Hey everyone! This chapter is going to be a bit different from my usual writing. This will be more of a setup chapter than anything else. Thus, I know the Literotica scoring system is going to absolutely gut-punch me for this one. However, I'm not writing for the sake of pumping up an arbitrary score; I'm writing for actual human readers (some pretty smart readers at that!). Don't worry, all of this will have a payoff, much sooner than you guys think.
With all of that said, keep the feedback comments rolling! Also feel free to share your reader-theories or simply say
Hi
; have I ever mentioned how great this community is?
As always; this is fiction intended for entertainment purposes only. But, hey, you already knew that anyways. Enjoy!
The tranquility of the moonlit forest was gradually impeded on by the oncoming whizzing sound of a two-stroke engine, as the two narrow tires imprinted onto the soil beneath. It's driver, Rae, a woman clad in an all-black sneaking suit complete with a motorcycle helmet and a dark visor, had been riding the dirt bike through the forest for the last twenty minutes. Rae had a petite frame stretched leanly through her fight-foot-seven physique, thus her light bodyweight enabled slightly higher speeds and more nimble riding on the bike. Suddenly, she reached the edge of the forest; a paved road with no real discernible features, save for a grassy shoulder and a long-abandoned church just down the road.
X marks the spot
she thought, knowing that landmark-based navigation was best.
Rae stopped for a moment and took off her backpack. She rummaged through the contents, mostly to triple-check that she had all of her supplies. All of the plastic handles of cheap vodka had survived the bumpy ride, as did the lighter. Her cordless drill with titanium bits, bolt cutters, and collapsible baton were all accounted for as well. She could feel her pulse raise a bit as the reality hit her, she was indeed about to go do this. A healthy dose of paranoia around checking had never failed her in the past; after all, it had kept her alive and out of prison for this long. From there, Rae knew exactly how to get to her destination. She continued on the poorly-lit roads of the small town of roughly 20,000 until she came upon her real target; a grey, two-story building surrounded by a chain link fence on the edge of an arterial road. The chain-link fence had little more than a sign that read
Norlangarth County Auction House.
The name of the building, while accurate, was not descriptive enough; this was by design. Before the onset of the Female Slavery Laws, this auction house saw little traffic; it had sold the usual confiscated wares of criminals; artwork seized from an executive convicted of insider trading, cars confiscated from a drug trafficker, electronics from a tax debtor, and so on. However, once the Female Slavery Laws were passed in the late 2030's, and women convicted of a crime could be sold at auction, the decades-old auction house pivoted. Enslaved women were fast-moving inventory that had a high profit-margin, whereas the painting seized from an upscale estate would have few-if any-buyers in the blue-collar county of Norlangarth. Thus, the incentive for the auction house became strikingly clear; sell women, as many and as often as possible. To hell with custom jewelry and used laptops...
The auction house had a contract with the local women's prison where women convicted of non-violent crimes would be sold as sex slaves per the recently-passed laws. While left-of-center Americans found the practice absolutely abhorrent, the right-of-center crowd found less of an issue with female slavery. After all, the practice of selling the female inmates into sexual slavery had accomplished the Democrats' long-stated goal of not needlessly overstuffing the prison system. Female inmates could be sold to buyers instead of imprisoned, thus passing the financial burden of their care from the taxpayers to private buyers.
Naturally, while governors in blue states publicly stood upon a moral soapbox and bemoaned the practice of selling female criminals into sexual slavery, there was an obvious financial incentive to do so. Governors who refused to do so were ruthlessly chastised in political attack ads by their opponents in re-election campaigns under the guise of
not being fiscally responsible.
Thus, the prison-to-slavery pipeline remained. Furthermore, in 2038 a landmark Supreme Court case raised the question as to whether the practice of selling female inmates was constitutional or not. The largely-Conservative Supreme Court ruled 8-1 in favor of the newly passed laws, as the 13
th
amendment had specifically written
except as a punishment for crime
in the first sentence. The justices opined that there was little room for varying interpretations.
Rae rode her dirt bike around to the back of the building and cut her engine. She was alone, though could hear the sounds of other dirt bike engines in the distance. She grabbed her bolt cutters and began to snip away at the chain-link fence. She started at the bottom of the fence, then worked her way up. The thin fencing snapped like twigs under the sheer force of the bolt-cutters, despite Rae's frail frame. Once she had snipped up to shoulder height, she began to snip at the fence across for about six feet. She worked her way back down. She pulled and twisted at the center of the cut-out section until the wobbly fence gave way before dropping on the ground.
A hole in the fence, large enough for a quick get-away
Rae surmised to herself, proud of her handiwork.
Rae backed her dirt bike up to the backdoor of the building. After a few pulse-pounding moments, the wheezing engines got closer and closer under the cover of nightfall, their exhaust noise piercing the still air of the sleepy town. Soon enough, the other four dirt bikes appeared, their drivers also women donned in black sneaking suits. They all rode through the hole in the fencing that Rae had cut for them. Once they parked their dirt bikes facing away from the building as Rae had, they congregated with each other. The other riders had nodded at each other. It was now
Game Time
.
"Alright ladies, just as we planned" Rae said to the gaggle of trespassers. She gazed over to one who was noticeably shorter than the rest, though had a plump ass that would've made her quite an income if she chose webcamming as a career instead of crime "Kelly, you're up."
"You got it, Rae" Kelly shot back.
Kelly approached the backdoor of the building first. The backdoor was a reinforced metal door, one reminiscent of the building's 1970's brutalist design. She took off her backpack and knelt down at the keyhole above the doorknob. She grabbed her lock-picking kit and quickly went to work. Kelly went to work feeling around inside the locking mechanism of the door. Kelly, raised on the rough streets of Miami, was certainly no stranger to picking locks.
Within 90 seconds, Kelly had cracked the lock. She turned the knob, which had clearly seen better days, and pulled the onerous metal door with all her might. Unsatisfied with the door's progress, two of the other women in stealth suits lent a hand and forced the door open. Rae rushed into the building first with her collapsible baton at the ready in case there was any on-site security guard who needed to be dealt with. Satisfied, she turned back around, as her team of backpack-clad women had entered.
"Michelle, Kelly; you two take out the Invisible Fence" Michelle a woman of average height and a chest size that would've otherwise dazzled men if it weren't buried under a sneaking suit, nodded. "Give a quick quadruple-chirp on the walkie-talkies when the fence is completely down."
