pointer to open the flaps. Freed, my DD breasts danced in the face of the prisoner. Whether our bound subject was male or female, the indenturee's eyes would widen. A male would show a definite physical reaction; most went erect; some would emit speckles of precum."

"`It might have been easier,' Bernie advised, 'if you had removed the blouse first. Very well strip naked.' Once I let my skirt and panties sail to the floor, Bernie, pacing around me with a swagger, announced the results of his examination, `5 ft 7 in, 125 lbs, good muscle tone, Hmm, you'd make a porn queen easily. Why are you wasting time in security?' When no answer came, Bernie ordered, 'feet apart, bend at the waist, touch your toes; prepare to receive your punishment.' The air bristled with the swish of the pointer as it fell upon my bare butt. I'm sure my audience closed their eyes at every exaggerated yelp. Bernie counted out the blows until he reached a number 25 or 30. As he unbuckled his belt and let his pants tangle at his ankles, Bernie warned, 'prepare for insertion of an internal probe.'"

"I knocked Bernie," Mary smiled as she reminisced, "over. Mounting him, I rode him like a wild cowgirl, berating him about his carelessness until he came. I had to quench the itch!"

The Itch, that barracks ditty, women in security training at The Institute restricted to the barracks would work out the frustration by screaming when they went through their periods. Isolated, prohibited from sexual contact with each other and kept away from men, the women were penned together in the pressure cooker, an open barracks to test their resolve. Those who persevered to end of the test reaped a reward: a promotion ceremony with a release with the bull and heifer of choice.

"The Itch, kept in control by a seductress, in plural conjugation, by a castrator bitch, who sells her soul, without infatuation."

Was it just words strung together? Did it have any meaning? I had no time to fantasize how I'd satisfy my itch. We had business to attend to.

On our round up there were a few stops where men remained when we appeared. Entering these premises, I would announce, "According to my papers it's a joint indenture, but I still need to read the bar codes. Turn around, hands down, pants off, lean against the table. No need to put up a fuss, your butts belong to us."