Feminine Imports

Hey everyone. First off, this world is going to be the same one as my

Dave Buys a Slave

series, so returning readers will be familiar. However, I'm going to try to write this series (I'm shooting for novel-length, though I'm not sure if I'll be able to pull it off) so that reading

Dave

will not be a requirement. With that said, none of the characters will be the same, or will have had anything to do with that series. You'll be able to pick up and enjoy this story without any prior knowledge of my old entries.

With that said; I'm always open to constructive feedback regarding pacing, realism and (in this case) world-building. I've always loved hearing from you guys whether it would be comments or private feedback e-mails, so please feel free to reach out. I also love hearing your reader-theories as well, or if you simply just want to say

Hi,

drop me a line!

As always, this is purely fiction and not meant to be replicated. Enjoy!

The piercing alarm went off, much to the dismay of Steven Sharper. After all, it was Saturday morning at 4am, though it was still freezing cold beyond the air mattress and fleece blanket that he slept on. Reluctantly, Steven, better known as Steve, got up and zombie-walked across his cluttered and secluded office to silence the alarm taking care not to knock any papers off of his desk or to stub his toe on any of the second-hand office furniture. He had always accredited his relative success in life at this point to setting the alarm clock on the opposite side of the room; thus forcing him to move.

Steve shuffled out of his office overlooking the garage bay and walked gingerly down the staircase to the bathroom that most of the mechanics in his shop used during normal business hours to empty his bladder. The unheated garage bay had served to wake him up as only a crisp November morning could. He then stumbled over to the lone shower stall and grabbed a bar of soap. The hard water felt like pins and needles against his skin, thus waking him up further. Steve wasted no time lathering himself up and rinsing himself off.

At the end of the shower, he was more-or-less fully awake, he grabbed a towel that was nearly thread-bare and patted himself mostly-dry before making the trek back to his upstairs office which served as his three-night-per-week bedroom.

Steve stretched for a minute before he squatted down and opened the mini-fridge under his desk.

Ham-and-Cheese or Sausage-and-Egg?

He mulled over his breakfast choice for a second before opting with the latter.

He removed the beige-colored breakfast burrito from its packaging and threw it into the microwave he had in his office and set the timer for the recommended five minutes. During that time, he opened the duffel bag that he kept in his office that had some spare outfits. He dressed himself in the official uniform of his company as his breakfast awaited him in the microwave. He scarfed down the breakfast burrito with an impressive speed; Steve was eager to get his day started.

He grabbed the clipboard that laid on his desk; the one he prepared from the night before. He perused the clipboard in his hands. The clipboard had all the information he needed; the package ID number, the name of the buyer, the address, and the three-hour delivery window that the buyer had been promised. His clipboard had all of the slips that the recipient would need to sign once the delivery was made.

Steve paused for a moment and reflected; waking up in an unheated office, taking a cold shower with water high in calcium, having a microwave burrito for breakfast before the sun was even up. This was not the life that his business professors or the media told him that a business owner would be like. However, Steve didn't mind at all. The days flew by and he felt engaged the entire time. He was filling a hole in the market, and was happy to do it,

work-life balance

be damned. There was a certain spark that owning his own company ignited within him that working a normal job just couldn't replicate. Steve loved his new life as the owner of a small-though-profitable slave trafficking company.

If I hit the road in the next twenty minutes, I might actually be a little early

Steve thought to himself.

The thought of being a few minutes early on a promised delivery window never failed to impress a client or their buyers, especially on a Saturday morning. Thus, not wanting to waste time, Steve locked up his office and went out to his van yard as gravel crumpled beneath his dress shoes. He opted for the smallest delivery van he had; after all, he was only making one delivery today, thus no need to take the larger and less efficient models.

Steve backed his windowless, unmarked black van into the garage bay. He cut the engine and then closed the garage bay door in front of him.

You can't put a price on customer privacy

Steve thought to himself.

He opened the rear doors of the van, then slid down the retractable ramp from the van's cargo bay. Steve then grabbed a two-wheeled pallet dolly and paced to the back of the garage where all of his current inventory was kept. He flipped the light switch on, and as if on cue, he heard the muffled symphony of several nude ball-gagged women sitting in their crate cages. His storehouse was small by industry standards though inventory turned over so quickly that space hadn't yet become an issue. He glanced once more at his clipboard to confirm the package ID number; nothing would sour a client relationship faster than a buyer receiving the wrong package.

Name: Natalie Rogers. Package ID: 597-82A. Description; Late twenties, 5'7, brunette hair, dark blue eyes. Check, check check.

Steve thought to himself as he compared the nude and collared woman in the cage in front of him to the description and photo on his clipboard

Steve took out his work phone and opened up the SlaveCollar app. He scrolled down to collar 597-82A and tapped the button on screen to deliver a small shock. When the restrained brunette inside the cage winced a little and cried through her black ball-gag at the small jolt of electricity from the electronic around her neck, he knew that he definitely had the correct package.

Steve slid the bottom of the pallet dolly underneath Natalie's cage and then locked her cage into place using cargo straps. He tipped the dolly backwards onto its wheels and started backing towards the door of his storehouse. Natalie rustled around in her cage, unsure of what was happening though desperately yearning for freedom. He shut off the lights to his storeroom, once again greeted by the prolonged ball-gagged cries of the captive women stored in inventory, though Steve ignored their pleas. He locked the storehouse door behind him after he crossed the threshold as the ball-gagged brunette continued to resist her transport.

Unsecured inventory means no inventory at all

Steve thought to himself.

Once out into the cold garage bay he set Natalie's cage down for a moment, as he weaponized the frigid air against her uncovered skin. He kicked the cage just hard enough to startle the helpless slave inside, though not enough to damage the cage. He squatted down and stared the enslaved brunette in her turquoise eyes.

"You give me anymore of a fucking headache, I'll turn the dial up to a goddamn eight. The shock will be so bad that you'll be borderline comatose. You hear me?" Steve delivered his threat in a low volume anger reminiscent of old Steven Seagal movies.

The captive's eyes widened as she seemed frozen in fear. Satisfied with her non-response, Steve kicked back the dolly to wheel her cage once more. He backed himself up onto the ramp and into the cargo bay of his black van. Once inside, he unbuckled the straps securing the cage to the two-wheeled pallet dolly and shimmied the dolly out. He slid the cage over to the side of the van, and then secured the cage into place with the sliding vice grips mounted onto railings installed inside the van. The vice grips latched onto the sides of the cage, and with a turn of a lever, the vice grips locked, securing the cage into place.

Well worth the purchase

Steve thought to himself, satisfied that the cage wasn't going to move while the van was in motion.

Steve then laid the dolly down on the floor of the van, wheel-side up. The last thing he wanted was the dolly wheeling around inside the van as he drove. He got out of the cargo hold, retracted the ramp back into place, and closed the rear doors of the van. With this, her eyes widened with fear; at a visceral level she knew that the closing of those van doors signaled the sealing of her fate.

Steve hopped into the driver seat of his work van and pulled out his work phone. He opened the

SlaveCollar

app once more and switched Natalie's collar to

TetherMode

. This ensured that in the unlikely event of an escape, the electric collar would deliver a powerful shock if she were to stray too far from the van.

Not fucking around today

Steve thought to himself as he took the electronic precaution against an on-the-road escape attempt.

He then raised the black-tinted window directly behind his driver seat; it was a similar feature that limousines have installed, except for one key difference. Steve's work van had the glass installed in the other direction; the driver could see into the back of the van, though anybody in the back couldn't see into the cabin.

Can't have the bitch gaining a sense of direction, now can we?

Steve thought to himself.

Finally satisfied with all of his precautions, Steven opened the garage door in front of him as he turned the ignition. Once he drove the van fully outside of the garage, he stopped to ensure the bay doors closed and locked behind him. He had a brief sigh of relief as he double-checked that the doors locked completely, ignoring the nervous and erratic breathing patterns of the cargo. Steve was finally ready to hit the open road on the crisp autumn weekend morning.

Steve knew the general way to the delivery address; while he hadn't been to that specific address, he had been to that town several times before. He quickly found himself on the highway, though traffic wasn't a concern; in fact, there wasn't another motorist as far as the eye could see. Steve's mind began to wander as he took stock of how he got to this point.

He spent the first few years after dropping out of college working for a logistics company. It was during this time that the first few Female Slavery laws had been passed. In the early 2040's. Republicans had gained a supermajority in both houses of Congress, and thus were able to pass through whatever they wanted. America was staring down the barrel of total demographic collapse as the fertility rate had been plummeting for decades, and the legislators knew they had to act quickly.

At the onset of legalized female slavery, a ripe market started to bear fruit almost immediately. The market had been seeded with men looking to acquire their very own captive woman for ages, and with no more legal hurdles to clear, they were ready to buy

en masse

. However, there was a problem; most buyers were limited to what their local auction houses could provide, thus limiting consumer choice. To a buyer located in skewed demographic zipcodes, this meant having to physically travel to other auction houses, thus costing time, inconvenience and money.

To make matters worse for the average buyer, the legacy shipping companies who spent tens of millions of dollars per year on advertising, opted out of the shipping of enslaved women altogether. On their public-facing front, these logistics conglomerates took a moral stand against the practice of female slavery; it was a deeply partisan issue that large swaths of the nation disliked, thus staying out of that section of the industry won the hearts of the typical consumer. However, their reasoning went deeper than that; trafficking enslaved women, along with the public relations hit, their branded trucks would've become rolling targets for bandits and slave liberators alike. The liability was just too much for these risk-averse industry titans.

Steve noticed the geographic arbitrage opportunity, the unmet market demand, and the lack of competition and decided to go all in. He chose to quit his job, and started his venture three years ago when he purchased his first van; a Chevy Astro Van that he paid extra to have outfitted with just the essentials. He spent the last few dollars he had registering his business; at that moment he became the official owner and operator of Feminine Imports LLC.

The early days were rough for Feminine Imports. Steve's hunch about plenty of demand turned out to be true, and he had more demand than he was able to handle. He often took an endless barrage of orders, sometimes driving for up to 15 hours per day, and sleeping in his van. Eventually though, he became profitable, thus allowing him to expand his operation. Within six months, he had enough to buy a second van and hire a second driver; some weeks Steve skipped paying himself so that he could meet payroll or make needed maintenance on his vans.

Feminine Imports prided itself on discretion: Steve had intentionally not spent any money on advertising, nor had he designed a logo or ordered branded uniforms for his employees; just a plain grey polo with black cargo pants. He wanted to mitigate as much of the

rolling target

risk as possible. Slave buyers had also valued the privacy and discretion as well; the prying eyes of neighbors were ever-present, and pulling up with a truck emblazoned with something ridiculous such as

Slaves-R'Us

was antithetical to that end.

Fast forward one year and Feminine Imports, still struggling to meet market demand, expanded. Steve hired more drivers and mechanics, and bought the building he was currently based out of. Steve was able to get out of the driver's seat and spent most of his time interfacing with clients, their buyers and equipment vendors. Steve refused to slow down though; 100-hour work weeks and sleeping in his office two-to-three days per week became the norm, though he wouldn't have it any other way.

However, today was a Saturday and he wanted to make sure that his employees could enjoy their weekend, thus Steve opted to fill this order himself. The constant demand of buyers wanting female slaves ensured that they stayed plenty busy. He wanted his employees to enjoy their jobs, and thus mandating Saturday work too often was going to result in his small workforce handing in their two-week's notice. A part of Steve had also simply missed the open road.

He made sure to drive slow on the winding roadways that snaked through the rolling green hills of the rural Northeast. The van had a short wheelbase and thus was vulnerable to tipping over at higher speeds on the winding roads. Moreover, the slave could sustain injuries from being tossed around inside the cage if Steve got reckless behind the wheel, and damaged product is not conducive to repeat business; it was easy to replace a van, replacing a customer is much more difficult.

Eventually, after ninety minutes of driving, Steve arrived to the buyer's address, 10 minutes ahead of the window he promised his client. Steve got out of the driver's seat and went to the back of the van and climbed inside the cargo hold. He diligently placed the privacy plates onto the cage; essentially black pieces of magnetic sheet metal. Once attached to the cage, the privacy plates blocked the wandering eyes of nosey neighbors, as well as prevented the slave inside from gaining a sense of direction.

He loaded the blacked-out cage onto his dolly and lowered the ramp before unloading the luscious ball-gagged cargo from his van. Steve grabbed his all-important clipboard and a pair of disposable gloves and boot covers from the cabin, closed up the cargo hold and locked his van before wheeling the concealed concubine to the front door of the buyer's home. Steve rang the doorbell.

Moments later, Steve heard some footsteps get progressively closer and closer. The door opened, revealing a man in his mid-40's, sporting a salt-and-pepper five o'clock shadow. The homeowner eyed Steven and his cargo dolly for a moment.

"Hi, I'm Steven from Feminine Imports. I have a package for a Mr." Steve looks at his clipboard "David Scottsfield."

Suddenly, the man's eyes light up "Well yeah, come on in" the man invited before slowly backing away from his front door. Steven noticed how his voice sounded like if Sam Elliot swallowed sandpaper.

Steve took a moment to don the disposable boot covers before entering David's home. Steve had required his employees to wear boot covers if they had to enter a client's home, and was keen on upholding that same standard of courtesy. It was one of the small things that bolstered the customer experience.

Steven wheeled the cargo dolly into the living room as he followed David.

"You can set 'er down right there" David said as he pointed to the walkway in front of the TV.

Steven obliged the customer request and gently set the dolly down. He slowly removed the black privacy covers from the slave cage, thus gradually revealing the enslaved brunette inside. David was practically salivating at this point. Steven slowly opened the cage from the top. He grabbed the ball-gagged and cuffed woman from her cage and lifted her up and out onto the carpet. She was too terrified to resist.

"Alright sir, can you show me the order confirmation e-mail you received upon purchase? I'll need to jot down the confirmation code. In the meantime, feel free to inspect the cargo for any damage or discrepancies."

"Sure thing, let me go get m'phone" David left the room for a moment.

Steven turned to her as she was in the feedle position on the pristine carpet. "Stand up, slave; I won't tell you twice." Steve delivered his threat with an ominous tone. She obeyed without so much as a whimper.

David returned a minute later and pulled up the e-mail. He showed it to Steve, who scrutinized the order code, and scrolled down to the order description; the name and description matched the enslaved woman in front of him perfectly. Steve wrote down the code onto his clipboard.

"Alright Mr. Scottsfield-"

"Please, call m'Dave"

"Certainly. Well Dave, now is your chance to inspect your purchase for defects. You may touch but I kindly ask that you do not damage the cargo during inspection. I hope you'll understand" Steve said as he handed Dave a pair of disposable gloves.

"Sure thing!" Dave eagerly nodded, his mind clearly being on the naked woman that he legally purchased standing right in front of him as he donned the examination gloves.

Steve stood back as Dave inspected the woman that he purchased on an online portal days earlier. Natalie remained stiff, though her face turned noticeably paler. It was as if she had realized that this was indeed happening to her. Her pupils dilated, her palms became clammy, though she dared not move, even as Dave's gloved hands fondled her breasts.

"Smile, bitch" Dave ordered after he removed her ball-gag

The sudden order caught Natalie off-guard as she gave a deer-in-the-headlights look to her buyer. She hesitated for a moment.

"She deaf or somethin?" Dave turned to Steve.

"No, she's just a little nervous right now" Steve said, then turned his attention to the captive brunette "and she'll happily obey her buyer's order" his delivery as forceful as it was indirect.

She caught the hint and forced through a toothy grin, much to Dave's delight. Her teeth were perfectly manicured; the skilled hand of a dentist's cosmetic work was readily apparent.

"Her teeth are beautiful" Dave said to nobody in particular as he continued his inspection.