Tracey's Slave Shop

"I want EVERY LAST BIT of that scrubbed off, and you are not leaving here until she's IMMACULATE," I said sharply.

Two of the girls from Wifred's class had gotten a bit carried away, and marked Diana's skin with permanent marker. One of the markings was a crude drawing of a penis with a figure, supposedly representing Diana, bent over taking it from behind. Another was simply the word "twat," with yet another being the simple message "fuck me." ifred, to her credit, was happy to tell her girls that they had to remain with me in the shop until this matter was resolved, but to ensure they would not leave I made them undress and give their clothes to Betty. Betty was guarding them, and encouraging them with a riding crop she carried. Each girl had a bucket of cold soapy water and a rough sponge, with which she scrubbed Diana's skin until the markings disappeared.

In reality, all this did was irritate Diana's skin, which was already sensitive due to the treatment she received in processing.

While the girls were busily scrubbing, I spotted a woman in a business suit who seemed to be browsing the girls in the Observation Cells. Imagining herself in the same situation, I thought. I approached her.

"Hello, Miss," I said. "Do you see anything you find appealing?"

"No, thank you, just browsing," replied the woman.

"You know, if you wanted to spend a bit of time in one of those observation sells yourself, just to see what it feels like, I am sure it can be arranged," I said.

I could see that thought running through her head, and the slightest hint of a smile on her face. But I could also see the conscious effort to reject it.

"No, thank you, that won't be necessary," said the woman. "Actually, I was hoping you could direct me to a Ms. Tracey Smith."

"I am Tracey Smith," I replied. "How can I help you."

She looked around. "Is there some place private we could talk?"

"Certainly," I replied. "Let's go back to my office."

Once we were comfortably in the privacy of my office, I asked once again, "so, how can I help you?"

"My name is Cindy Shepard, and I am a supervisor at ABC insurance. I am up for a promotion soon, and need your help getting it."

I knew where this was going. She would want me to enslave some rival of hers at work. Why do so many people think I can just arbitrarily enslave random women whenever I like? Nevertheless, it was possible I might be able to do SOMETHING with this situation. If nothing else, I might be able to get Cindy and this other woman into a Slave Wrestling match.

"Who is your rival?" I asked.

"A man named David Jennings," replied Cindy.

"Then I am afraid you are out of luck," I said. "He will almost assuredly get the promotion, and he will become your boss. You would be well advised to accept that and hope they still let you be a supervisor."

"That is why I need your help," said Cindy. "I really need this promotion."

"And exactly what do you suggest I do?" I asked. Surely this girl was not foolish enough to think it would be possible to enslave a man. I mean, there's naive, and then there's ridiculous.

"The Vice-President, Mr. Thompson, is going to make the decision," said Cindy. "He has a wife -- a young girl, sort of a trophy wife type, but he absolutely adores her. I was hoping you could maybe hold her for a while, to make Mr. Thompson give me the promotion."

That was a horrible plan!

"Let me understand this," I said, "you want me to kidnap the wife of a senior executive of a powerful insurance company, and somehow blackmail him into choosing a woman over a man for a management position? Do realize how dangerous that would be?"

"I can make it worth your while," said Cindy.

I considered the matter for a moment. Perhaps I could work with this.

"If I can manage this, and get you this promotion, you are to sign over 10% of your department's revenues to me."

She thought for a moment. "5%" she replied.

"This is not a negotiation," I said firmly. "This is my price. 10%."

"All right," said Cindy. "10% of all revenues."

I pulled up a standard contract on my computer terminal, filled in the blanks, and printed it out. Cindy scanned it briefly -- at least she knew better than to sign a document from a slaver without reading it. But this particular contract contained no hidden loopholes, it was simply a promise to funnel 10% of the revenues from her department in return for my assistance in getting her the promotion. She signed, and handed the document back to me.

"We will be in touch," I said, and stood up to shake her hand.

"One thing," said Cindy, before accepting it. "I heard what you pulled with the Titalin club. If you try any stunts like that with me, I will make you regret it."

I smiled with false warmth, "I would expect nothing less."

Later that afternoon, the Board of Governors met in one of the classrooms at Eastfield Girls' Academy. It was an emergency session called to replace Diana Wilson as Director. Diana had been one of the first victims of Emily's overly eager slave hunting, and she was currently naked, on the sales floor of the shop, having marking scrubbed from her skin by a group of similarly nude Academy students.

There were two candidates to replace Diana as Director. One was the Deputy Director, Tiffany Price, while the other was the teacher who had visited my shop earlier, Winifred Rogers. Tiffany's presentation to the Governors left no doubt about what sort of Director she would be.

"I believe, as Miss Wilson did, that every young woman has the potential within her to achieve great things, if only she is given the proper opportunities and encouragement," said Tiffany. "I intend to promote an instructional model that gives every woman in our institution the freedom to reach the full measure of her intellectual potential, and to make our institution proud with her achievements."

"Eloquently stated," said the Chairman. "I gather, based on your presentation, that you would not implement the Department for Education's new rule concerning the enslavement of students who fail exams."

"It is my belief," said Tiffany, "that we should not contemplate the prospect of any of our students failing in any case. However, even those young ladies who do not pass exams have greater potential than as a slave."

"That is certainly a progressive view on female education, in line with those of your predecessor," said the Chairman, noncommittally. "Perhaps now would be a good time to hear from Miss Rogers."

Winifred stood up and spoke.

"It has long been received opinion," said Winifred, "and it is my belief, that while there are some girls who will eventually succeed as free women, there are also those who are good only for a life of servitude. For those in that latter group, that IS the full potential it is our duty to help them achieve, and it is no kindness to force them to linger in their freedom, when in reality what they really long for -- what they deserve -- is a lifetime of bondage. As for the others, if we expect our girls to achieve their best potential, the only form of encouragement girls can truly understand is the strap, the whip, and occasionally the bare hand."

"It seems," the Chairman said, "you are advocating for an entirely different approach, and a radical change from what has prevailed at this institution up to this point."

"Maybe not so radical," put in Winifred. "After all, it is in accordance with Government guidance."

"Yes," said the Chairman, "but what I speak of is tradition, rather than the machinations of politicians."

This was not going well, and I knew I needed to intervene. I stood up.

"Pardon me, Mr. Chairman," I said, "if I might make a suggestion?"

"You are?" asked the Chairman.

"Tracey Smith," I said, "just observing our local government in action. It seems to me that the decision facing the Governors amounts to a question of what sort of future you wish to have, both for the girls and for us as a community."

"Yes, of course it is," said the Chairman dismissively. "If that is the extension of your contribution... "

"One version of the future," I interrupted, "leads to girls whose full potential as sexual objects is realized and nurtured." As I said this, I opened the door to the classroom, and in walked a group of some of my most attractive, nubile slaves, all nude. There was one girl for each governor. They walked in, shaking their hips as they walked, and took places behind each of the governors. Each girl started massaging their man's shoulders, and soon her hands worked their ways down to the chest.

"When this basic, primal instinct to serve the men in their lives is properly nurtured, a girl can accomplish great things." Each girl turned around, and sat in her man's lap.

"Can you think of any greater purpose? Any greater mission in life for these girls? Would you have this be your future and theirs?" The girls started grinding in the Governor's laps, stimulating the very erect cock of each of them.

"Or," I asked, "would you prefer they occupy themselves with other things? Like maths?"

The girls all stood up, and took three paces back from the Governors they were with.

After the meeting, I took Winifred out to dinner to congratulate her for her appointment as the new Director. The vote was unanimous.

"It was all you," said Winifred. "I really owe you one. If it weren't for that magic you pulled with those girls, it might have gone differently."

"I let the Governors keep the girls," I replied. "They're from Belfast. I traded the Titalin Club girls for them. It was a good investment. I assume there will be no problem with the contract?"

"Certainly not. The contract is yours."

"By the way," I asked, "What are you planning to do with Tiffany? She may be a bit resentful now that you got the job she wanted."

"Let me worry about that." Winifred grinned.

---------------------

It did not take long before Emily made quite a reputation for herself, and that reputation made her considerably less effective as a slave huntress than she might have been otherwise. She could no longer simply go around town offering women gummy bears, as the girls of Eastfield had become aware of who she was and what she did. So, more and more, she spent her time helping out in the shop.

I didn't mind. I certainly needed the help, and I came to appreciate the company. Slaves are useful, but for certain things there is no substitute for a free woman.

Emily and I were together, working the front counter, when Belinda emerged from the back. Once she caught my attention, she used sign language to say "Genna is asking to speak to you. She seems angry."

Fortunately, Emily did not understand sign language, as this was one aspect of the operation I had no desire for her to know about. Genna was the girl who Rhonda Patil had sent to me to shelter. I didn't like doing it, but I had to in order to remain in Rhonda's good graces. Rhonda was the personal assistant to the local DFA Inspector, and I relied on her to arrange the Inspector's schedule to ensure my shop would never be inspected. If the shop were to be inspected, it would become clear that I had falsified the paperwork to make it appear that the shop was male-owned. So, I had to keep Rhonda happy, and that meant sheltering Genna.

I would rather be enslaving her.

I went to the back where I found Genna sitting on a cot in a small solitary confinement cell, well away from the sales floor. She sat with a sulky expression on her face, wearing nothing but a pair of knickers, with her arms crossed in front of her otherwise bare breasts. This girl, clearly, was not used to being naked.

I walked into the cell and addressed Genna. "What seems to be the trouble this time?" I asked, with a note of impatience in my voice.

"I gave my dress to that deaf girl of yours to wash, and I haven't gotten it back yet. It's been four hours."

I turned to Belinda and signed "What did you do with Genna's dress?"

"I put it in the rummage bin," signed Belinda in reply. One of the few ways free women benefited from the Female Slavery Act was that second-hand women's clothing was now cheap, and in ample supply. That was because whenever we enslaved a woman, we took her clothes and put them in a rummage bin, which was picked up twice a week and taken to a processing plant. There, the clothes were cleaned, repaired (if they were torn), and packaged for sale. Many slave girls who were not physically attractive enough to be valuable as sex objects were sent to work in these processing plants.

"Has the rummage truck come today?" I signed.

"The truck came about an hour ago," replied Belinda.

I turned to Genna, who I could see obviously did not understand any of my conversation with Belinda. "This is not a resort," I told her. "You are here to hide. As long as you are here, you have to be kept inconspicuous. As long as you wear that fancy dress, you draw attention to yourself, and we cannot have that."

"This is rubbish," complained Genna. She turned to Belinda and almost screamed "I want my dress back RIGHT NOW."

"She can't hear you," I said patiently. "And in any event, Belinda is my slave to give commands to, not yours. You will remain here until I hear from Rhonda, and until then I don't want to hear any further complaints from you."

"I want to go home," said Genna, now in a whine.

"You ARE home," I replied, whereupon I stepped out of the cell and slammed the door shut behind me. It made a loud, ominous click as it closed. From the outside, I manipulated the controls of the cell to make the inside of the cell completely dark, and I reduced the temperature inside. It would be cold and dark inside. As far as I knew, inside, the cell Genna might have been shivering, or screaming, or pounding against the door. It didn't matter, as the cell was soundproof.

Just then, Maxine was walking by, and I gestured her over. "I want you to wait one hour, and then take the panties from the girl in this cell. Nothing else, just take her panties. If she cooperates, you can turn the lights back on and make the cell warmer. If she resists, or talks back, gag her."

"Yes, Mistress," replied Maxine.

I turned to Belinda "Do not give lunch to Genna today. She can wait until dinner to eat. Meanwhile, leave her in there."

"Yes Mistress," signed Belinda.

I returned to the counter, and found that Emily was not there where I had left her. Instead, she was on the sales floor talking to two young women who must have walked in while I was in the back dealing with Genna. I decided, for the time being, to observe how Emily handled herself with these girls.

"Yes, as you can see, the slaves on display are all in various different forms of bondage and confinement, but those are for display purposes only. These girls are well trained, and they have happily accepted their place. Even if I were to release one of them, there would be no danger of her escaping, let alone attacking a customer."

One of the girls glanced around briefly and pointed to a Japanese girl who was lying prone, hogtied, in a metal cage, "so could you release that one?" the girl asked. I noticed she had a distinct American accent.

"Of course," replied Emily, who proceeded to open the cage and pull the slave out. She then skilfully released her from the ropes, and left her standing there, in front of Emily and the two visitors. The slave curtseyed, and looked down to the floor. One of the girls grabbed the slave's left breasts and squeezed it between her thumb and forefinger, while the other gave her a swift, playful slap on her arse. The slave did not react -- she simply stood there and endured their fondling.

"That is so cool!" said the second girl, also an American. "I can't wait #till we're home and I tell my folks I've been to an actual British slave shop."

"My brother will be so jealous," the other girl said. They both giggled.

"Would you like to see the observation cells?" asked Emily.

"Totally," said one of the girls, and they followed Emily.

Once they got to the row of observation cells, one of the girls asked "Can these girls see us?"

"No," replied Emily. "It's one-way glass. We can see in, but they cannot see out."

"Can we take pictures?" the same girl asked.

"Certainly," said Emily. "In fact, if you want, I can take a picture of the two of you inside one of these cells. It'll be an amazing souvenir to bring back home with you."

The two girls giggled, seemingly shocked by the suggestion.

"You mean, take a picture with both of us naked?" one of the girls asked.

"If you would like. Nothing unusual about that here," replied Emily.

The two girls looked at each other for a moment, and giggled again.

"I think maybe it'd be fun to try topless," said one of the girls.

"I'll do it if you do it," said the other.

Emily led the two girls into an empty observation cell, and watched as they took off their blouses and brasiers. She showed them a place on the floor, outside of sight of the window, where they could fold and place their clothes. Then, she exited the cell, locking the two girls inside, and using each of their cell phones, took several pictures -- torso up -- of the two girls as they posed in front of what appeared to them to be a mirror.

Emily worked the intercom. "You both look gorgeous in there," she said. If you want to take the rest of it off, I'm sure we could get some smashing pictures."

The first girl hesitated, but the second started undoing her jeans, and that was all it took for her friend to follow her example. They practiced the most seductive poses they could, and Emily took several photos using each girl's cell phone. Eventually, she said into the intercom "I thing we have some great photos for your mates. Now, if you want to come along I would be happy to take you through the rest of the shop.

Emily went around and opened the door to the cell, while I continued watching from the outside. She, and the two girls came out, with the girls still nude, and Emily holding a plastic bag with their clothes.

"This IS a crazy feeling, walking around the shop naked like this," said one of the girls. "Are you sure this is all right?"

"Certainly," said Emily, "ladies to this all the time here." Just then, Blake -- a local university student who was a frequent visitor to the shop, saw Emily with the two girls and headed straight toward them.

"Hello!" said Blake, "looks like you got a couple of new catches. Can I try 'em out for a bit?"

"I'm sorry, sir," said Emily, in the obsequious tone we all must adopt when dealing with our male customers, "these ladies are not for sale."

"Bugger that. I think any girl's for sale for the right price. What'd you say to 15 quid?" asked Blake, naming an insultingly low price.

I began approaching them to intervene, as this situation had the potential to get out of control quickly. The two American girls had a rapport with Emily, and a guttersnipe like Blake could easily drive them away.

As it turned out, though, it was not necessary for me to intervene at all. Emily simply reached for Yuko, the Japanese slave who he had let out of her cage earlier. She was still obediently standing still in front of it, with her head down, awaiting instructions. Emily said to her "go with Blake to the test drive room so he can try you out." Yuko took Blake's hand, and together they went to one of the small bedrooms that we reserve for customers who wish to "test drive" a slave before buying her. I had no delusions that Blake was going to make a purchase today, but it was an effective way to stop him harassing the Americans.

Emily took the girls to a room off the sales floor, and I had a good notion where they were going. I left two slaves at the counter and went back to my office, where I turned on my video monitor and switched to the Machine Room. I turned on the sound.