The Lady Friendly Resort Pt 03

After taking a First at Said College at Oxford, Tracey Smith decided to go with her flatmate Emily on a holiday to the Republic of Zonga, a small country in Sub-Saharan Africa that would have not been a holiday destination for anyone were it not for the fact that they had legalized the enslavement of women.

A journey to Zonga would be a risky proposition for any woman, and it would not normally have been something Tracey would even consider, were it not for the fact that Emily had booked them in a "Lady Friendly" resort. If the promises made in the hotel's promotional material were to be believed, Tracey and Emily would be completely safe from enslavement as long as they remained on resort property. Since her arrival in Zonga, however, Tracey had discovered that promise came with several important caveats.

The first caveat was that the hotel made no guarantees about what might happen to their Lady Friendly guests on the way to the resort. Tracey and Emily had both very nearly found themselves wearing slave collars before they had arrived at the resort, and she knew that several women did not make it at all.

A second caveat was something Tracey confronted when, after spending a pleasant evening with John Chambers -- a man she had met the previous evening -- she returned to the small hotel room she shared with Emily. There, she found an invoice that clearly showed that Emily had obtained a discount for their stay by selling Tracey to the resort as a slave.

Tracey felt a great sense of betrayal at the hands of the woman she had once thought of as her best friend. The betrayal was made all the worse by the fact that here in Zonga Tracey was vulnerable. Aside from Emily, there was nobody she could really trust. Tracey was now truly alone.

Tracey thought back to the previous evening, when she had met John Chambers at the restaurant. John had invited Tracey to his room, and Emily had done everything she possibly could to stop Tracey going with him. At first, Tracey had thought Emily was trying to protect her, the way Little Red Riding Hood's mother might have wanted to protect her from the Big Bad Wolf. But now Tracey realized that Emily's concern for Tracey was pure self interest. If John had enslaved Tracey, it would have meant Emily couldn't, and she would have had to pay full price for the room.

So who really was the Big Bad Wolf in this scenario?

Not John. John could have enslaved Tracey any time last night, but he didn't. He was as good as his word, and as a result Tracey got to experience the erotic thrill of feeling like she was in danger despite being perfectly safe. He, unlike Emily, could be trusted.

Having come to that realization, Tracey grabbed the invoice, folded it up into her handbag, and left her room. She hoped she wouldn't encounter Emily, since she did not want to confront her until she confided in her one ally. She went to the lobby and approached the door guarded by the two French maids. They did not open the door for her.

"Excuse me," said Tracey politely, "I would like to see John Chambers please."

"Get lost," replied one of the maids.

"But it is important that I see him," said Tracey.

"Look here bitch," said the maid sharply, "If you honestly think we are just going to let every common floozie who wants to just wander around the gentleman's wing of..."

"I'm not a 'common floozie,'" interrupted Tracey. "I was here last night, and I..."

"I'm sure you were," interrupted the maid. "As a guest of this hotel, Mr. Chambers is entitled to invite any tart he wishes up to his suite, but that does not entitle you to pester him after he is finished with you."

"You don't understand," protested Tracey, "he's not finished with me at all. He said he wanted to see me again."

"Oh boo hoo hoo," mocked the maid, "a bloke who shagged you won't call. Get lost."

"Won't you at least tell him I'm here?" persisted Tracey.

The maid glared at Tracey for several long moments, regarding her as if she were something unpleasant she had just found stuck to the bottom of her shoe. Finally, she spoke.

"Look, I know you probably think that just because you are a 'Lady Friendly' guest you can get away with whatever you want, but if you break the rules of Resort you are gonna get in big trouble. One of the rules is you don't bother one of the gentlemen guests if he doesn't want to be bothered. Now, if you know what's good for you, you'll get lost."

"He'll want to see me," said Tracey, with more certainty than she honestly felt. At that moment, the risk of getting into whatever "big trouble" this maid was referring to seemed far lower than what Emily had in store for her. John was the only person Tracey could think of who might help her.

The maid grabbed Tracey's arm, opened the door to the exclusive lobby reserved for male guests, and pulled her in. She then shoved Tracey into a small alcove in the wall opposite the lift, and slid a hidden panel in front of the alcove shut. It made an ominous "clicking" sound, and Tracey was locked in. What had appeared to be an alcove when the panel was open became a holding cell when it was closed, with no light, and barely enough room to stand.

Despite everything that had happened to her on this trip, Tracey was more afraid now than she had been at any moment up to that point. Though she had narrowly avoided becoming a sex slave several times, now she was being deprived of her freedom outright. Was this the end? Was the "big trouble" she would invite by insisting on speaking to John the immediate revocation of her 'Lady Friendly' status? On the one hand, she still had her clothes, and her badge. But the fact remained that she was locked in this alcove.

It might have been hours, or it might have been a few minutes, but eventually the door to the alcove opened. Tracey's eyes had adjusted to the pitch black of her holding cell, so the light from the lobby dazzled her for a moment when the door opened. The maid did not wait for Tracey's eyes to adjust before telling her, "Mr. Chambers has agreed to see you. Go to the lift on the far left. No dawdling."

With what limited vision Tracey had, she made her way to the lift that the maid had indicated, and once she entered another woman in a French maid outfit operated the lift and, without so much as a perfunctory word to Tracey, took her to John Chambers' suite. Two maids were waiting for her once she emerged from the lift and into John's foyer. Their manner was stern -- in stark contrast to the obsequiousness Tracey had observed in them last time she was in this suite.

Without preamble, one of the two maids spoke to Tracey.

"Gertrude will take you directly to the Drawing Room. Follow her. You are not permitted anywhere else in this suite without Mr. Chambers express invitation. Curtsey immediately upon entering the drawing room, and then curtsey again when you approach him. Approach no closer than three meters away from Mr. Chambers unless he invites you to come closer. Address him the first time as 'Mr. Chambers,' and thereafter as 'Sir' or 'Master.' Speak only when you are spoken to. When he dismisses you, you are to leave immediately. Understood?"

Tracey nodded, whereupon the other maid, Gertrude, motioned Tracey to follow her. Tracey was nervous. When she had been up to John Chambers' room before, things had been so informal and relaxed, but now it was as if she was one of the hotel's maids herself -- a slave, there to cater to John's every whim. That thought brought upon a brief jolt of erotic excitement, but only a brief one. This wasn't roleplaying -- this was serious.

Gertrude led Tracey to the door to the drawing room, knocked, and only when John replied with "come in" did she open the door and stand aside so Tracey could enter. Tracey stepped in, and a sharp slap on the bum from Gertrude reminded her to curtsy. She slowly and deliberately approached John, who was seated in an armchair, and curtseyed again once she was standing what she thought was about three meters in front of him. Gertrude followed her in, remaining several paces behind Tracey but ready to pounce if Tracey failed to behave as instructed.

"We are being rather formal today, aren't we?" remarked John flippantly.

Tracey ignored the remark, knowing that however laid back John might be at the moment, she was still in grave danger at the hands of the hotel's maids. Even if John himself was not a threat -- and that was far from certain -- she couldn't necessarily count on him to protect her from them. So, she adopted the obsequious attitude they seemed to expect from her.

"Thank you for seeing me Mr. Chambers," said Tracey, looking down and trying to project as much humility as she could summon.

"Not at all," replied John. "What brings you here?"

"Well, sir," began Tracey, "my flatmate..."

"Why are you being so formal?" interrupted John.

"Sir, I was instructed..."

"Never mind that," interrupted John again. John turned toward the maid and said "that will be all."

A moment of hesitation, followed by a look of pure hate directed to Tracey, and Gertrude scurried forward toward John, curtseyed, and with an obsequious "yes master" scurried out of the room. John motioned Tracey to sit down on a sofa opposite him, and Tracey did so gratefully. Once she was seated, John smiled warmly, and Tracey relaxed. For the first time since that horrifying moment in her room, Tracey felt safe.

Now that she was alone with John, Tracey told him about the invoice she had found in her room, indicating that her flatmate Emily had sold her to the hotel to help cover the room. John listened to Tracey attentively, and as soon as Tracey was finished, John paused for a moment, apparently in deep thought.

"I think," said John, "there is a simple solution to your problem. A way to guarantee that Emily will not be able to sell you to the hotel or anyone else."

"Tell me!" said Tracey eagerly. Could there really be a way out of this.

"You could become my slave," said John.

Tracey feigned punching John on the shoulder. "Be serious," she said, "I'm in real trouble."

"I am serious," said John.

Before Tracey could object again, John continued. "Look, if Emily has you registered as a slave with the hotel, that means the hotel has most likely registered you with the government. So even if you somehow made it back to the airport, they'd just capture you as soon as you tried to get on the plane. But if you were my slave, officially, then I'd just bring you back to England with me. Slavery is illegal in the United Kingdom, so you'd be a free woman as soon as we landed."

That plan, thought Tracey, would mean putting an awful lot of trust in John, which is something she would never have even considered just 24 hours before. On the other hand, what other choice did she have? Tracey felt like she could trust John. After all, John could have easily turned her into his sex slave the night before. For that matter, John could turn Tracey into a sex slave right now if he wanted to. And would that really be such a bad thing? Tracey imagined herself on her hands and knees, in front of John, begging him to put a collar on her so she could spend her life serving him instead of that bitch Emily...

"Enough of that!" Tracey admonished herself. "You need to keep a level head."

"So," Tracey said, "how would this work? Do I just kneel in front of you right now while you find a collar for me?"

"No," said John. "Not here, and not now. We need to get you smuggled back to England, but there are all sorts of ways Emily might interfere with that, and we need to make sure Emily doesn't interfere. The way I see it, there is only one way to pull that off."

Tracey listened attentively while John outlined the details of his plan.

* * *

Morning had given way to lunch time by the time Tracey found a now fully clothed Emily seated at a restaurant by the pool. Tracey joined her, giving no hint that she had found anything suspicious in their room earlier that morning. Tracey had taken the invoice showing that Emily had sold Tracey to help pay for their room, and left it behind in John's suite. This, Tracey hoped, would delay Emily in making her move and buy Tracey some much needed time for her own plans.

"Hey!" said Emily, appearing surprised to see her. "I thought I wouldn't see you again after you went off with that bloke last night."

Tracey smiled, playing the part she knew she needed to play right now. "I guess," she said, "this 'Lady Friendly' stuff really works."

"So what happened then?" asked Emily.

"I had a really good time last night," said Tracey, smiling. "A REALLY good time."

"Come on, spill," said Emily. "I want details."

Emily hanged on Tracey's every word as Tracey gave a reasonably accurate account of everything that had happened between her and John Chambers the night before. She spared no graphic detail, and Emily was so fascinated by her story that she almost seemed to be experiencing the events herself. That was exactly Tracey's intent -- to distract Emily and get her into the right mindset.

"So," Tracey said, "if you're interested, I was thinking that today we could take a tour of the Processing Centre."

"You mean, where they turn women into slaves?" asked Emily, still in a slight daze after Tracey's story.

"Exactly," said Tracey, grinning at Emily as if the two of them were secretly plotting something naughty together.

"But, isn't that outside of resort grounds?" asked Emily.

"It doesn't matter, since it's an outing organized by the resort," said Tracey. "It's just like the bus ride over here. As long as we keep our badges and stay with the group, the resort will protect us."

"Still," said Emily, "it seems kind of dangerous."

"Look, last night I did a striptease for a strange man in public, let him take me up to his room, tie me up, and have his way with me all night, and here I am, perfectly safe," said Tracey. "I know we went through hell at the airport, but now we're here, and we're safe. We may as well enjoy it, and do what we came here to do."

Emily hesitated, but Tracey could see she very nearly had her convinced.

"Unless," said Tracey, "you want me to be the only one to have any fun while we're here."

"What the hell," said Emily. "Let's do it."

* * *

Just over an hour later, Emily and Tracey, joined by four other women neither of them recognized, boarded a van that was parked in an underground garage at the resort. The van, like the bus that had taken them to the resort from the airport, had the resort's logo prominently displayed, but unlike that bus the windows in the back were tinted, so none of the passengers would be "on display" to passers by. The women were all fully clothed, with their Lady Friendly badges on prominent display. Their driver, Nigel, was dressed in a polo shirt embroidered with the resort's logo. Unlike the men who had brought them from the airport, Nigel had the air of a friendly tour guide rather than a prison guard.

The occasion, in short, was downright civilized. Had it not been for their prior experiences, they could easily have forgotten that they were in a country whose sole claim to fame was their practice of enslaving women. They might have been on a guided tour through Hawaii.

As they drove off the resort grounds, Nigel pointed out the neighboring yam farm, where women wearing nothing but straw sun hats worked the fields. He explained the history of the sun hats, and how each woman traditionally weaves her own upon reaching adulthood as a rite of passage. They passed through a small village, where they were stopped by a police officer, but after Nigel spoke to him briefly he waved them through. Nigel told his passengers about the origin of the Zongan police uniforms, and how they represented a combination of traditional native dress and the uniforms that had been used by the colonel police when Zonga was a British possession.

Nigel was a wealth of knowledge.

They passed through another police checkpoint when they entered the city, and Nigel drove past several monuments before reaching the gates of the Processing Centre. Nigel had a brief conversation with the guard at the gate, and the van drove through and pulled up next to a large, industrial building near a loading dock door, next to a grey cargo van. The cargo van was approximately the same size as the van that held the tour group, but this van had no windows.

"We'll stay in the van while this group unloads," said Nigel.

Nobody argued.

Two men who appeared to be native Zongans stepped out of the front of the van and one of them unlocked the back door while another effortlessly lifted a metal barrel that had stood near the wall of the building, and moved it next to the cargo van. The first man opened the door, and out came a young woman who looked absolutely terrified. She could easily have been Tracey, or Emily, or any of the other women in the van. As she stepped out of the back door of the van, the two men grabbed her blouse and ripped it off, depositing it in the barrel. Then they went for her skirt.

The woman, seeing that her only choices seemed to either undress herself or to BE undressed, removed her own undergarments, and the men grabbed them out of her hands and unceremoniously dumped them into the barrel before shoving her aside and commanding the next woman to leave the van.

The next woman came out, and she needed no prompting. She undressed immediately, although the men grew impatient and ripped her panties from her before she could remove them herself.

By the time the third woman had been unloaded, the rest of the women in the van had undressed before leaving, carrying their clothes awkwardly in front of them as they emerged from the van, only to have the two men grab them out of their hands and dump them in the barrel. Once all of the occupants of the van were outside, naked, the cargo door opened, and the two men herded them like cattle through it, into the darkness inside. The cargo door closed behind them.

"The fabric from the clothes that can be salvaged are used to manufacture new clothing for export," explained Nigel. "Most of the most popular brands of designer women's clothing today use reclaimed Zongan fabric. You might be wearing such a garment right now."

That was a chilling thought. Tracey and Emily exchanged meaningful looks. They both may well be wearing clothing that had been recycled from clothing that had been confiscated from women enslaved in Zonga. But something about that didn't quite make sense.

"Excuse me, sir," began Emily, "but some of that fabric was ripped to shreds."

"Indeed, some of it was," replied Nigel, as if he were congratulating a star pupil for a brilliant observation. "The bits of fabric that are too small to be recycled are burned to generate power for the facility. Now, everybody follow me, and we will see the inner workings of the Processing Centre."

Nigel stepped out of the van and opened the side door, and Tracey and Emily could see that none of the other women with them seemed concerned, so they followed them out as Nigel led them all -- not through the cargo door -- but through a smaller metal door off to the side. That door led to a small, dark room just large enough to allow Nigel and the women he was leading to stand and look through the pane of one-way glass on the far wall. On the opposite side of the one-way glass, the women who had been unloaded from the van were in a larger, brightly lit room having their wrists shackled to a series of heavy chains hanging from the ceiling. Once their wrists were hooked up, the chains retraced, so that each woman had to stand on her toes in order for her feet to remain on the ground, lest she swing freely by her arms.

The women, hanging from their wrists by those heavy chains, were truly helpless, and the men who were their handlers took advantage of this as they indulged themselves in the odd grope, smack on the but, or nipple tweak. Tracey thought she caught one of them stick a finger, ever so slightly, into one woman's pussy. Tracey couldn't help but imagine herself in that position, so vulnerable, and that thought manifested itself in the form of moisture between Tracey's thighs. How humiliating it would be, thought Tracey, if any of the other women there -- let alone Nigel -- knew how her body was reacting to this scene. That thought just enhanced Tracey's arousal.